#duard patternost

Duard approached the counter, leather furs, and buckles strewed into several messy piles. In the middle of the table was a half-assembled handbag; it’s partially sewn edge patiently waiting to be finished, hopefully with no further disturbances. Taking the crafting awl into his hand, he ran the needled tip across the bag, browsing for the ideal place to puncture...

A bead of sweat began to form on the side of his forehead as he readied himself to cleanly gouge a vital area-- just like a kill spot. 

Hmm.. the Jugular, heart, or the kidney...? 

With a quick thrust, the pop from piercing the leather was satisfying. Lips turned into a frown. 

The memory of the taste of blood made him wince. It was guilt.

The sweet buttery flavor. The nectarous scent.

This awl would still do great for a single jab in a throat; a fountain of candied red is so easy to create. All that also came with the melody of adrenaline-filled hearts beating faster combined with the wailing screams of the poor creature: music to his ears. 

Prestissimo.  Prestissimo.

His own heart beat harder and faster as it sank into his chest. The bead of sweat finally sliding down his cheek. His hands first clenched the side of his head to squeeze the horrible thoughts away, then they moved to cover his face in shame for having them in the first place.

This is not me. I’m better, now. I’m better. 

Suddenly, a footstep creaked the store’s old floorboards-- a change in the air snapped him from his suffering. The smell of someone else was in the room. But where? His back tightened, feeling the presence of the intruder directly behind him.

Duard twisted backwards and grabbed the shirt collar of the intruder, slamming him into the wall. He held the awl at the man’s throat.

An angry voice yelled out. “Firelord’s flaming farts-- what are ye doin’?! Put me down!” Large beard, weird expletives being shouted about, bald as sin-- it was not just any man or stranger. Oddly enough, a friend; one he was waiting for who was very, very late.

Duard took a deep breath and held it, trying to kill his adrenaline by suffocating it. With one hand, he realized had his associate lifted up entirely off the ground, pinned to the wall. The other hand was ready to take another life. 

Human-limited strength returned to Duard at the same rate as his clarity, dropping Bordus onto the ground. 

“You know not to sneak up on me,” Duard said and he rolled his eyes.

“Sneakin’?!” The dwarf clenched both of his fists and released them into the air as he exclaimed, “How coulda ye missed me walkin’ in, even if ye been screwin’ around chasin’ that bird I’m nae that small that ye dinna see m--” 

“Do you have it?” Duard interrupted. Pacing the floor helped continue recollecting himself. Patience was a virtue that was becoming unaffordable. 

“-- if ya told me ya were good as huntin’ as ya claim, I’d never believe ye! Ye got tha instincts of a thousand year ol’ geriatric swine whose senses ben dulled from smellin’ Deathwin’s arse all day!” It felt like at least a minute of Bordus going on with a performative outrage.

“For fuck’s sake!” Such vulgarity rarely spilled from Duard’s lips. He turned around and swung his arm in a wide arc, throwing the awl across the room. The needle burrowed into the side of the wall, inches from the dwarf’s face, humming like a spring doorstop before slowly quieting down.

Now that he had his attention Duard marched towards Bordus, feet eerily quiet on the wooden floor. His suppressed anger was hidden by a polite grace. Face to face, his eyes seeming more amber than usual, Duard spoke.  “Do you have it?” Each syllable was heavily accentuated so there would be no misunderstanding.

Anger, and some color, drained from Bordus’s face, but the dwarf managed to speak out. “Yer a fool tae doubt Bordus!” He shouted. The dwarf’s tone quickly changed to whimsically talkative. “‘Bout tha timin’, though. Tha witch says she’s been strugglin’ tae make tha stuff. Not much supplies since tha night elves lost everythin’. Not like we can go beggin’ door tae door fer poisons n’ crap.” 

From his pack, Bordus drew one small phial from the batch and handed it to the man. “Best tae keep that on yer mind. Might want tae consider talkin’ to her about it. ‘Specially if this is how yer going tae act when yer low-- let me guess: ‘ol’ habits’?”

“Maybe.” Duard’s answer should have been ‘If it wasn’t obvious enough, no shit’. 

With his precious draught in hand, had Duard lost any more of his senses he would have bitten through the glass to get to the precious concoction. Instead, though still with desperation, he bit down on the cork and yanked it out, spit it off to the side, and took a large sip of the contents. 

The effect was immediate, the anger was melting away... as was his vision. Duard stepped backward and had to lean on the counter to balance himself but he slowly slid down and keeled over on the floorboards. He was unmoving for a good ten seconds. Apparently still conscious, he reached out with his index finger and pointed it at Bordus. “You-- stay the hell away... from the money drawer...”

Bordus looked quite offended at the accusation. “Fine, fine, lad.” He folded his arms as if he needed the extra security against temptation.

Another minute passed. Eventually, Duard leaned upward and grabbed his forehead after getting over his brush with clinical death. “I... am fine.” He remarked nonchalantly. “Just too much too soon. Have not had a proper dosage for too long... Ugh.” His hand reached upward and grabbed the counter and he hoisted himself back to his feet. Dusting himself off, he sighed. “I apologize for my previous behavior. That was not like me.”

A familiar dull look returned to his hazel eyes: the boring man was reborn, plagued no longer by pointless urges or troublesome thoughts.

“Sober you is not tha real you, huh.” Bordus scoffed. “Ya sure it ain’t tha other way around?” 

“Of course not.” Duard’s eyes glanced over and focused onto the awl still buried in the wall. It took a strong pull, but he managed to get the tool out in a single try. His thumb brushed over the hole left in the wall, and his face drooped with concern at the damage. Shoulders lifted in a dismissive oh well, he turned to the dwarf. “You can leave the rest of the phials on the counter. I will pay you when everything is done, here. Right now I... I need to finish my work.” He waved the dwarf away.

No more distractions. No more anything. Emptiness.

Just the work at hand, now. 

---

Author’s Note: