The pond rippled as a figure emerged. He wrung water from his hair, and scars traced across his broad chest.

"Och, well met, traveler!" He boomed, with a thick accent of his homeland. "Cormac Otterfang McTavish, at your service, and resident knight of this fine pond, or, as the landlubbers call it, the gate o' Aquaros!"

"Aye, don't mind the lack o' fancy plate. Metal's a pain when you're dancin' in the water. Besides…" He patted his muscular bare legs. "These are my trusty steeds."