[As Lucius puts space between them, so does Eridanus—a few nimble steps, just enough to have the time to formulate his next move. Still, he isn't sure if the expression his consort wears, regardless of his words, is one of irritation or recognition of a proper foe. In the idle span of his thoughts, his grip on his saber loosens, and despite that his skin were like stone, he rolls his shoulder as if trying to ease the throbbing pain in his back.]

Unfortunately, [and as he continues, Eridanus adjusts his grip once more,] I bear the wrong sword for any other style.

[A longer sword, perhaps even one meant to be wielded with two hands, would be better suited to his aggressive form. A nimble sword-style was meant for a nimble race—though if he were to cast aside his off-hand, Eridanus wonders just how well he could fight without it.]

Would you prefer I fight you in a more bestial way, my Eternal?