Iris shuffled her arms out from the cloak. She was wearing a pair of studded cestuses.<br/>She was in a rare mood of impatience and impulse. There was nothing to be gained by watching, and she was supposed to confront the man anyway.<br/><br/>She called out to him. "Drunkard's disciple! I hear you've been touched by the beast!"<br/><br/>She knew not his name nor his animal, but her god had informed her of his divine allegiance.<br/>She assumed a defensive stance, grinding her sandals into the cobblestones of the street that ran along the docks.<br/><br/>A gust of wind full of salt and the scent of fish oil blasted along the street, billowing her cloak vigorously, the air becoming wet with droplets sprayed from the ocean.<br/><br/>A few people eyed the strange, shouting women worriedly and kept their distance. Nobody wanted to deal with a lunatic on such a fine day (or any day really).