[Behemoth]

"I suppose that would be so, wouldn't it?"

Oh, so she was one of those. The not-quite-a-smile deflated into something that was most-definitely-a-frown as his gills reflexively flared out in irritation, straining against the collar he insisted on wearing. He didn't know anything about her people -he didn't really even know what her people were- but his people hadn't the luxury of dismissing technology.

"Funny, that. My people go without Valyarin technology too and we lead much shorter, dirtier lives for it."

His blade was drawn but rather than take her head on -better to be on the defensive than offensive so early in a match, that's what he thought- he side-stepped at nearly the last moment. However, he wasn't quite fast enough -the difference in gravity between his homeland and here was slight but enough to bother him- to move wholly out of the way in time, earning him a graze along the hip. He growled something in his native language that was by no means polite or anatomically possible and slashed his blade in an arc towards her chest.

"We do, in fact, have names. I am Behemoth of the Eastern Badlands, called Behel."

Well, that was as best as it translated, anyway, and he doubted she'd have the patience or he the breath at the moment for how it went in his native tongue.

"Of course, my whole planet is badlands, you see, in every sense of the word."