Turn 40

"I could be of help."
    Ibn Fadil spins around, trying to locate the source of the voice. "Pros-what?" he asks a bit wildly, feigning somewhat more nervousness than he really feels.
    Emmett whispers to Pham, "If you still got that paralysis spell, get it ready for when the little booger shows himself." He then says more loudly, "I like my prostheses just fine, thanks. What do you think you could do better?"
    Pham has been looking around trying to find the creature, and making sure to find his back to the wall, and hoping there's no hidden trapdoor beneath his feet. He whispers back, "Emmett, I've got the hold spell ready - I just don't know if it'll work on a Xixchil. If nothing else, I can stop him from casting spells, which should even the odds a little." He takes cover at the far end of the row of cages, away from where the xixchil's voice seems to be coming from. Something stirs inside as he passes.
    "The possibilities are endless! Perhaps a crushing claw, or fine manipulators like our _friend_ Gorn?" The momentary sharpening of menace in the xixchil's voice sends the dwarf cringing back into his shadow. "Some sentients just don't know how to display gratitude. It would be difficult to match the original leg, but I'm sure we can come up with something given time."
    "Or maybe you're just producing shoddy workmanship? Face it, a hand is pretty versatile on its own. Heck, even this," Emmett waves his mounted knife in the air, "can be quickly adapted for a variety of uses."
    The half man shrugs. "A crushing claw, it does what, one thing? How often do I need to crush things? I dunno, buggy. I just don't think you're everything you claim to be. Outmoded. Overspecialized. Pity, that."
    Val slowly moves himself away from the edge of the level he is on and concentrates on locating where the voice is coming from. He fingers the one dagger lightly as his other hand draws yet another, readying himself for whatever may come next.
    Impressed by Emmett's baiting technique, ibn Fadil looks at him and waits for the xixchil's reaction.
    "Kt kt. Of course you may have as many limbs as you like," the insectoid replies cheerfully. "Tentacles are quite versatile, if that is your interest. I believe I could fit up to four onto your upper skeletal structure without requiring too many additional modifications. As for specialization... it serves its purposes." He's moving as he speaks, in the direction of the inner wall that connects this large room to the rest of the citadel.
    Well, ibn Fadil thinks, if baiting it is not going to work ...
    Emmett stops and looks down at his chest, a shocked look on his face. "Where? No, seriously, how the heck could you fit four more limbs on here?"
     "Wherever they'd be most useful, of course."
    ... something more direct is called for; at least he is more or less behind the creature now. The half-elf looks at Nyala, not as a signal but simply because this could be the last time he sees her. Then, quickly but cautiously, he starts moving up behind where the xixchil seems to be -- hoping that as he gets closer, its voice or its footsteps will give him a better idea of its exact location.
    It is a quite difficult variant of blind-man's-bluff he's playing; he can hear the faint scritch of its feet on the stone, the puff of aspiration through spiracles in its sides. There is a sudden skittering sound as it moves away -- not very far, but it's clearly aware of his presence. He realizes that it's headed toward the door in the lowest level of the cavern.
    Emmett keeps trying. "No, I mean, well, I just can't see enough space on my torso for that many limbs. Besides, why have one crush, one grab, one fine manipulator? Why not just have one hand that does all of them a little and a bunch of tools to improve things. Your method just seems...clumsy."
    "When one is accustomed to awkwardness, grace itself may seem alien. Kt. I look forward to discussing the philosophy of design with you, biped. Assuming there is anything left with which to speak. In my years of wandering I have found one design upon which I have been unable to improve. Though you may," he adds with a hissing laugh, "find it overspecialized."
    Several things happen in very quick succession. Everyone hears the hum of a door mechanism as the invisible xixchil manipulates the control. Ibn Fadil lunges blindly and feels his blade strike *something;* there is a high, angry chittering as the wizard lapses back into his own language. Above them all a swift scuttle draws the eye as Gorn finally nerves himself to leave his hiding place and begins climbing up to the top level, his double hands finding sure grip on the seemingly smooth stone.
    Meanwhile, Alais squirms through the hatch into the flitter. Made for elves, he finds it something of a tight fit. It's been stripped of its helm, but still holds a few personal items belonging to the late pilot, who probably also owned the arm that third skullbird is nibbling on.
    

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