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Nothing remained simple. Despite all effort to the contrary, there were things completely outside of Viltre's influence, and he had to account for their interferance. This outing, for instance. It had been a straightforward exchange, information for information. His network of Friends got a lot out of Yera, including notes on this year's textile materials. His own rough-woven cloak might have been broadly unappealing, but the tough nettlecloth lining it was another tale. With how much of the world was either hot, humid or both, the stuff found favor by just as many. News on when and where another shipment might be sent was valuable stuff in itself. It could be traded to several interested parties, from merchant consortium to bandit clan. As neither of those had the information the young scribe wanted, better to swap it with someone in the underworld.

The local thieves were an oddly moral lot to his outside eye, and didn't hold with a few things. Their list seemed eccentric to the foreigner, but their reasons showed a suitable practicality. Bald theft was a riskier business out here in the mountains. Subtlety or outright banditry were the main games. Kidnapping made no sense on its own, and with hospitality so important you never knew who might have been an expected guest. Why call down tight-knit clans on your head? Particularly ones that you might have owed for one favor or another? So once introductions were made, and the Kavensei secondboy made a few Friends, an exchange wasn't long in the coming.

But no! This had to be an opportunity! Couldn't have just tried to gut me on the road AFTER I got a direction! No, Merle’s agent had needed to make things needlessly dramatic, and turn this neat little conversation into a trap. Five men, Oban sellswords and their Tale employer, in an alley with their scrawny target and his puffed up bodyguard. Easy money, right?

Wrong.

True, to someone with a polearm, narrow alleys weren't the best situation. Not alone, anyhow. Variel's charge had taken her vulnerable back, opening with a few well-aimed stones. Nothing serious, but it made their approach slower. Nobody wanted to lose an eye to a rock. Should they make a rush, their prey had a couple other surprises on him. To someone who'd grown up in a city built into the great trees, these piddly little buildings might as well have been a child's gymnasium...

Crazy was an excellent addition to long pointy sticks for a deterrant. Neither Merle's agent nor his hired goons wanted to be the first in. True, getting inside her reach would remove that danger, but the narrow confines of an alley wouldn't let swarming tactics work. For now, they approached steadily, occasionally swiping at the haft of her weapon. The two behind would either take care of them or force her to turn, which would do the same...

The two from behind approached with a bit more confidence. They weren't in danger of being spitted on that polearm, just some guy with rocks. As tall as he was, they had swords and armored coats. That was all the advantage they should have needed. It likely came as a surprise, therefore, when there was a knife mixed in between stones. Thrown blades, despite the tales, weren't all that effective beyone a couple meters. They were, however, significantly more alarming than just the stones. It scored a minor scratch and bounced hard off of an elbow. It hadn't been a killing blow. The one to the left flinched a bit harder than his partner, and that was all Viltre needed to get inside his reach.

Variel's principal went up a stack of crates, one hand catching a bit of outcropped stone and just kept going along the wall. Unlike someone used to flat or simple square construction, vertical movement barely slowed him. A step, two, and the wiry man launched himself at the flincher, relying on momentum and what body weight he had to drag his enemy down. A flick of steel got something pointy out of the way of his knee, planting it on the darker swordsman's chest. A curved sword clattered atop bare earth, followed shortly by an Oban torso and a Taleian's knee. Smallsword held up, the two behind his bodyguard were at bay. Neither attacker was quite sure when he'd drawn that...

With their opening tactics going down the gutters along with a partner's blood, the two before no longer had the luxury of patience. The curved blades to which the mercenaries were accustomed were heavy things, made for hacking. The one that remained, therefore, devoted himself to attacking Variel's weapon, when he wasn't on the defensive himself. The agent, meanwhile, had avoided being more than marked across the face. As well as Merle paid, and as much as she understood failure, she did not tolerate cowardice. She was clearly inexperienced, despite her skill. The woman had removed a hand to throw a knife rather than keep full control of her weapon! He waited for his moment, just as his partner deflected a downward glaive-chop, and attempted to brush the pole aside and close in. His long rapier would do a good deal more from there...

Behind the melee, there was a standoff. Or kneel-off, from one side. In one hand, their target held a nimble smallsword just a smidge longer than his extended hand and forearm. In the other, a black cosh filled with tiny leaden spheres. The Oban thugs had begun questioning their recent employment, but not enough to run from a trickier noble brat than they'd been told. His standing positoon giving him more leverage, the upright man tried a straight cut to finish this quickly. The smaller weapon caught the blade on the guard and twisted, deflecting the stroke. Undeterred, he began a series of downwards slashes, clearly a rehearsed routine. His target was not as versed in swordplay, to be sure. But he certainly had an eye for reading people. While this forced the young Leaf man to move, each blow fell away from him, either guided along interfering steel or finding only air where flesh had been a moment ago. This nimble display saw Viltre skitter along the ground, circling to the side all the while.

It was once the man had to check his stroke or risk hitting stone that the thief struck. He all but sprang to his feet, the cosh coming up and striking the back of the Oban's head in a single connected motion. Poor man went down like a fainting maiden. The one who'd been getting back up and regaining his breath found his friend crashing on his legs and a glimmering point at his throat. "Stillness, friend." Young Kavensei flicked his gaze to the ongoing fight, drawn by the trickle of blood. Green eyes studied it a moment. He bent down, retrieved the knife he'd thrown earlier, and sent it fluttering towards the agent, who might have been about to get through Variel's reach...

For the last Oban merc standing, things were taking an unfortunate turn. Overwhelming a spearman was one thing. Superior numbers tended to even out a reach advantage, and even better out in the open. Dwindling numbers and the opponent behind a chokepoint spoke for themselves how poorly the scuffle was going. Only a terribly brave man or a fool would attempt to fight a pair that had taken his group down without further reinforcement. To the dying agent's credit, he hadn't hired fools. The swordsman readied himself, and engaged in his last resort, his feet!
Which is to say, he took to his heels as soon as his client had dropped. No sense dying here for free.

Viltre, meanwhile, allowed his brow to furrow. Knife-throwing was always chancy work. Half the time they struck with the pommel, as he'd hoped it to. The other, they wound up point-first in something. He might have had something useful to say. Ah, well. As practical a man as he was, even Viltre honored the spirits, as any Leaf did. A quiet snippet of prayer would do here, but a longer would join it later. "You are forgiven, as They forgive all wounds dark and deep. Your bed is made on the lap of Time; take your rest in sleep."

With all but his prisoner down or fleeing, the scribe put his mask back on, smiling cheer and relief. Without any blood on his face, it still worked. "You alright, miss Variel? Everything still attatched that ought to be?" All the while, the swordpoint never wavered from his foe's throat. The Oban felt the mountain wind cut through the alley as green eyes turned his way. To him, the gaze left him all the colder for their sudden warmth. "Are- aren't you going to kill me?" They blinked, and young Kavensei chortled. "Good Spirits, man, no. Nothing personal here, just poor timing and a bad choice in employers. No, I think we're ready to be civil, aren't we?"

Even as classically fresh nobility, or the equivalent thereof, Variel's employer had been schooled on how to recognize social classes. She hadn't brought it up, so he let it lie, but the girl had several prominent earmarks of nobility on her, rebellious or otherwise. Nobility went to those whose ancestors had killed or bought off everyone who disagreed. Wouldn't be that surprised if that's how Father brought our family back to prominence. Still don't know much of what he does out on his trips, only what he tells us.

"Thank you for keeping three well armed men at bay. Without you, I wouldn't have been able to wriggle out of this one untouched."The mask's smile widened a hair, sincerity touching his eyes with a twinkle. With enough practice and training, honesty wasn't hard to simulate. It helped even more that the thief had here lied only in his expression, not his words. "Glad it worked out well. Not used to throwing properly balanced knives; I meant to stun him.

Feel free to look him over once you've had a moment to breathe. I'll only want the little.black book and the pendant off him anyhow." To his captive, Viltre kept his smile and mellow tone. "Tell you what. I appreciate skill and good sense. You owe me a favor, anything in your power, to be called in sometime in the future. In exchange, you keep an ear open and talk to my man at the Kavensei trader's." A card flicked up from out of his sash, presented between his index and middle fingers. "He's a Friend. And if you agree, you can be our Friend, too. I protect my Friends."

Slowly, very slowly, as though waiting for the weapon to pierce him, dark brown fingers took the card. No further violence came, so the mercenary looked it over, front and back, and nodded. He pointed to his unconscious partner, asking "And he can come with?" Full lips pursed thoughtfully. Viltre had considered cold murder, but... No, there might be someone around to read the dead, for all I know. Especially at a crossroads like this town. Better leave it at a fight. "On the condition that you don't mention our Friendship, I don't see why not. He may need some medical attention after that landing." A brusque nod, and his new friend got to his feet, gathering up his fallen companion. With him heted over his shoulders, he walked his heavier way out of the alley. He'd be back for the dead one later...

"Well! That went better than I'd hoped. Managed some profit even if our deal got thrown off. Better go back to that bar and let the thieves know later today, at least for courtesy." And there was Variel with the necklace and small ledger. The former he slipped into the sash and the latter he began to leaf through, page by page. "Ah, there we are; thank you. They really oughtn't keep these, y'know. Sloppy, leaving a paper trail. Think it's Mother who insists, probably to keep blackmail on her men." The red head shook, the mouth beneath scoffing. "Fair dealing is far more sustainable on a wide scale." People tended to be less likely to stab you in the back for an even hand than a tilted one. Blackmail was for specifics, not blanket application.

"...May I suggest diluted vinegar for your hair? Gets blood out wonderfully."

The facts of their current situation each slid neatly into a place in his head. A scuffle would have been one thing, maybe some broken bones or missing teeth the same. But this? Even the nomadic windfolk took dead people seriously. With the bodies rifled and danger passed, there really wasn't much else keeping them in this alley. His bodyguard was all but cleaned up now, most of the blood at least off of her skin. So without further ado, Viltre straightened his clothes and strolled out onto the street. Opposite the mercenaries exit, of course. Unfortunate that he had to pick his way around all the dead men, but it wasn't as though they would mind.

The book slipped into the folds of his wide red sash, snug along with the pendant. His sword, blade having gone unused, needed no cleaning, and returned to its sheath. Slim hands clapped once when the pair left their alley. "So! We've some new information to puzzle out, a few errands to run, and a destination to make for. We're leaving tonight, so is there anything you want to do while we're here?" She'd just saved his rump, so it only made sense to ask if Variel needed anything. She was learning so well; hadn't once asked how he knew things...

A quick nod, and his bright smile flashed her way. Variel continued down her own practical bent. Even distanced from the family politics as he now was, the young thief ws already certain he'd need that viewpoint down the line. Apparently a lot of his Friends wound up a bit afraid or mildly contemptuous of him. He found the lack of either refreshing. "As you like. My cousin should be on duty at the trading post this afternoon. It's just across the street; we'll have both taken care of. Any requests on provisions?"

Part of his trouble cooking, she'd quickly pointed out, was his ingredients. He had an eye for quality and market, but picking things that went together for taste and texture yielded... well it had been edible. And probably nutritious? The latter was what he appeared to default to. "We'll aim for the next town over, I think. Tinerr's bigger, has that new port for the skyships. Friends to make from all over. If we're lucky, we might get a direction on this kidnapping ring. Or something on Elaxi, who knows?"