"Declaration: This one 're-dots', thin-skins."
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"Declaration: This one once act as young thin-skin artisan-caste one. This one not like artisan-caste role: this one work hard, get little eat-eat when... like as such."
"Declaration: This one not like as greatly as when hunter-caste one."
"Query: 'I Cut Your Throat' is thin-skin... wording as 'You can not take that'?"
The sandy thri-kreen's antennae wave to and fro in confusion. It makes a clicking sound in its gullet and emits a pheromone stench like sulfur. "Query: What are thin-shells taking easily? Eat-eat? Shiny thing? Little... he struggles for the right words rodent with good skin with such wearing on thin shell and taste nice?" "Query: What is 'it'?"
"Declaration: This one... not this one."
Quit rattling your bone boxes. You barmy lot of sods'll be penned in the dead book if you don't stow it.
"Congratulatory Declaration: This one wish great luck to new clutch union."
"Warning declaration: Aso-one is hunger-one. Dangerous hunger-one." "Suggestion: This one could kill long-ear, clutch get eat-eat. Aso-one not eat eat such tiny insect which stay in....... thing."
Kirrish continues chatting up his new ladyfriend. "So, how do you feel about filthy tricksy long-ears? Yeah, I think they're pretty tasty."
Gratitude Declaration: This one thank the eye in sky. Thanks you, eye in sky!
"Declaration: This one grow nicely in skill. This one ready get not-dead kill-kill."
Kirrish takes a minute to survey the undead. The wall, the templars. The breach. The party. He shakes his head, then gently pats Zuko and Faindriac on the back. "Good luck.", he says, just loud enough to hear. Then, he attempts to scale the wall himself.
"Wall has holes like a bug's head." "Irritated Declaration: 'Ug head not nearly hold holes like delicate, squishy city dweller head. Recitation: Two hear-holes, two scent-holes, one eat-hole. Add two waste-holes, entire thing. Threatening Idea: This one add holes, you not shut yours."
Kirrish grabs some large pieces of wood, stone or bone to use as clubs. "Query: Will us not get cornered, dead on one side, deadly wall on other we do this? How does clutch get deads die, not throw clutch into wall?" "Critical declaration: Idea has holes like wall."
"Declaration: Recall, Kreen, we need only go quicker than city dwellers, not not-dead, should wise tactic not work."
Kreen to the Kreen:
He addresses the "Pinkies" in his broken Common:
Thri-Kreen: "Greetings, egg-cousin. I am Kirrish-Kreshk-Skiklik, hunter from the far wastes and this is one called Skarsnikt, fierce warrior and former gladiator. We have formed our own misfit clutch in Raam with a wise aaracokra spirit-speaker and several soft-shelled city dwellers.Your weapons are quite fine; you should take pride in their construction. Long have I hoped to once more hunt with the Chatkcha that were taken from me, though that is for another time. What has brought you to Raam and your present labors?" Kirrish tries to talk and work at the same time, not paying as much attention to the templars as he is to Kiltektet.
Even in the middle of what could be considered a serious crisis, Kirrish is lost for a moment in the female mantis' scent. Lust, homesickness and embarrassment flood through the air around him. Shaking himself, he returns her greeting and starts picking up heavy rocks and other detritus for wall-mending or templar crushing.
Without a word to the templars or the others, Kirrish starts working with the rest of the "citizens", trying to keep the templars between him and the undead. I'm going to try and size up the other press-ganged workers, take a look at this hole blasted in the wall.
Kirrish grabs a chair, if handy, to fend off the undead outside and bounds, cricketlike, after Skarsnikt. "Request: Not let house-owner hold cash; we not drink drinks, we get cash again."
On my initiative, I would like to grab a piece of fallen tavern to use like a makeshift club (or a big fallen beam, wielded in four arms like a greatclub) and start hacking into the undead. I'll roll if you think that's possible in one round, otherwise this bug is content. "Query: This...usual, city dweller cities? This one not see how wastes any greater danger..."
Initiative 13+4 dex= 17 Kirrish steps steadily out of cover, watching the new landscape of groaning softshells. "Declaration: Wise thin-shells don't ignore the '..ug'."
Kirrish quietly states in Thri-kreen to Faindriac and Skarsnikt: Thri-kreen
Spoiler:
Don't panic, don't run. Look casual and pay off the barkeep a little. We're better off here than out there. I'm going to calmly walk to that archway over there (no, don't look at it all at once) and take cover. Give me a minute, then see if you can follow. Quietly. Inform Malaki and Zuko, again, quietly. Keeping his eyes on the windows as if he is also transfixed by the storm, Kirrish slowly and nonchalantly walks to the archway.
Kirrish sizes up the twister, while still keeping an eye on our "fortunate" elven friend; he's thinking of an emergency plan should the cyclone move closer to the bar.
As the wind picks up and no delicious elves seem to be walking around outside the bar, Kirrish goes back in and stands near everyone else. The look he levels at Ilyen is as inscrutable as his multi-faceted eyes.
At the palanquin's inquiry, Kirrish does his best to be polite. "Answer: Not this now, thank you. We are liking as 'nonchalant', this now. We would like to work you another now, though"
Kirrish will scrutinize the people entering the bar, to see if they're anyone he's looking for.
Just loud enough to be heard by his comrades, Kirrish opines: "Instruction: We should go; not see one clutch need talk to. Likely not show or trick waiting to......go, quick. Sudden." Quietly, so only Skarsnikt (and Faindriac, if near) can hear/smell his Thri-kreen: Spoiler: "We should step outside and see if anyone follows. Worse comes to worse, we can send someone else in or come back ourselves to wait for this gladiator."
Kirrish keeps the elf's location in mind but continues to focus on finding Mysterious Contact #3. He never turns his back to the long-ear, however.
Kirrish strides into the establishment and looks about for their contact and any suspicious looking elves (which, to him, means every elf ever) or invisible arsonists.
Singing to himself in Thri-kreen... Thri-Kreen
Spoiler:
"Humans, humans
Good to eat Yummy hands Tasty feet Halflings, halflings
Muls, muls
But, Elves, elves
...he pauses a moment, to think up further murderous lyrics to add to his final stanza...
"Declaration: This one goes." Kirrish then heads for the route down to the bottom floor.
Kirrish is perplexed by the unique pheremones that Aso has ejected into the air from the halfling's own scent glad. What emotion can the small one seek to express? Then, finally, he remembers that it's a waste organ he's smelling, not a communication one. How disgusting.
"Clearing declaration: Unadulterated, not controlled. Like Aso-one."
"Suggestion: Clutch Kreen, 'alaki, 'aindriac and others kill-yet-not-kill-with-hit-things should go, talking hit-things stay with others. This way, none are unready should unadulterated slaughter get necessary."
Kirrish pokes and prods the bone scaffolding, examines the leather walls. He's clearly baffled. "Declaration: At least one own such house dead already. Greatly get hot, easy...char with hot hot thing. This one liked Tik's. This one...regret loss, Tik and Tik's. And Gllurrsskkuu-skruk. Sad sad, gllurrsskkuu-skruk." The sandy thri-kreen sits down someplace out of the way in a corner or something, with his "ward" (the talking gythka) and tries to get some rest.
"Suggestion: Clutch should shelter where no allies get hurt house destroy. Low caste house good; no high caste thin-shells like in...water-house? Clutch stay dangerous shelter, know well stand watch. Know greater danger, use greater caution. Greater danger, greater....security."
Kirrish wordlessly hands Malaki a small wad of random clothing.
Kirrish turns to the city types in the party. "Query: You know way this talk talk city dweller nest? We go soon, so clutch there when that nest get ruined like Tik's." The maudlin scent of over-fermented wine belies the sandy Thri-kreen's sadness.
"This kreen confused. Why Radik stone-man cut himself? Him try attract bloodsucking insect? Him possessed by dagger ghosts? Him have head boiled by hot-hot sun?" "Suggestion: This one think it a sex thing."
Kirrish tries his best to avoid looking overly distraught, keeping a distance from the templars. He looks over the crowd for any more suspicious sloshy pinklings, particularly any disgusting long-ears. Definitely for some disgusting long-ears. ...but he's a bit too distracted formulating conspiracy theories involving talking weapons, long-eared psionicists and a nest full of jankx with a desire for revenge.
"Scared, are you, bug?" "Sarcastic Query: Suicidal, are you, thin-shell?"
"Order: We go. Now. Rear. Run good; hit-hit not as good. Try get clutch giantkin into not large clutches, we decide hit-hit. Go. Now."
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