"Aye, 'tis thirsty to live in such a desert. In that part of the world I know, where the sun is high and water only a dream, they say the men who live there are at times so beset by thirst that they near die for the lack of drinking, and they kill their animals. They slit their throats and drink their blood." Iago almost said they were horses, but he's certain they're not horses. Something like a horse, he's seen them, but with a great arched back and more of an inclination to bite. "Is that how your kin live?"

He sloshes the skin of wine in his hand and grins. "There's more, good sir, if you would addle further your brains. And how shall I call you? I am Iago of Venice. Humble soldier in her army, ensign to her first most noble and valiant general."