Emerging from behind Yyrkoon, Morkhut apporaches the pool, cautiously staying out of its guardians' reach, but other than that, not really bothering to heed the fish-human's threats or his predatory smile. He finds these almost amusing, as a matter of fact. If either of them is a beastly amalgam of creatures from two realms that were not meant to mix, it's the aventi, rather than himself. The only thing that would make this condescension even more jarring than it currently is would be to hear such remarks from a merfolk.
At any rate, he is happy to let Yyrkoon's smooth silver tongue handle the talking; instead, he half-raises his free right hand, lazily drawing a symbol on the humid air of the cavern with a scaled finger and murmurs a short phrase. If this designated champion is ignorant enough to mistake it for cursing, well, so be it. As his eyes take on a faintly luminous bluish hue, he begins to meticulously inspect their surroundings, paying special attention on the pool, the gates and that inflated braggart with the trident – who knows, after all: the piercing gaze of a true arcanist may, perhaps, find some hidden depths to him.