In the armory, Curufin leans against a wall and watches the dark-haired man practice his moves. That man is unquestionably a superior swordsman. It is a pleasure to watch him, and it is hopeful to think that such men might fight at his side, if there is any fighting to be done in Asgard. Which Curufin expects there will be. There is always a war, everywhere, sooner or later.

The Elf is all in black, black armor, black clothing, and his sword is sheathed in a black-and-silver scabbard. His shoulder-length hair is jet black and his eyes are a luminous dark gray, and those eyes are curious and profoundly alive.

"Oh yes, I'm trained to the sword. And clearly, so are you! Have you been in this strange place long? I've just arrived."