Yet the moment the group steps off the shuttle, and before the gangway can be retracted, a small chest a mimic latches onto Leo, then leaps onto Mikey, then books it into the shuttle. Illex peers around the frame with a plaintive wail before vanishing into the shuttle to hide away with only Rina for company.

Attention turns back to the docking bay of the small space station and the writing on the floor.

Language:
Pass: Mikey (17), Bass (Nat 20) Blues (16)
Fail: Zero (9), Roll (9), Leo (5)

Roll, Leo, and Zero dismiss it; cool, but not what they are here for. Mikey and Blues, though, recognise it: It’s Aurebesh - the Triceraton language. Not something typically found in Council Space. Odd, but they have better things to do.

Bass, though, being a Dinosaur Nerd, knows that the Triceraton language was named after the Original Three Emperors and the Herd -the First Herd- they came from. It takes from the first two syllables of their names. As to why it might be here: Obviously this is a space station that could have belonged to them then been abandoned for whatever reason! However, as confident in his assessment, this is just the docking bay, and while he takes some quick photos... he is with a group.

And something is off about this whole thing and it’s not the outline of two cloaked ships Leo noticed on landing. No. It’s something else.

It's the silence. Unnatural and eerie as emergency lighting casts long, stark shadows that only serve to emphasise how empty everything is. It feels almost liminal, as if the group has intruded into a realm they shouldn’t have.

It is deafening and heavy in its stillness. Each step forward is almost deafeningly loud in an area that feels profoundly transitional, like a waiting room between worlds, perpetually holding its breath as it radiates an intense feeling of recent, inexplicable abandonment.

Comms are down, and the way forward feels like a threshold, like a choice to be made. A choice to Somewhere. To nowhere.

The only path is forward. So, onware the heroes go.

Narrow corridors lined with sterile off-white panels curve past small, functional modules designed for smaller species, maybe 16ft at best. A cramped mess hall with chairs pushed neatly under tables. A tiny observation bay where the star field outside seems impossibly loud against the inner quiet. A small rec area with chairs perfectly aligned. A lab bench wiped clean. A barracks with the sleep pods open, the beds within neatly made.

Each room has sealed lockers and blank control consoles.

There are no signs of struggle, merely an empty, unsettling space filled with familiar shapes that the occasional flicker of lights distorts and twists. Sometimes, they all think they see a shadow on the wall, watching and waiting.

Blink, and it's gone. Blink, and it’s easy to become disoriented.

Perception:
Pass: Leo (18) Skittles (15), Roll (19), Mikey (17), blues (22)
Mid-Pass: Bass (14)
Fail: Zero (10)

Zero lags behind, confused about which way they should be going, while Bass is rather very loudly opinionated that, yes, he totally knows the way. Luckily, the rest of the group, headed by Blues, knows the way forward.

Yet when they round the next corner, they see the following on the floor.

From hallowed ground, I claim you whole,
Children, 'neath my control.
The past erased, a new truth shown,
My craft, my care, entirely my own.

My dearest darlings, stories spun,
No truth remains, but what is won.
In every curve, my vision lies,
Reflected in your eager eyes.

Mine you are, by hand I mold,
Children, as stories told.
The seeds I planted, start to bloom,
Sealed in my embrace, escaping gloom.

It's fresh; it can't be more than an hour old.

Trio of Bolts
Attack 1: 19 (Miss)
Attack 2: 12 (Miss)
Attack 3: 14 (Miss)

Grusa smiles under the mask before the fae moves forward with all the worry a father would have. "You monsters won't take my darlings! Not my children!"

Ugh, maybe a smaller room would have suited, but this is to be a grand thing of misery and woe. Starting with the turtle looking the least willing to fight, who is just within range. Leonardo.

With a wing flick, Grusa summons three needle-thin lightning bolts and sends them at him in rapid fire.

Alas, the attack hisses, probably due to distance, but the fae remains in place, for now.

Attack 1: 26 (hits)
Damage: 62

"Ah!" Grusa yelps as the arrow strikes true, the energy sinking into the fae's storm cloud-like skin. Interestingly, Grusa doesn't bleed, but the fae seems to... spark. As if to bleed lightning itself.