You raise your arms and he obliges, grabbing your claws and hoisting you back to your feet with a grunt of effort. You spin around to face the rest of the proceedings feeling, you hope, a bit less punch-drunk. Just in time to witness your saviour skidding to a stop before you, eddies of wind rippling all around him, and recalling his spear. He's standing before you in a fighter's crouch, one arm raised as if to ward the two of you from approaching, but you smell the magic in the air before you even see it. His arm, rough grey sharkskin wrapped tight around bulging muscle, is tattooed from shoulder to wrist in regular geometric patterns. Solid bands of ink, diamonds for texturing, shapes like zephyrs of wind emerging from the negative space in places. Black turns to luminous teal as his spear yanks itself from the lip of the fountain and goes spinning through the air back to his webbed, clawed hand with a meaty thwack. The weapon in question looks to have been carved from a single piece of bone from some wretched deep-sea monster - with, curiously enough, three recesses for Arosan-style runestones in the shaft. You manage to glimpse the wind rune he has slotted before he lowers the spear and adjusts his grip, holding the weapon at the ready.
He looks back over his shoulder at the two of you, shooting you a wide shark-toothed grin. "Gents." A grey-and-white aquean with the brightest turquoise eyes you've ever seen, absolutely rippling with muscle - and you can tell because good lord is he not wearing much. A necklace of runestones, a single belt over his shoulder for carrying pouches, a large metal stud set in the leather just below his dorsal fin, and little more than a swimsuit - one that has to ride scandalously low to make room for his shark-tail at that. Reducing drag in the water is one thing, but really now. With that much skin exposed you can see his legs are inked just like his arm, subtly different patterns but definitely the same overall style, extending straight up over his rear and past his hips like some strange pair of tattooed-on tights.
He notices where you're looking. He clicks his tongue twice and winks at you. You'd be blushing hard enough to blow the scales off your face if you could.
