As the hazy twilight of the mysterious kingdom begins to settle onto the land, our adventurers find themselves arriving at a small hamlet. Their arrival does not appear surprising, having journeyed with the officious arbiter to the village, and the townsfolk wander about with their end-of-day activities. A plethora of familiar people go about their business, a farm hand argues with a colleague about the work day, a pair of gossiping Bajoran girls sit by the central well, a Vulcan man sits stoically on the porch of the tavern nursing a steaming drink.

The faces seem vaguely familiar, but nothing stands out particularly. Everything appears rather pastoral and pleasant.

The arbiter is already jumping to the floor, inspecting the goods and taking his personal belongings from the cart, muttering as he goes. With no other instruction, he begins making his way over to a nearby house as Shaw and Orlan step into his path.

They begin probing the frustrated man with questions, attempting to encourage him to continue travelling through the night towards the citadel, where they hope to find answers. He flatly refuses, stating the roads are too dangerous to travel at night as rebels, beasts, and other unnamed dangers are likely to prey on them. Shaw notices an honest worry in his voice and pushes further, but the arbiter is adamant that once the sun goes down, they cannot go on. Shaw takes the opportunity to comment on the lack of proper management by the lord if the roads are unsafe. The arbiter states that he will not be carrying on, the party are welcome to, but will be without his protection. Shaw notes that they saw a broken outpost on the road, where they encountered the Gorn, and their mind flits back to the comments made by the farm women where they first arrived about dangers in the night.

The group decide to stay in the town overnight and carry on with the convoy in the morning. Shaw attempts to force the arbiter to provide them board with him but he dismisses the possibility out of hand. After a tense faceoff, where the arbiter uses the hulking form of his Jem’Hadar guard as a threat, he departs towards the house. The door closes with a thud, and the party are left alone in the town square.

As the group takes in the surroundings, Orlan notices the strangeness of the lamp posts that are coming into existence, tiny energetic orbs hovering beneath these metallic arms. He takes a close look, and despite his lack of a tricorder, he notes they are similar to the sort of tiny fission explosions he might find in a small craft’s generators, held in some sort of magnetic field. The electromagnetic hum is palpable, and once again, they are struck by the strangeness of the advanced technology set against the pastoral surroundings.

Shaw decides to head into the nearby tavern and hovers around listening to the general conversation. He notes most of the conversations are benign, with some mentions of rebels hiding in the woodlands, but he does notice there is a wide variety of species around, and all are directly connected to the Federation. He also notes they are all speaking Federation Standard (English). He approaches the bar and attempts to gather some more information, quick to clarify that they were travelling alongside rather than with the arbiter. He attempts to gather more information about the arbiter, suggesting he might be disappearing soon, but the barman seems hesitant to even engage in a discussion that could be sedition.

Remaining outside, Orlan, monitors the the cart and its attached drones and watches them pull to one side as the Jem’ Hadar begins to settle down for the night. The surroundings seem calm and pleasant, almost the epitome of what one would expect in a small town, by a river. It seems quiet, but is it too quiet?

Shaw approaches the two chatting women, who seem unhappy at the interruption, and with bravado introduces himself as ‘High Representative  James Rupert Maximillian Sir Shaw of the Gorn Kingdom’.

“I am here to topple some governments, these beers are for you, and I believe you may have some information that’s interesting for me,” he announces.

“You want to topple governments?” They reply with a smirk that would make popular cheerleaders jealous.

Shaw notes they were talking about rebels and continues to attempt to probe them, but they are reluctant to reveal any information to a stranger, instead mocking him for his seemingly strange comments about vegetarian Gorn. He suggests that he may be here to solve their problems, but with a bemused look, they dismiss him back to the square.

The team rendezvous and discusses their options. Shaw feels there is more information to get out of the arbiter, and in his particular fashion, believes they need some weapons to convince him to part with the info. Orlan notes that whilst he’s been eavesdropping in the square, he’s noted that the rebels seem like an omnipresent threat, but there are no specifics about their make-up or aims. He and Lee suspect that it might be a propaganda tactic by the established government or some sort of demonisation of a group they’ve yet to meet. All the general public seems to have is rumour rather than any actual facts.

As the night draws in, Shaw goes on the hunt for a weapon, his history with Klingons rising to the forefront. Near the back of the inn in a comfortable outside seating area, he encounters two wood cutters, a burly Bajoran man and an equally burly Andorian woman. He tries to convince them to let him borrow an axe, and whilst they are hesitant at first, he manages to win them over. To his surprise, the drunken pair agree, on the condition that he can cleanly split a nearby log.

The question then becomes, how much wood could a Shaw chuck if a Shaw could chuck wood?

The answer is none. Despite several attempts, Shaw is unable to put enough heft into the axe strikes. Despite his familiarity with survival activities and camping, the heavy medieval axe bests him.

Lee and Orlan both make attempts to split the wood and secure the axe, but Orlan’s demonstrable lack of athletic ability earns him a defensive comment from Shaw.

“I can’t jump, but I can lift.” He retorts caustically.

Unfortunately, none of the three are able to split the wood, and they depart the pair axeless.

Orlan opts to sleep outside, taking the opportunity of a clear night to channel his astronavigation knowledge. He notes the stars seem familiar, but are in completely the wrong location. It appears the maps have been smushed together, with stars that should be light-years apart in close proximity. As he considers the night sky, he is struck again with a sense of the world being familiar but wrong, almost plucked from a dream.

Shaw notices an open window to the kitchen, where a plethora of kitchen equipment seems to beckon outward. As the kitchen maid departs, he manages to lean in to the window with Lee’s help; unfortunately, the knife block is out of reach, and he is forced to climb in completely. He falls through the window fully and quickly tries to assess the room, but as the voice of the Tellerite maid indicates she is returning, he blindly grabs a knife from the block and throws himself back out the window to where Lee is waiting.

As Lee departs to settle down under the stars as well, Shaw makes his way towards the house where the arbiter has locked himself away, steadfast in his belief that he can prise more information from the man with a helping of terror. As he creeps towards the window, finding it ajar, he nimbly slips inside and begins padding across the large open ground floor.

He slowly makes his way up the stairs as the noise of the town outside dies down, leaving him alone with the creaking of threatening floorboards and the sharp intake of his own breath.

Step by step he ascends the stairs, the silver blade of the knife in hand, catching the pale moonlight that now rolls through the tall windows in waves.

As he reaches the landing, he spies the form of the arbiter in the worn poster bed, the white light seeping in through the window casting him in a ghoulish shadow.

His breath catches as he prepares to make his move.

But a dark patch of red catches his eye as it blossoms out from the arbitor’s chest and onto the white linen that has become his shroud. A look of fear and surprise is etched onto the man’s rotund face as the blood continues to flow from his body.

As Shaw’s mind begins to race, he catches a shadow in the corner of his eye, standing in the large bedroom windows, silhouetted against the bright marble moon.

A tall form, clad in familiar blad armour with curving, scaled collar bones cut sharply by the pale, milky moonlight.

After a long moment, the Cardassian shadow speaks with a low rumbling voice.

“You are not meant to be here.”