It's a warm Tatooine afternoon, and the palace is lively. Light music plays in the background as the guests gamble, drink, and enjoy the pleasantries. You, the master of the palace, are perched upon your throne, a giant lounge that lies at the end of the throne room. Flax, the Rodian that serves as your Majordomo, is off to your side, having a discussion with the pig-like Gamorrean Guards employed to keep the palace safe. The scantily clad Twi'lek Slave Girl, Loota, lies in your lap, kept on a leash that is bound to her neck and clutched in your hand. Her Lekku flop limply a little as she turns her head to the Majordomo, as if to see what he is speaking about. Flax's loud voice projects a little...

"...and be certain that this rogue cooking droid is intercepted and dismantled. We can't have any more food being wasted by it's malfunctioning."

The Gamorreans nod with a squeal and run off to do as they are told. You begin to caress the cheek of Loota, bringing the Twi'lek's attention back to you. She presses her face into your hand, almost seeming to purr at the touch of her master.

This domain is under your control, lording over it from your throne lounge. All in the palace know to obey your will, as a guest who steps out of line may find themselves dropped through the trap door in front of the throne, falling in to meet the maw of the beast that lays behind a giant iron door within: The Rancor. As the master of the palace, you have the power to do whatever you want, enjoying the fruits of your labor in the creation of the ultimate criminal empire.