Lanestol observed others as they placed their items among the vast piles. He did not notice one of his comrades disobeying their guide's orders as he was more intrigued with Orky noticing an item from among a fallen of his race. He sensed the artifact's remnant energy, as though a piece of its former owner's soul lingered upon the helmet. He could not pick up exactly what, though, and let the orc have his moment to lay the fallen warrior to rest.

He snapped back to reality. He hadn't been able to pick up on that before. He was strictly a medical professional, able to tell live from dead about as well as the next doctor. He seemed to hear voices calling from the treasures and trinkets strewn out and piled high before them. Voices of fallen, of those lost adrift in space and in unknown reaches of planets. They started to sound like they were talking over one another, and only grew louder as he continued to linger at the site.

Fortunately enough, Gorchek ordered them all back. Just as well, for he needed to find a place to quell these new voices he couldn't pick up on before. He filed in to board a shuttle back to the Stone-Turner, trying not to panic or let the adrenaline rush show in a cold sweat or tense sensation, though his eyes seemed betrayed his uncertain fear nonetheless. Who were these voices? How did they speak to him now? He tried to drown them out to avoid answering those questions.