[ Aymeric was in full regalia. His armor clinked as he walked, even as the road became uneven packed dirt. He was rarely not in an outwardly pleasant mood — it was ingrained into him; one could accomplish much more by presenting oneself as generally optimistic — but the outer city took that and amplified it, turned it into a serene aura. He was a familiar enough sight just outside this particular gate that an old man tending a cut-rate apothecary stall raised a hand in greeting which Aymeric readily returned, and a young child barreling out of a tiny wooden house close to the wall skirted the hem of his long coat and called him blue man with a kind of neutral affinity.

A short while down the road, Aymeric nodded ahead of them and leaned a little toward Cain. ]

When we reach there, down by the hut with the caved roof, we can draw, if you like. Only make it plain that you're practicing, and your target is me. There are infected people here. No danger, I would say; they keep largely to themselves, the same as any plague. So many of these stalls and shops, as you can see, are dedicated to superstitions, remedies, blessings...I suspect they account for the most part of commerce outside the wall.

[ His voice was calm, tinged with pity. ]