Clone Wars Campaign Recap Extra: Repercussions

This is the last of the short stories set between Session 33 and Session 34. This one, written by Arresta's player, is an interesting character study of Stefan Cassadine and his reaction to finally being reunited with her after almost two years of searching--and having that reunion take place in the shadow of Arresta's former lover, Jedi Tarn Tamarand. Short pieces like this are a great way to get a sense of what NPCs are thinking, since sometimes their motivations don't always come out in the course of the game.

Repercussions

Space is cold and silent. Even aboard ship, with the steady hum of the engines, there was precious little sound, especially in the dead of night. Reflecting on the quiet, Stefan Cassadine considered the incongruity of that statement. In his line of work, he’d often found the middle of the night to be quite a lively time….but not now.

Sipping the expensive synthale that the Corsair Jocasta had provided, he grimaced slightly at the bitter after-taste. Or, perhaps, the bitterness came from something else. Seated in a comfortable armchair, with a book on his lap, he glanced over at the cabin’s other occupant, his wife, Arresta, fast asleep, her blonde hair spread out across the pillow. She murmured something in her sleep and turned to her side, seeking a more comfortable position, all without waking.

He was profoundly grateful to have his wife back – and to find that precious little time had passed for her. Only his relief that she was safe and that the child was well tempered his carefully controlled rage. She was so beautiful…and still so foolishly stubborn. In other circumstances, he could admire her determination – it was one of the many qualities that had attracted him to her in the first place.

Following their departure from Endregaad, they had argued for hours. Or, rather, he had raged at her and she had listened. He had run so long on the tide of his anger, that it had taken quite some time for him to realize that the conversation was suspiciously one-sided. Normally, Arresta had too much spirit to let him get away with this, no matter that she was to blame – but this time, she had sat, quietly contrite in the face of his tirade.

He’d finally turned to face her, another blistering phrase rolling off of his tongue, when he’d noticed the tears trailing down her cheeks. It had startled him into silence. She wasn’t given to crying. Biting back the things he had been about to say, he’d instead retrieved a handkerchief and sat down beside her. She accepted it gratefully and dabbed her cheeks.

Surprisingly, she’d leaned her head against his shoulder. Instinctively, he’d put his arm around her and she’d whispered quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then, shoulders shaking, she’d completely broken down, sobbing into his chest. The storm of her weeping had taken time to subside and when it finally did, he’d guided her to bed and let her fall fitfully asleep, holding his hand.

There was no denying it. His wife was an emotional wreck – fragile, devastated….far from the confident creature that had absconded from the Jedi temple, leading her compatriots on a merry chase into what was undeniably a perilous and nearly deadly underground temple. He could only find one reason for that.

Leaving the cabin quietly, so as not to wake Arresta, Stefan slipped outside, placing a finger to his lips to signal Xam to keep silent. Leaving the Aqualish to guard the door, he’d stealthily made his way aft, to where the remaining “passengers” were being housed for this journey.

Approaching the room assigned to the strange furry creature and the two Jedi, he paused, still out of sight. Easing a small devise out of his pocket he flicked it open, revealing an angled mirror which allowed him to glance around corners. A simple, inexpensive tool, it was singularly useful. Now, it showed him that the Knight, Atel, was asleep on a top bunk, but the other fellow, Doxen was seated, partially out of sight and fully awake, rifle resting on his knees. Clever, that fellow.

The reason for that caution was resting, silent and unmoving. The Jedi Padawan Tarn Tamarand, apparently still in his Force trance, unresponsive and unaware of the world around him. By all accounts, this was the state that they’d found him in and nothing any of them could do had succeeded in bringing Tamarand to consciousness. In fact, if Arresta and the others were to be believed, he had never even known that they had come after him. In this instance, Stefan’s instincts said that his wife’s story was truthful.

Now, the impetuous young fool who had cost them all so much, lay like a lump of clay on his bunk, equally unaware of surroundings, allies or foes. Not far away from the Padawan was an air vent that no doubt connected to an adjoining room.

No one in Stefan Cassadine’s line of work went through life without making enemies and he certainly had his fair share. Still, there were few in the galaxy for whom he bore true malice. Stefan had always preferred to operate in the shadows, seeking elegant solutions to his problems, unless an abstract lesson was called for. He had often, when speaking with his colleagues and debating various methods for resolving difficulties, championed the well-planned poisoning or the carefully plotted sniper shot. For Tamarand he would make an exception.

This young Jedi…this boy…had done more damaged to Stefan’s carefully crafted plans by accident than most men could do purposefully. What made it worse, it was increasingly clear that he, Stefan, had woefully underestimated the hold that Tarn had over Arresta. He had presumed her affair with the Jedi to have been a momentary indiscretion, brought about by her loneliness and his own absence. It appeared it may have gone deeper than that…

He had a momentary fantasy of releasing something through that vent, of incapacitating Doxen and Atel and of slipping inside, wrapping his hands around Tamarand’s throat and squeezing…His fingers tightened involuntarily at the thought.

Two things stopped him and sent his silent footsteps back in the direction of his own cabin and his slumbering wife. Slipping into bed beside her, he pulled her to him, possessively. In her sleep, she didn’t protest and he enjoyed the long absent feel of her warm body next to his, of the pleasant, flowery scent of her hair.

Yes, there were reasons to leave Tamarand alive, at least for now. The first was the vision that Arresta claimed to have had while in the temple. Based on what he’d been able to pick up from Arresta herself and from Jocasta, such things were definitely possible and he would risk no hurt to the child. Still, despite the sincerity that shone out of her eyes, he suspected that his wife was lying with every word that tumbled from her pretty mouth….

And that was the second reason that the Padawan would continue to live. He had taken something that didn’t belong to him and a quick death was insufficient punishment for that. Others, simple bounty hunters plying their trade, had died suffering for daring to threaten what belonged to him. What then was due to the man who had done so much more than merely threaten, but had taken what he had no right to touch?

He knew that Arresta feared he would have Tarn killed. She needn’t have worried. He intended to see that Tamarand had the best possible care and if a way could be found to rouse him from his current state, that was all the better.

Arresta murmured again in her sleep and Stefan rocked her gently, soothing her until she drifted off again. Yes, it would be better for everyone if young Tarn woke up. Only then could Stefan look in his eyes and watch for the penitence that was his due. And, in the mean time, he could have the pleasure of devising infinitely enjoyable ways of bringing that penitence about….and with it, his total victory over such an unworthy adversary.

Slowly, Stefan Cassadine joined his wife in slumber and his unconscious mind bore fruit, plans full of torture, destruction and pain. They were plesasant dreams.

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