A bizarre craft, clearly not Andalite nor Yeerk in design, drifted slowly down through the atmosphere of the asteroid that held the Galaxy's Edge Space Bar. The hovering object was barely even a ship, really. Just a flat square platform, about twenty feet across, supported at the corners by the four parallelogram-sided blocks which were its engines. The whole thing seemed to be made of brightly-colored plastic, in haphazard rectangular patterns of many different colors, with the sole exception of a silver dome, about ten feet across, that rose out of the back of the main platform. This dome's smooth metallic surface was a stark contrast with the gaudy colors and sharp edges of the rest of the ship. But, for the most part, the only thing between the craft's sole inhabitant and the vacuum of space was a barely blue-tinted force field, which flickered off as soon as the ship touched down upon the pavement of the Bar's parking lot.
A lone Iskoort walked down from the ship, carrying a bulging blue cloth satchel nestled under the third elbow of his right arm. In his clawed and tentacle-like hands he held a device that looked like a small computer, except that there was a bronze rod going horizontally through the monitor, and both ends of this rod held glass orbs, each of which was about half the size of the 'computer' part. The Iskoort gripped the device by these orbs as he intently studied the screen in the middle.
His build was tall for an Iskoort, but slight, almost fragile or whimsical-looking compared to the average Iskoort (if there were such a thing as an 'average' Iskoort). His stalk eyes were relatively huge for his vulture-like face, giving him a perpetual expression of rapt attention. Those familiar with his species, and the physiology of their various castes, would have recognized him as an Iskoort of the Superstition and Magic Guild.
He looked up from the screen, but did not put down the odd crystal-ball-computer-device, as he walked towards the Galaxy's Edge Space Bar through the mostly-derelict shipyard, loping along across the gravel in his awkward-looking backwards-kneeling Iskoort way. He glanced in passing at another parked spacecraft which seemed to have at least two other species of alien around and within it, at least that the Iskoort could see. He wore an enthusiastically curious expression as he looked at them, as if part of him sorely wished he could stay and talk to the fascinating strangers. But it seemed that the Iskoort had more important business elsewhere, and so he reluctantly hurried on by.
He had to drop his strange device to his side for just a moment in order to open the door to the Bar, but as soon as he had done so, he brought the device back up, grasping it protectively with both hands again. As he entered the Bar, the soft but slightly grating wheeze of his accordion-like diaphragm rose slightly in pitch with anticipation, and he announced in public thought-speak, <Greetings! I am Truth Seeker, Grub of Soul Caller, brother of Name Collector. I am here to certify that this establishment is free of the spirits of fictional characters.>