Saga - Legends “Rotten”, PG rating answer to the Monster Challenge, OCs and others

Title: “Rotten”, an answer to the Monster Challenge

Author: AzureAngel2

Co-editor and muse: @DarthUncle

Main beta editor: @WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

Length: one-shot

Rating: PG

Note: Please be aware that this story contains scenes of violence, and references to abuse and trauma recovery!

Summary: @Kahara has given me number 23 of her challenge, which is the word “Rotten”. It goes with the following description by her.

So I came up with a set of stories that contain a large amount of SW characters. Some canon, a few legends and even my own OCs. All of them have to deal with smells in certain situations of their life. Plus the will of the Force weaves them together in weird pairings.

Time frame: The story takes place between 51 BBY and 2 ABY.

Places of choice: Vodran, Naboo, Coruscant, Lothal, Byss... in so far, to be continued!

Futher reader warning: Please excuse my weird English! I am German. English is only my Second language!

Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company


What a wonderful (TERRIBLE) smell you’ve discovered! This type of monster carries a whiff of something unpleasant. On one hand, there’s not much sneaking around unnoticed for these creatures. But the rotten smells can also be overwhelming and add to the frightful aura of a monster when encountered up close.


1. Harra the Hutt, Vodran, 64 BBY:

Knives cut through solid substances, while liquid bubbled in cookery pots and fat sizzled in frying pans. The various ovens seemed to be hotter than Tatooine’s twin suns at noon.

The palace kitchen was a hive of activity since it was known that their mistress would host a guest of honour tonight. Someone who had never been to Vodran in the first place.

Of late Lady Harra had started to export exotic animals throughout the known galaxy. That came with certain financial risks. Therefore a healthy connection to the InterGalactic Banking clan was of the utmost importance to her. This was why she wanted to offer more than her usual diet which consisted of gorgs, slime pods and Klatooine paddy frogs.

While Vraugruckt Helk shouted his commands, preferably all in Gamorrean, he felt like an admiral in the midst of battle. With slow and handicapped soldiers at hand.

“Forget about the horned melon! It has to wait. What about the Kodari rice? The Noryath meatbread has to go into the oven. And were is the Cracknel?”

All of a sudden Her Ladyship was there, and she asked a question that took her chéf aback.

“Can it be done?” she stressed afterwards.

The Gamorrean had been a cook for more than twenty years. In that time he had dealt with a lot of protein sources in one way or the other. But the question that had been just posed to him made him speechless. He grunted in total disbelief, his snout half open.

A small part of him hoped that his current employer was only joking with him. And his mistress was known to have a wicked sense of humour, that had deadly consequences for others.

He glanced up to the unbelievable large bulk that was her body and that blocked the entrance area. Her facial expressions were hard to read, which was always the trouble with the slug-like race she originated from. There were no emotions showing whatsoever. But her voice clearly proved that she still was serious about the issue at hand.

“Can you cook it, or not?” the Hutt asked with a booming voice, while her large tail swung around impatiently.

Dianoga were native creatures. And therefore easily accessible to a certain extend. There would be resistance though.

But he had even larger misgivings. Some folk said that the large omnivorous Cephalopods possessed a primitive tribal culture and were religious.

Finally, the Gamorrean answered in accented Huttese. “But I am not sure if Master Damask and his human aid are going to be very fond of such special treat. Perhaps they...”

How she managed to squeeze through the door frame without breaking it was beyond his comprehension.

While she crawled towards him ever so slowly, he was frozen in sheer terror. The only action he could preform was to gaze into her huge orange eyes. There was no escape, unless he was prepared to run into the cold store and lock himself in.

When Lady Harra lowered her massive skull towards him, her breath was so foul that it almost swept the chéf off his feet.

“There is always the possibility of roasted pork.”



2. Mandré Antigone Vané Dorje, Naboo, 51 BBY:

Fresh rain had a sweet, evocative smell. Her half-brother, Sheev, had once explained to her that a mixture of plant oils, bacterial spores and ozone were responsible for this phenomena.

He even had introduced a pretty word to her. It described the scent of the air right after the actual rain shower: ’petrichor’.

Mandré, barely out of her teens, smiled, while her fingers carefully stroked over the tight skin of her belly.

Her sense of smell was unusually strong these days. It seemed that her advanced pregnancy made her more aware of her surroundings than ever before.

Since her baby’s sire was a Jedi knight, it was only logical that she would start to perceive the universe in much more meaningful ways. But she had not told Sheev anything about her musings.

She did not even know the man’s name. But she remembered how handsome he had been with his long, brown mane, his striking blue eyes and his impressive height. When he had addressed her, he had spoken with an accented voice, rich and musical alike. There had been a little lit, but that had made him even more irresistible.

As the waters of the Solleu River floated by steadily, Mandré allowed herself to lie back down in the wet grass, using her cloak as a blanket. There were still traces of a rainbow in the sky. She followed the lines with an eager index finger for a while.

Six months ago, she had meet the stranger at the Festival of Glad Arrival, which always hosted a number of colourful pageants and musical performances on the meadows of the Lake Country.

The staff of Convergence, the rural retreat of House Palpatine, had been given free for the occasion. And an extra pay.

Mandré had drank her first alcohol ever. Blossom wine. It had made her dance frolicsome, free from her private sorrows. Until she had basically danced right into the Jedi’s arms.

Now and then the young kitchen maid wondered what would become of her baby. Her father, Old Cosinga, would not welcome it at all. Perhaps he would even try to kill it off.

A familiar scent made her sneeze.

“Bless you!” said her half-brother immediately, who towered above her. “Still allergic against my perfume?”

She squinted against the sun.

Sheev looked like his usual self. His clothing immaculate and his red mane tamed by a hair band. But something was amiss.

His injuries would be as invisible as possible. Their father was taking no risks there.

Carefully, she breathed in.

“What happened to your tights?” she asked straight forward.

“Why would you ask that?” he gave back darkly, his good mood gone immediately.

The underlying scent of charred flesh was too strong for his ea de cologne to mask it.

She rose from the grass. “He used the poker on you, did he not?”

He shrugged, stiff and formal. “Rather me than you and the baby, wouldn’t you say?”

“But you are not are not a holiday roast, Sheev,” she sighed.

He shrieked back from her hands when she wanted to cup his face. “One fine day, I will repay his kind parenting. For the two of us.”

Her eyes grew wide in fear as she watched his fingers produce eerie sparks of blue fire.

“I will fry him into a crisp,” he swore full of contempt. “Or worse.”



3. Cosinga Nero Ignatius Palpatine, Naboo, 56 BBY:

The servants scattered throughout the house like a large pack of rats. Frantically they turned to cores that were not needed. And that no one had asked them doing. They held their heads low, averted their gazes. When they inhaled, they drew but quick, shallow breaths.

When they talked to one another, they only did so in hushed, frightened voices. Always scanning their surroundings for a possible intruder.

Since his return from the wine cellar their master, Cosinga Palpatine, stank abnormally. But not of alcohol as usual. He was completely sober.

With a creepy smile he had retired in the fireplace room, starring into the flames.

For reasons known to himself only, the elderly aristocrat had rummaged through one the garbage containers earlier on. By doing so, he must have cut himself for there was some blood on his robes. He did not bother to change though.

But that was not the only thing that bothered the staff of the Lake Country villa.

In addition, the heir of House Palpatine had returned prematurely from a trip off-world. With no regards for his mother’s price winning moon roses, Master Sheev’s ship had came straight down in one of the flower beds.

He had met his father in the backyard, exchanging a few words with him.

Not soon after, the young man had been seen digging among the kitchen scraps like a mad person. He also talked to himself while he did. At a point he tore off of his expensive coat and wrapped something inside it.

The seasoned gardener, Harrison, swore that he had seen a human hand sticking out of the coat. Not just any hand. It had the size of a toddler´s.

Since the untimely death of Mandré, one of their own, Cosinga Palpatine had become more aggressive than ever before. And Master Sheev had turned into open rebellion against him.

To serve House Palpatine had turned into a living nightmare over the last decades. There were too many foul and unexplainable activities going on.


4. Sheev Aurelius Cosinga Palpatine, Coruscant, 66 BBY:

Of course a man in his position did not need to cook for himself. Leave alone, cut and fry his own meat. But using his highly functional kitchen island inside his senatorial apartment was one of the few pleasures that he had left in life. The dark side of the Force was a too demanding mistress otherwise. He had sacrificed too much to her glory already.

Sheev Palpatine bend down to the frying pan, fishing for one of the dianoga meat strips. As a good amateur chéf, he always tasted his food before serving it.

“Argh!” he cursed for his breakfast dish was ruined.

The meat was overcooked, which in return had activated the blood parasites in the fatty tissue. Thus the flavour was destroyed.

“Can we just have porridge?” asked a small voice from the seating area.

He spun around, furious. “I am allowed to see you just one weekend per month, Nagina,” he snapped. “This is why I want to give you something more proper and substantial for breakfast.”

The young girl, just about nine years of age, looked conflicted.

“I did not mean to yell at you,” he added in a much softer tone of voice. “But I want your visits here on Coruscant to be as pleasant as possible.”

Nervously, she juddered on the bistro chair. “Sheev, it’s just...”

It pained him that she had trained herself not to call him ´uncle´ any more. As far as the public knew his entire family went missing since a trip with their space yacht.

“Yes?” he probed when the child ceased talking altogether.

“I do not like eating meat at present.”

“Very well...” he smirked, when he suddenly noticed that he had forgotten about the frying pan.

He muttered a curse under his breath.

There were nine natural ways to get rid of cooking smells. All of them were easy and, even better, they worked.

Half a life time ago, he had had the most unlikely teacher for such domestic matters.

Normally, he did not easily form a tender bond with others, but Mandré had been an exception. And so was her orphaned child.

“Please bring me some bread and the vinegar, sunshine! Perhaps we can conjure away the dreadful malodour!”

Eagerly, Nagina rose to help him, but the moment she opened the kitchen cupboard he heard her say, “But you won’t get rid so easily of the Force phantoms in here! Especially Darth Sion stinks.”

He dropped the frying pan on the floor.



5. Nagina Cassandra Mandré Samye, Lothal, 19 BBY:

Her eyes hurt with tears that she did not allow herself to shed. Not about such a small, unimportant thing.

“Stop it!” the middle-aged kindergarten teacher scolded herself, because nobody else was there to scold.

The source of her grievances was gone since hours. But the evidence of his stay still lingered on in her home. Like a pestilential miasma. No matter how hard she tried to let fresh air in.

Her nasal wings fluttered.

There is was again, stronger than ever.

Green moss, clover, grass and pine needles.

The fragrance that she connected to Orson and to him only.

A shaky hand wandered towards her throat, that was irritated beyond means.

It was as if Orson had used toxic gas instead of aftershave. Just to make a point.

She went to the toilet and threw up violently.

The boy that she had helped to babysit on Chandrila had not only become an agent of evil . It was worse. He had become her jailer. In her uncle’s name.

Nagina had been able to come to terms with her exile on Lothal, to be tucked away in the middle of nowhere like a rare Kyper crystal. But to drag a person into this crying game, whom she once had loved and cared for, this was too much to bear. It was a foul move.


6. Orson Callan Krennic, Scarif, 14 BBY:

Honestly, he was not prepared for the stench that filled the chamber when he opened the clone tank. It hit him like a fist in the midst of his solar plexus.

“Argh!” gurgled Orson Krennic.

Normally, only septic and sewer gases had a foul odour like this. Growing up as the son of fruit farmers he was familiar with such things.

The construction work of ’Project Star dust' also came with olfactory cognitions he never had wanted to make in the first place. Wookies normally smelled weird. But when they were imprisoned and ill it was hardly bearably to be anyway near them.

He moved his face closer to the tank.

All the wild stories that Ina had told him about space zombies and odd Sith rituals with dark magic came to mind.

“Perhaps old Palps farted inside before sealing this thing off?” he grinned. “Just in case I would dare to open his precious cookie jar?”

The colour of the liquid also did not appeal to him overly much.

But then he laughed his worries away and quoted from an ancient theatre play.

“Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.”

A baboon, and he had looked that one up, was a primitive ape creature. Very much like Wilhuff Tarkin.

With sheer will power the Imperial engineer and architect concentrated on the task right in front of him. To free the clone from the stinky mass she floated in. The true project of his life. So much planing and calculating.

An explosion shook the foundations of the citadel tower.

Of course, he had secretly let a mad man lose on the island. Saw Freckin’ Gerrera, the butcher from Onderon.

There would be fire works any time soon. And not the colourful type that was used on Empire Day.

“Okay, here we go!” he muttered, while he sank his hands into the thick fluid underneath him.

Once the clone was out of the tank, that had housed her the past four years, it was essential for him to preform first aid. He would be forced to breath for her, until her chest would rise all by itself.

“Hopefully you have not forgotten how to breathe!” he mused.

Ignoring how sick the stench made him, he dragged the fragile child body out of it’s prison.



7. Sate Pestage, Byss, 18 BBY:

Despite his high age the Grand Vizier of the Imperial Shadow cabinet was a slender, elegant man. He was nothing like Mas Ammeda, his official counterpart. First of all, he was human. His crimson robes were faintly reminiscent to those of an Imperial Guard. It was a colours of absolute trust and loyalty. He also wore one of those head dresses that all members of the Shadow council had in common.

But there was something about him, that set people off immediately when meeting him. He reeked of evil. His fine perfumes were not able to cover up his rotten core.

“Orson, my dear boy,” he greeted the tall Imperial that entered his office.

The director of the Imperial Military Department of Advanced Weapons Research gave him a crisp and formal nod. Nothing more and nothing less. He also did not step closer to the desk and held his distance.

Both men had too much history together. Especially since the untimely death of Nagina Samye. Even though the accusations were never uttered aloud, it was clear who had given the order to eliminate the kind kindergarten teacher in the first place.

“You must wonder why I called you here!” the closest confidant of the Emperor spoke, his voice drenched in false friendliness.

“If this is about the recent delays...”, began the leader of ´Project Star Dust´ lamely.

The elderly advisor shook his head. “I want to know why a sworn bachelor, enjoying a discreet escort service from time to time, is keen on adopting the child of a street hooker. A girl that cannot possibly be his.”

For moments the eyes of his opponent ran danger to pop out of their sockets, but then Director Krennic answered calmly, “Memento mori!”

“Remember the dead?” Incredulous, Sate Pestage rolled his vulture like eyes. “My godchild had great importance in your life, true. But the whole adoption business smells to high heaven.”

“If you say so, Your Excellence,” the other man said too casual a manner, too unconcerned.

“Your work moral is undoubtedly flawless, my dear boy. No matter what setbacks your project has to face. But I start questioning your...”

The Grand Vizier ceased talking when the door chimed and a hunched shadow broke into the room unannounced.

Like a religious fanatic, Director Krennic bend his knee. “My Emperor!” he exclaimed and starred at the floor in front of him.

Unceremoniously, Sheev Palpatine crept closer, leaning on his walking stick. “Only I have the right to summon Orson. He is mine, Sate. And so is the power tool he builds for me.”

Sate Pestage started shaking like the rope on a hanging tree. “I am sorry when it seems that I have quite forgotten my place, but...”

The Emperor was so close now that both men were able to smell the odour of death and decay. His left hand rose, skeleton fingers creaking and flexing. “I can leave a memo on your skin if you want me to, Sate. With Force lightning.”

The silence that fell was horrifying. It stretched into a little eternity.

Director Krennic kept his head down. Cold sweat on his brow. He was close to faint.

Sheev Palpatine’s voice was like the rustling of old leaves, when he decided to speak again. “If Orson wants to adopt a little girl from the lower levels of Coruscant, he has my blessing. His loyalties will lie with me always. He knows better than to fail me. A man who has family knows what personal loss means”

The man in question paled, his skin turning as white as his elegant ISB uniform, but he said nothing in reply. It was the wisest move to make.

The Emperor was not finished yet. “But if you need a reminder, Sate, I can think of many unfortunate events that can happen to you. Starting with the withdrawal of your privileges. Mas can take over from you at any times. The Shadow Council might object to an alien life form, but well, they will get used to this little setback.”


... To be continued!

 

Whew! The chef and the Hutt had an intriguing encounter. Sheev and Mandre ... many undertones there of secrecy. Nagina and Orson during crucial moments

 

Food and their smells. Cooking Dianogas. Mysterious children... all circling around.
Nice.

 

I look forward to more Sate Pestage. Something intrigues me about the inner workings of Palpatine's regime. Lot's of rooms there to explore!

 

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha: I hope I can write on another time. It has been a rough autumn holiday week at home for me for many reasons & with the rising Corona cases I dread to return to work. Therefore, I am not in the right frame of mind for writing, even though your kind feedback has helped me a lot. Thanks!

@GregMcP: This coming from you feels like being knighted by Her Royal Majesty.

@Oddly_Salacious: There are some stories about Sate. But the computer updates of my laptop hinder me to enjoy my time online. I will give you links another time.

There is for example:

Vignette 12:

Titel: “Impossible girl”, a Nagina vignette

Summary: To be the Grand Vizier of the Empire is not an easy task. What makes it even more difficult is when private matters mix with state affairs. Sheev Palpatine is notorious doing that.

Time frame: The story takes place about 15 days after RotS.

Planet of choice: Coruscant

 

Dear @AzureAngel2 you and @DarthUncle stay safe as possible because you're my RL H/L Sometimes I wonder if there's a country on the globe where the COVID numbers are headed in the right direction!

 

The very important surgery I was going to have runs danger to get delayed by the Charité. By many months. Due to the rising Corona cases.

Now I can forget about my greatest wish that I harbour since 12 years...

It breaks me apart.

 

@AzureAngel2 , I hope that things turn out okay and that the delay isn't as bad as feared!

 

I wrote @Kahara a PM about that and for now I have two wee updates for this thread here, already checked out and edited by the wonderful @WarmNyota_SweetAyesha:


8. Agrippa Krennic, Chandrila, 10 BBY:

Chemicals broke down with age. It was a scientific fact. 2-nonenal was one of the by-products. Thinking on it, the breakdown of omega-7 unsaturated fatty acids might be the biggest source of 2-nonenal.

But Jay, despite all his knowledge, had no sense of smell himself. He did not even have a nose. Originally, he had been constructed as an 2-1B surgical droid. Then, in a time of need, he had been altered into a geriatric care nurse.

Ever since his full loyalty lay with his master, an elderly fruit farmer who had suffered a series of severe strokes.

“Gah, it smells of rotten apples in here!” Master Orson complained, while inspecting the living-room.

The droid scanned the sour features of the human, who had entered the threshold approximately twenty seconds ago. Long enough to subvert morality in this home.

Unmoving as ever, Master Agrippa sat in his power chair. His eyes as blue as his son’s. But that was the only similarity between the two Krennic men.

“Gramps!” cheered another voice and in rushed Mistress Cassandra, an apple in her hand. The fruit dropped to the ground has the teenager jumped enthusiastically onto the old man’s lap.

“Oh, I missed you so much!”

Dangerously, the power chair swang from side to side. Discret and zealous as ever Jay stabalized it. There was no need to scold the girl for endangering his ward. The risk had been carefully calculated by him. Besides, the joy of reunion was worth it. Too long the elderly human had been left to his own devices.

While Master Orson opened all the windows, still complaining of the stench, Mistress Cassandra rained kisses on her grandfather’s clean-shaven face and snow-white hair.

The droid picked up the half-eaten apple.

Whatever seemed to annoy the girl’s father, she was unaware of it. She hugged and fondled the old man with delight, chatting non-stop to him.

Human sense of smell seemed to be a question of attitude.


9. Vaneé, several weeks after the Battle of Yavin, Mustafar, O ABY:

In itself lava was mostly totally odourless to humans. But the countless volcanoes of Mustafar had a certain smell about them: sulphur. A sign of decay, as in rotten eggs. It was a powerful stimulus to stay away. Not only was that element actively damaging to a body. Kren Blista-Vanee, once an Imperial advisor, had learned this the hard way. Twelve years ago madness had seized him, though he was seldom aware of his deranged state of mind. To serve Lord Vader, his master, was all he ever wanted ever since.

But then she had come along, the blasted Krennic girl. A true affliction. Worse than the Mustafarian plague. For her his master finally had the environmental filters installed that he once had asked about in vein.

Vaneé sulked in the shadows he preferred to linger in.

Bit by bit, the Dark Lord had turned the stronghold into a more inhabitable and less hostile place. There were even parts that looked like a Coruscanti apartment for the upper class. Audio equipment, an expensive Alderaniaan relaxa bed, gym equipment, an in-door swimming pool. That was a waste of money uncalled for.

Who was that girl to his master? What had she done to deserve such splendour and attention?

The worst of it was the music that filled the castle. No, not music. Nerve-wrecking noise.

“Ab queck zenick fesi
Zong jup col im in na hiz jal, ooh
Wow!
Wa toc peg qui dos gee pif, aah
Joc jarraz bas deg zorze zot
Jer wih tuster mo vey
Qui neb be og ezen on
Wok lapti nek seb not van
Goc jarraz bas deg zorze zot

Lapti nek, rat a ran wim joct co jappi qaff
Lapti nek, kiv ba ha top wep jex pi va bep
Lapti nek, rat a ran wim joct co jeppi qaff
Wow!

Ab queck zenick fesi
Jem wih tuster mo vey
Qui neb be og ezen on
Wok lapti nek seb not van
Wah toc peg qui doz gee pif ezact
Goc jarraz bas deg zorze zot

Lapti nek, rat a ran wim joct co jappi qoff
Lapti nek, kiv ba ha top wep jex pi va bep
Lapti nek, rat a ran wim joct co jappi qaff
Wow!

Deg zorze zot

Jem with tuster mo vey
Qui neb be og ezen on
Wok lapti nek seb not van
Goc jarraz bas deg zorze zot

Lapti nek, rat a ran wim joct co jappi qoff
Lapti nek, kiv ba ha top wep jex pi va bep
Lapti nek, rat a ran wim joct co jappi qaff
Deg zorze zot
Wow!

Lapti nek lapti nek
Lapti nek lapti nek
Lapti nek lapti nek
Wow!

Lapti nek lapti nek
Lapti nek lapti nek
Lapti nek lapti nek
Wow!”

He folded his arms in front of his bony chest.

Not on any terms was jizz a musical genre, leave alone an art form. And Huttese was not a language on its own rights, but an insult on the ears.

Feel my body growing
My bones have started glowing, ooh
Wow!
The time has come for showing
That I'll shape you up and work you out
My body feels excitin'
My soul is synthesizin'
My whole frame is jumpin'
I'm workin' out and havin' fun

Work it out, you've got to move your soul
Work it out, you've got to feel the heat
Work it out, you've got to move your soul
Wow!

Feel my body growing
My body feels excitin'
My soul is synthesizin'
My whole frame is jumpin'
The time has come for showing
I'll shape you up and work you out

Work it out, you've got to move your soul
Work it out, you've got to feel the heat
Work it out, you've got to move your soul
Wow!

Work you out

My body feels excitin'
My soul is synthesizin'
My whole frame is jumpin'
I'll shape you up and work you out

Work it out, you've got to move your soul
Work it out, you've got to feel the heat
Work it out, you've got to move your soul
Work you out
Wow!

Work it out work it out
Work it out work it out
Work it out work it out
Wow!

Work it out work it out
Work it out work it out
Work it out work it out
Wow!

Vaneé had tried to discuss the matter with the Dark Lord as he had rested in his bacta tank. But there had be no indignation on his side. Instead a little smile had formed on his pale lips and dismissed Vaneé with the swish of his right hand. Just like that.

With grim determination, the elderly man marched up towards the large chamber door and banged on the door with his fists.

Unannounced, the Krennic girl opened. She was only in her underwear, obviously working out. Sweat covered most of her skin. Her eyes were wild flames. And her face, her beautiful face, was a mask of disgust. “Creep!” she shouted. “Get stuffed!”

With that she smashed the doors shut again.

Vaneé heard the key turning around in the keyhole several times.

Such behaviour smelled to high heaven! And it was uncalled for. There would be retribution one day.

... To be continued!

 

Cassandra has totally different reactions to "Gramps" and Vader's aide. Her taste in music and its volume apparently got on his last nerve

 

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha, I am so glad to have you around for correctings & comments. And for company as well. Without your never-ending optimism posting my stuff here would feel like a sad, pathetic monolog. Thanks for being around!

 

I'm so far behind on this, but just wanted to say that it's fantastic and I really enjoy seeing the tales of all these different characters. Vraugruckt Helk is a lot of fun, wonder if Tatooine has reality cooking shows for all the Hutts' palaces. Gotta get that dianoga just so! And of course, the idea of rot and corruption goes with the hidden side of Palpatine's family on Naboo, and later with with the Imperial court and its denizens.

 

@Kahara: Thanks for catching up and commenting! This means a lot to me. Yes, the Sheevster is like a black dragon. And those like to live in a swampy and rotten environment. The swamp of corruption in his special case which his courtiers and his admirals are responsible for. The Emperor likes it vile and foul.

(Sorry, I am full of "Dungeons and Dragons" adventures with DarthUncle and his twin these days. And it´s a bummer, when either our internet or that of my brother-in-law in CZ breaks down!)