Xixchil

Xixchil (pronounced ZIX-chil) are mantislike insectoids and superb craftsmen. Scalpel-fine forelimb tips let them make metalwork, clothing and clockwork that rival the void artisans in intricacy and beauty.

Surgery is their great passion, perhaps their religion. To a xixchil the body is a bare house to be furnished, so each shell is inlaid, jeweled or grown into fantastic shapes. Those who deal with humans often go by names drawn from these changes, such as Hook, Crest, Spinner or Spike.

Their own speech mixes gestures, words and mandible clicks, and they can also form humanoid words.

Xixchil like to strike from ambush or advantage; one proverb runs 'Stealth equals efficiency.' Their forelimbs end in sharp retractable blades, and with these extended they slap twice per round for 2d6 each, feinting and dodging like boxers. An unmodified xixchil's shell gives it a base AC 5.

Their saliva is a chemical workshop. Given a taste of something the subject has worn, wielded or held close, a xixchil can brew an anesthetic keyed to that one person that keeps them unconscious through an operation, delivered by a normal bite or slipped into food or drink. The same skill makes poisons. It touches the target, tastes the residue on its blade to read the victim's chemistry, and bites on the next round. The custom poison usually paralyzes or kills within a round, and victims save vs. poison at -4. The xixchil may instead coat its blades with saliva, which stays potent for ten turns before breaking down.

Warrior xixchil buy weapon limbs (swords, maces, blowguns, man catchers) that deal normal damage for those weapons. Heavily modified veterans with extra limbs, speed or strength may attack up to six times a round with Armor Class as low as -4, hiring out as mercenaries, guards, gladiators or enforcers. They are rare, but as another proverb warns, 'Scalpels are knives,' and their skill with blades and poison makes them famous assassins.

They arose on a living world thick with predators, where self-modification and toxic chemistry carried them to the top. Females spun egg cases holding 10d10 eggs, and the hatchlings fought and devoured each other until only one or two survived. The murderous urge faded after the first week, which made civilization possible, but the winnowing continues today. Their society values the individual above the group: self first, then family, then everyone else.

Since taking to the stars, they have found a limitless supply of new worlds, creatures and goods to exploit for prestige. A few now seek more than survival and even join adventurers.

In a party a xixchil is a prized surgeon, precise down to single nerves and veins, and with priestly magic it can make a group nearly unbeatable. Their cellular chemistry lets them give clients body armor, extra strength, specialized limbs and more. Humanoid beauty means nothing to them, only function; one dwarf who wanted great strength ended up mighty and headless, since a head is merely a muscle anchor.

Any change a character requests is nonmagical, irreversible and functional. Ask for wings and you may get ones too big for dungeons, plus bigger lungs, a huge appetite and hollow bones. Work takes anywhere from a day to a fortnight per change, more for extensive jobs like body armor or super-strength, and skilled surgeons charge 2d10 x 100 gp per change depending on complexity. A hidden dart thrower is easy; a full makeover with a change of sex is not, though a rich fugitive might find it worthwhile.

They sculpt plants and animals too, selling winged kittens and flowering birds. Their starships are grown, with orchid gangways and leaf sails, and rival elven vessels while being easier to maintain, to the elves' dismay.