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Eldín's face didn't change even when he noticed the pack of trolls surrounding them. It remained in it's default passive and withdrawn expression, for all the world like he was still walking along the sunny path that lead away from Rivendell instead of preparing to face the charge of a vicious monsters thirsty for blood. His eyes only took on an even sharper quality than usual. They were his only guidance in this world.
Calmly yet swiftly he drew his long, elegant blade. Aside from dancing, Eldín took joy from swordplay, which he excelled at. He fixed his eyes on one of the beasts and began to bound towards it, taking wild joy from this possibility to test his mettle.
The deaf and mute elf fought with the same grace that was present in his dancing. He leapt, twirled and stepped around his foes, confounding them and attacking them when they were at their most vulnerable.
Gracefully, he somersaulted over the swipe of a troll's crude club and leapt forward to slice a wound into the monsters soft knee joint. Swiftly he jumped back as the troll, driven to rage by the pain, dropped it's club and lashed out with one of it's huge paws.
As he prepared to attack again, Eldín allowed a smile to creep onto his face.
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