1

It was about forty-five minutes after the Drunken Tankard had opened that day. Dorsea stepped outside for her first break of that morning. It was already busy, and she felt she needed to get herself together. Antsy, she pulled out a cigarette from a pack she kept in her pants pocket and lit it with her lighter. She was a habitual smoker.

After a puff, she blew out a smoke cloud and began to pace around in a circle. Looking down at her feet, she kicked up dirt as she walked. Smoking put her at ease. Or so she thought. It didn’t seem to make her any less fidgety. But at least for the moment she was enjoying her break.

That was until, a shadow appeared in her peripheral vision.

“Uh, Dorsea,” she heard a familiar voice call her name.

She looked up.

It was Crest, but not alone. There was a girl over his shoulder.

He rubbed the back of his head. “We got a problem.”

2

Later that night, two hours to closing, Crest sat at a stool at the bar. As always, he had a drink in hand.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do about that girl, Lou.” Cracking his neck, Crest took a sip of his beer. “I feel bad she ended up in a situation like this.”

Pausing in the middle of polishing a glass, Lou shot Crest a glare. “Crest don’t push your luck with me. You bring a slave girl here and expect me to take care of her too? What we’re you, thinking?”

“That you would welcome her with open arms.” Crest said with a devilish smirk. “You know, because you’re so kind and all.”

“I already have you living here rent-free Crest,” he grumbled. “Two’s company.”

“Oh, come on! I get rid of the bad guys.” Crest gave himself props. “Besides, what if she has family to go back to? Don’t be so angry with me…. pwease!” Puckering his lips like a fish, Crest begged Lou to be understanding.

Scoffing, Lou went back to cleaning the glass. “You’re a piece of work Crest, you know that?”

Crest only smiled.

He took another sip of his drink.

“Crest!” Suddenly he heard Dorsea call out to him from across the room.

“Yes,” he said turning around.

“You have a visitor,” she said pointing to a man that had just come through the door. One they recognized.

“Crest my friend,” The bald man stroked his white beard. “How have you been?”

Crest grinned from ear to ear. “Alabaster you old coot, welcome back.” He patted a stool next to him. “Saved a seat for you.”

3

Six years ago, Shepa’s voice echoed throughout the house. “Seal? Seal? Where are you?” She entered the boys’ room as she came to the end of the hallway. But as she looked around only Crest was there. She huffed. “Crest,” she said “Do you know where your brother is? He’s supposed to be home right now.”

Averting his gaze from his mother, he looked down at the ground. “No, mother.” He said softly.

She had a look of frustration. Closing her eyes, she pouted with her hands on her hips. “Where could he be…...?” She closed the door behind her and went searching elsewhere.

When he was almost certain she was gone, Crest pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that had been stuffed down his shirt. He uncrumpled it. It was a note.

It said-

‘Leaving with dad, don’t tell. -Seal.’

But Crest couldn’t keep what his brother had done secret forever, obviously. He let out a pained sigh. What was that idiot thinking?

“This is gonna kill mom.”

4

It had been some time, since Crest had to tell his mother the truth. His father had taken his brother with him and there was nothing either of them could do. Now Crest and his mom were on their own. His mother continued about her household duties, but now had to work extra hard on her clothing business. Every other day now, she would stroll into the middle of town and sell what she had made. They weren’t all that impressive, or well tailored, but it was enough to make money.

Today she was making quite a few sells, not that Crest helped, he only leaned against the outside of the wagon as customers walked in and out.

“Thank you for your patronage,” Shepa expressed her gratitude to a customer who she had just seen off. She pocketed her change in her money pouch and came rolling out of the back of the cart like a sack of old potatoes. “I’ll tell you what Crest, things are harder than they’ve ever been for us now, but we can’t give up. We have to keep pushing on without your brother or your dad. We’re all we got now.”

Crest sighed depressingly.

She peered at him out the corner of her eye with a wondering look.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned. “If you don’t want to be here, you can go do something else. I’d prefer if you weren’t just goofing off though. Stay productive.”

Crest tilted his head in an unrelaxed motion. “What do you suggest?”

“Go hunting. I’m sure you’re tired of that store bought crap.”

“But we can just buy meat in the market.” Whining, Crest crossed his arms.

Shepa’s eyes narrowed scornfully. She didn’t look so happy with his response. “I thought your father taught you to be a man. Don’t go relying on others to do the hard work for you.”

“Oh whatever.” He waved her off and started walking towards the town square.

"Wh-where are you going?" She called out to him.

"Don’t worry about it.” He said trailing off into the distance.

5

Crest was strolling around town, looking for any trouble to get into. There were food stores, book stores, clothes stores, and more. But one place that happened to catch his attention was a place with a sign on the outside that said, ‘Drunken Tankard’. Crest was intrigued. He had heard of the place before. It was where his dad would sometimes hang out with his crew. For a moment, the boy hesitated to walk in. He was only fourteen and was unsure if they would kick him out. But a part of him was also curious to find out what the big deal was. Besides, even if he couldn’t drink yet, they shouldn’t have been able to deny him a meal if he wanted one.

He opened the door and walked in.

Inside was a full house. Filling each chair was a customer, and on each table there was a hearty meal. The place smelled of aged meat and cheeses. So truthfully, it smelled delicious. He roamed about staring at the people, the noise of conversations filling his ears. He had never been in a tavern before, but he didn’t want this to be his last time. The atmosphere was so lively, so cheerful, so…...vibrant. It was a world he had never known, but a world he wished be a part of, forever and ever and then some.

Unfortunately, as he looked around, there didn’t seem to be a place to sit out on the dining room floor. Crest kept walking until he came to the bar. There weren’t many chairs left there either, but he did manage to find one. Not hesitating for another moment, he grabbed a hold of one of the only remaining stools. But now….

What was he supposed to do?

He looked to his left and his right. Everyone at the bar had a drink or some food. He thought maybe he should order something. Then he thought maybe not. He started to grow impatient with himself, embarrassed that he even came in. Anxious, he began to tap on the counter with his finger, carrying a whistling tune all the while. After contemplating his place there, he then grimaced. He wasn’t amongst his kind. Crest was trying to appear normal in a place that his father probably knew well, but he knew nothing about. He didn’t fit in. “Oh boy,” he muttered to himself. “What am I doing in a place like this? I don’t belong here.” He slammed his head into the counter with enough force to break bricks.

Crest covered his head in his hands.

“Uh kid,” a voice to his right said suddenly.

Since he figured he was the only kid around, or close by, Crest looked next to him to see if the person was addressing him.

Next to Crest, staring at him with a befuddled look was a bald man, with a white beard and plated armor. He appeared to be in his fifties at the youngest. Leaning in and looking him up and down, the old man evaluated him as though he were alien or obtuse. “Do you have business here? Or are you lost? You seem a little…. ‘off’.”

“Well I, uh…” Nervous, Crest blanked on any words to say. Also timid, he pressed his fingers together. “…..you see…..I’m new here….and….that is to say th…..wel—”

“Oh cripes! Spit it out why don’t ya’!?” The man sounded demanding. “You’re a boy, that means you’re half a man already. Get loud! Get angry! Be expressive! Tell me to go suck a gargoyle’s nut.”

“A gargoyle’s what?” That didn’t seem entirely wholesome to him.

“Come on boy,” shutting his eyes, the man gave Crest a beckoning hand gesture. “Tell me who you are. And act like you have some balls.”

Crest turned red. His voice began to flare. This time he spoke deeper than before. “M-my name is…is Crest Evermore, sir!”

“Good,” the man said, looking at Crest once more and holding out his hand.

Crest grabbed hold.

The old man’s handshake was firm. Unbelievably, so.

“My name is Alabaster Aunce,” the old man said. “I work here in a way, you could say.”

Crest muddled over what the man had said, before giving a rather audacious reply. “Sir, I’ll be honest. It doesn’t look like you work very much if you don’t mind me saying. In fact, you just smell like a nasty old drunk. Besides you don’t seem to be working at all.”

Alabaster nearly felt himself falling out of his chair at Crest’s comment. He balled his fist up as he composed himself. “Now listen here kid, I’ll have you know what I do here is very important! I’m just on break right now!”

Crest stared at the tankard that Alabaster had in his grip. It was probably alcohol, if he had to guess. He pointed at the mug. “You’re going to be able to work after that?”

Alabaster scoffed and took a sip of his drink. “It soothes the soul. Helps men like me forget about my worries and troubles.” But he digressed. “Hey,” he went on. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about you? What ails you, my friend?”

Wrinkling his nose, Crest snorted. “Why does something have to be the matter? Do I look like I have a problem?”

“Everyone has problems my friend. And you don’t have to look very deep within to find them. Most are surface level and are in plain sight. But it’s the fact that we ignore them, that makes them feel hidden.” Alabaster imparted some wisdom to Crest. Though it was hard for Alabaster to tell if he was getting through to him or not. “When you came in just now, you seemed to be aggravated. Surely there’s a cause.”

Crest held his head low. He had just met this guy, and he was already reading him like an open book. A part of him didn’t want to be honest with him, but a better part of him told himself it was okay. “Well,” he said swirling his finger around on the counter. “My dad used to come here, he and his gang. And I wanted to see the place for myself.”

“Where is your dad?” Alabaster said taking a swig of his drink.

Holding his head even lower than before, Crest was hesitant to say, but he spilled the beans anyway. “He’s…. he’s not here anymore. He left me. And took my brother. And…..and I don’t have them anymore. My mother’s still around…..but……but I don’t have my brother…….my only brother is gone.” Tears dropped down his face. He tried to hide, but they were visible. Clear as day.

Thumbing his nose, Alabaster sobered up. He patted Crest on the back, and spoke kindly to him. “There. There. I’m sure it’s rough, being apart from someone you care about and all. But you still have someone at home who needs you to be there for them. A woman at that. I’m sure it’s just as hard on your mother too. Have you been making helping your mother out, y’know, with chores and such?”

Crest raised his head. Sniffling, he cleared his face of his tears. “I don’t do much around the house, but I like to hunt. My job is to catch food for her. But lately I haven’t had it in me to do it.”

Alabaster placed his hands on his hips. “You? You’re a hunter?”

“Yep,” Crest said partially unsheathing the rapier tailored to his side to show Alabaster what he was packing. “Learning to hunt, I’ve gotten pretty good with a sword. Though I’m still not where I want to be. I could be so much better.”

“Ah,” Alabaster sounded impressed. “So, you’re a swordsman. Neato! You ever poke a guy’s out with that thing?”

Stiffening up, Crest shook his head aggressively. “No sir, my dad told me to stick to killing monsters. Never people.” He pounded his chest if he were proud to say it. “You see, I’m a monster myself, so I only stick to fighting strong monsters like me.”

Alabaster rolled his eyes unconsciously. Hearing that, he couldn’t help but do so. “You’re not much of a monster, my friend. And that’s honestly a silly way of saying you have morals. But I admire your virtue.”

Sticking out his tongue, Crest pressed a fist against his head. “Thanks.”

“Anyway,” he continued. “Since you’re lacking a male figure in your life. I have no problem stepping in for you. I could be like a mentor to you. How’s that sound kid?”

Crossing his arms, Crest muddled over the thought for a moment. But honestly, he wasn’t so sure about the whole thing. “Well….what could you really teach me? And why me? I’m just some kid.”

Alabaster laughed heartily. “Actually, I could teach you quite a lot. I’m a swordsman myself. I’ve learned under a few swords masters and have never had a student of my own. Teaching someone who has an interest in the same art as me, might be a learning experience for us both. No funny business either, I’ll train you free of charge. How’s that sound kid?”

Crest’s eyebrows raised. “You’re being inordinately kind, sir. It can’t be that easy for you to offer your services.” He gave Alabaster the stink eye. “They must be bad.”

Shaking his head, Alabaster reassured him. “No, I promise you. I am quite skilled. I’ve learned from some of the best. Normally I’m not in such a giving spirit, but I must admit, I feel kind of bad for you. I’m willing to offer you everything I’ve got, if you want it.”

Crest pondered the thought for a moment. This could either be really good for him, or really bad. But either way he figured he would get something out of it. Smiling, he conceded. “Alright sir. I’ll work with you.”

Reaching over, Alabaster frizzed Crest’s black hair. “That’s what I like to hear! Good on you lad!”

Crest smiled.

Now the two were partners.

6

Suddenly, their conversation was broken up. A scream echoed through the tavern. A shrill shriek, that was unsettling. Catching their attention, Crest and Alabaster turned around. People from all around the room looked up in alarm.

At one of the tables in the room, a waitress was being harassed by two men. While one upskirted her, the other groped her breast.

They were drunk.

“Get away,” she tried to push the man in front off her. But he wasn’t budging. He would grab her arms and shoulders to pull her back in each time she tried.

“Come on baby, give me a little kiss,” the groper said smacking his lips at her.

“HELP!”

Whispers filled the room, but no one stood up to do anything.

“That’s disgusting,” Crest scowled. He had never felt so disgusted witnessing anything in his life. Reaching for his sword, he was feeling particularly tempted to do something. “Th-those bastards. Maybe I should—”

Alabaster touched the boy’s hand and Crest withdrew his sword. “No need Mr. Monster, I’ve got this.” He got up and started to cross the room to where the assailants were.

Interested, Crest looked on the old man with awe as he walked away. “He’s really going to fight them?” He mumbled to himself.

“Someone please!” Crying out, the waitress held out for a hero of some kind. Anyone that would put these grotesque ghouls in their place.

The one upskirting her laughed as he did. “This one’s got a nice round bubble on er’” He said as he poked her buttocks. “It needs a nice, firm…. SLAP!” He revved up his hand, intending to do worse to her than he already had.

However.

Before the blow was struck, the upskirter was sent tumbling as he received a kick to the face from a very heavy boot.

“What the Hell?” The groper questioned as his partner fumbled. Looking to his side, he got a good look at the perpetrator. It was an old guy. At least much older than him anyway. “Who the Hell are you, you fogie?” He asked the man.

“Names Alabaster,” the elder said. “And I’m the bouncer here. Get out. Now!”

A bouncer? Crest thought.

As Alabaster confronted the groper, the upskirter stood to his feet. He rubbed his cheek where Alabaster had struck. Now he was getting upset. Angry even. “You’re going to pay fa’ that old man!”

“Yeah,” the groper said letting the waitress go. She ran. He didn’t care anymore; his attention was no longer on her. His buddy had just been slugged, and he wasn’t going to take that lying down. “I think we should teach you a lesson, I do.” The upskirter joined him at his side and they both put up their dukes.

“Very well,” Alabaster drew his broadsword from its sheath and took a fighting stance. “Let us begin.”

Customers gasped. A woman yelled. People started moving for the doors. There would be a fight.

Their eyes were like vile, venomous snakes that slithered as they circled around him. Alabaster didn’t flinch. He remained calm and at ease as they threw their first set of punches.

Time seemed to slow down for a second. Closing his eyes Alabaster took a deep breath. Punks always liked doing things the hard way. After a moment of meditation, Alabaster opened his eyes. Suddenly with swift, unhinged motions he swung his sword not violently, but as though it were a painter’s brush doing a mad dance. The attacks were faster than the speed of light, raining down on the men like a blustery storm.

Then, with in the snap of a finger, it was over.

Crest looked on with reverence. What ever Alabaster had done, had been effective, but not quite in the way Crest had expected.

As Alabaster sheathed his sword. The men fell on their butts. They were now writhing in pain. Rolling around as though they had been singed by fire. Hellfire. Ear piercing screeches erupted from the bottom of their bellies. They were obviously in a whole other world of pain. But what struck Crest as particularly mysterious was that, as he observed the battle, no blood sprayed. None spilt. It was clean as day.

The men looked up in abject horror, at the man who had caused them some much agony. When they found the strength to do so, they began to crawl away clutching their bodies and gritting their teeth in pain. Alabaster only raised only an eyebrow; he didn’t bother to do them anymore harm. Frightened that he could do more, they didn’t dare stick around. The men grabbed onto tables, trying to gain their footing. As soon as they could they ran for the exit and into the distance.

They were gone like ghost.

As they disappeared, Alabaster breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how many times he had to teach a couple thugs a lesson, there would always be more. Despite being proficient with the sword, he hated when things had to get nasty and he had to cause a scene. It was all so unnecessary and needless.

“Hey,” a voice said next to him. It was Crest. “What was that? What did you do to those guys?”

Both of Alabaster’s eyebrows raised. “You mean my technique? Well, it’s called the Whirlwind Wolf technique if you must know. My father created it, after his father got arrested for killing a man. He wanted to be able to take care of the bad guys without getting in trouble. The technique is for apprehending or disarming goons without having to kill them.” He smiled. “I could teach it to you. Consider it the beginning stages of your training.”

Crest’s face lit up. His father had told him not to kill men, but maybe there were situations in which he would need to protect those he cared about. Maybe it would be beneficial to learn a combat skill of this nature. He puffed out his chest and adorned a condescending face, even though his teacher was much taller and much more intimidating than he was. He spoke in a stuffy voice. “Well…I’ll have you know I’m still not a killer.”

“You don’t have to be. I’ve never killed a man myself. But I also won’t let a villain do whatever he wants. You’re still a fledgling, so you might not have been in a lot of sticky situations where you need to use that blade of yours. But trust me, as a swordsman, your time is coming. And if you’re going to start a fight without working under the king, you’ll want to work within confines of the law.” He put his hands on his hips. “See, there’s a way to stay true to your father’s words, and to protect your friends.”

Crest’s ears were attentive. One day he might need to use his sword on a man, but now he would be learning how to swing without his attacks being fatal. A long road of hard work awaited him.