[Eridanus takes a sharp breath as that name touches his ears once more. A familiar rage boils the blood in his veins, as he remembers just how adoringly Lucius spoke of this man named Fulgrim. As the other's expression grows manic with excitement, his own shadows with anger. The taste of fury was quickly becoming familiar, acrid and overwhelming. His entire life was spent with a cool temper, yet now it seems the fire he had once wielded as weapon has now become the life force that sustains him.
He also remembers the way Lucius had been quick to anger that night when he spoke ill of Fulgrim, so for now his wrath will simmer beneath the surface, patient.
As he watches Lucius' expression of deranged adulation, spite rises in Eridanus' gullet, and the idea of doling out punishment for mentioning Fulgrim eagerly bites at his thoughts. Knife-edged opal wraps around Lucius' wrist, drawing those tracing claws over his own face freely. He guides padded fingers over the sharp, jagged edge of an opal-encrusted tusk.] To claim yourself to be the greatest duelist in your galaxy, would be to claim that even you can best Fulgrim. [His words hint as something deeper, as if Lucius' own words elude to this war-father being less perfect than he claims him to be. It's a silent taunt, goading the man before him into admitting one or the other.
But starting a fight isn't what he needs right now, at least... not yet. So rather than biting down at the morsels at the edge of his mouth, he quietly turns his chin away from Lucius' touch, and takes another sip of his coca wine. Perhaps the drink will calm his fury, rather than excite it further.]
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He also remembers the way Lucius had been quick to anger that night when he spoke ill of Fulgrim, so for now his wrath will simmer beneath the surface, patient.
As he watches Lucius' expression of deranged adulation, spite rises in Eridanus' gullet, and the idea of doling out punishment for mentioning Fulgrim eagerly bites at his thoughts. Knife-edged opal wraps around Lucius' wrist, drawing those tracing claws over his own face freely. He guides padded fingers over the sharp, jagged edge of an opal-encrusted tusk.] To claim yourself to be the greatest duelist in your galaxy, would be to claim that even you can best Fulgrim. [His words hint as something deeper, as if Lucius' own words elude to this war-father being less perfect than he claims him to be. It's a silent taunt, goading the man before him into admitting one or the other.
But starting a fight isn't what he needs right now, at least... not yet. So rather than biting down at the morsels at the edge of his mouth, he quietly turns his chin away from Lucius' touch, and takes another sip of his coca wine. Perhaps the drink will calm his fury, rather than excite it further.]