[h3]Zerul City, the Platinum Goblet[/h3]
The tavern keeper seemed mildly disappointed when Kaedan simply ignored his offer of buying out one of the refugees currently occupying his rooms, but otherwise nothing really came of it, and the man simply excused himself for a moment to go and fetch the blankets he had promised his newest costumer. The deigan woman observed him for another few seconds before simply turning her attention back to the refugees around her, seeming to settle for regarding this stranger with indifference. Some of the tavern patrons still seemed somewhat wary of Kaedan, but for most part the great amounts of attention that had come to center on him quickly dispersed and everyone returned to what they had been doing previously.
It was not that these people were so stricken with fear from their recent ordeal that they regarded everyone else as a threat, nor was it because Kaedan was a foreigner, which all things considered was actually not all that evident at just a glance. The reason people stared at him, were afraid of him and that the tavern keeper had tried to first cheat him and then offer him better quarters and privacy at the expense of others was mostly because of his equipment. Steel was expensive, and while this particular warrior's armor, shield and hammer were not as ornamental as could be expected from the likes of paladins or royal knights they were obviously of decent quality and heavy enough to have been very expensive. With a person donning such valuable gear the natural assumption was that he was in a position wherein he could afford it, which rather conflicted with his choice of place to stay the night in this case.
The first thought these people had had about Kaedan - upon seeing his wealthily clad form and impressive dimensions - had been that he was there to prey upon them, people who were strangers in a place where no one would defend them, and who were unlikely to have the strength to defend themselves. It was not unusual for thugs and muggers to emerge during times of crisis like this, and in such cases establishments like the Platinum Goblet would be obvious targets. Once it became evident that he had no interest in the refugees, this turned the probable purpose of his presence there to two other possibilities: either he was there to get drunk cheaply, or he was there looking for prostitutes... or both. When he asked for a place to stay rather than a drink this disproved the former option, and when he had not accepted the offer of the privacy of a room he had made the latter very improbable. By then people were reaching the conclusion that he was not doing as well financially as his equipment suggested and was actually there out of necessity after all, and turned away from him. Most still recognized him as being dangerous, however, which was undeniably the case. People kept their distance and remained guarded near him, but he was no longer the center of attention.

Kaedan received his blankets - stained and moth-ridden, but decently warm and soft - and was allowed to pick anywhere to sleep. Next morning was rather like the evening in that there were still refugees crowding the common room, though they were much more quiet and reserved now, with many of them sleeping. There were no longer any patrons drinking at the bar, and the tavern keeper seemed to have left, probably get some sleep himself. There was still some stifled sniffling in the corners, but most tears had dried over the night and settled into dull aching that would likely take much more than a night's rest to remedy, if it ever faltered.
The true deigan was still there, though, and rather than sleeping she was doing something that would seem rather unusual to most. Sitting on top of the table closest to the counter with her legs drawn up beneath her, her frayed skirt arranged so that it covered both knees and feet and everything in-between. She sat with her back straight and her eyes closed, her expression neutral, with her left hand resting in her lap and her right hand held out from her in waist-height, palm upturned and fingers fully stretched. In it she was balancing a dagger which stood with the pommel of its handle resting in the hollow of her hand, and stood with the blade straight up. The hilt of the dagger was somewhat decorative, having inlaid patterns silver in its iron surface and what appeared to be a small pearl socketed into it just below the base of the blade on either side, but the blade was plain steel, long and too thick to cut very well despite of its edges evidently being sharpened. It was a weapon not meant for dealing anything but superficial cuts if used to slash, but which could stab deep into flesh and bone and was sturdy enough to be twisted subsequently to cause irrevocable damage; a weapon meant for dealing death.
Granted, anyone who knew about true deigan culture would not be too surprised at this, since it is an ancient tradition among their people for families to gift young individuals a dagger for their fortieth birthday, as a symbol of their entry into the pursuit of ambition that defined their people. Virtually every true deigan possessed a dagger that they carried with them at all times, either for self-defense, for being able to seize opportune targets or just to be prepared in case one was challenged to a duel. But this just served to further emphasize how unusual it was to see a true deigan selflessly trying to aid unfortunate people like these refugees, with no hope of reward. Their culture was centered around individualism, ambition and pride, all of which was epitomized by their daggers.
The dagger occasionally wobbled slightly, but always seemed to immediately stabilize again without the woman perceivably moving her hand in the slightest.

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[h3]Zerul City, the alley[/h3]
"You wish no further..." the guard corporal repeated with disbelief, still not lowering his halberd, just as the two other halberds flanking him and the crossbow behind him remained raised and ready for combat. This third man, currently incapacitated as he was, had just tried to [i]attack[/I] them, and these other two were trying to pass it off as just something that happened and should be forgiven and forgotten? The red-clad masked man that was still conscious had instantly teleported and remotely manipulated a knife through magic to knock someone unconscious... and they were supposed to simply ignore it? When they had [I]also[/I] found these very same people in a secluded alley with a dead woman? It was a [I]lot[/I] to ask, even for someone like I'on. It was too much, in fact; none of the guardsmen had any doubt that they were supposed to apprehend these people, or at the very least the unconscious one that had tried to attack them. Had he been a tarke he could at least have been excused by their infamous battle-induced blood-frenzy, but that was not the case; there was no excusing his actions.
The thing that kept the corporal from giving the order for his people to move forward and capture these men was not doubt in whether it was the right thing to do, but doubt in whether they were at all capable of successfully doing so. They said that they were exhausted and did not want any further transgression, and all except I'on were visibly injured, but... well, their squad of guardsmen were all just regular men and women trained for guard-duty, good enough to have survived the new situations that guardsmen found themselves in after the military had been redirected, but with no magical talent or extraordinary combat prowess. I'on, meanwhile, was known to be a powerful magus and to have quite a temper, and this other man had just teleported and used magic right in front of them, and he had not even drawn any of his weapons yet. Without even considering the capabilities of the third man - who had demonstrated impressive speed and ferocity, but little else before being incapacitated - their chances did not look too good if they picked a fight with these people. And that was not even counting the political consequences that could come from guardsmen getting in a fight with a personal friend of the duke...

"But..." the corporal spluttered, then suddenly stiffened. The Drunken Dove, I'on had said? Despite the implications of its name it was actually a decent establishment with reasonable prices, relatively popular among the middle-class citizens in its vicinity. But reports had also suggested... yes, that could work, could it not? Surely, if these people were troublemakers after all, they would not get to cause any such there.
"Stand down," came the order, as halberds were raised back into a neutral stance and the crossbow was lowered. The three other members of the squad looked relieved; so did the leader. This was not how any of them wanted to die. "The Drunken Dove, you say? We'll escort you there, sir, and make sure nothing else happens." [I]To you or because of you.[/I]