Old Trov12

Overview

Old Trov12 is a small, rocky desert planet tucked so far into the outer systems that The Governance barely knows it exists. With no governing body and no official population, it functions as a neutral, independent hub for black market trade and the quiet auction of indentured lives. Its storms tear flesh from bone, but the real danger walks upright and speaks with credits.

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Geography & Environment

The surface of Old Trov12 is cracked and sand-choked, pockmarked with shallow salt plains and split by jagged fissures that descend into crystalline salt caverns. Constant sandstorms rip through the lowlands, and rare but devastating electric storms can shut down all markets and ship power systems in mere moments. Most structures are built directly into the cliffs and rock faces, shielded from the weather by necessity and neglect.

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Market Hubs and Structures

Rather than true settlements, Old Trov12 hosts a sprawl of specialised market zones, each known for its wares and unwritten rules.
 

• The Flesh Markets: Auction blocks dealing in labourers, gladiators, and eternal servitude.

• The Gullet: A black market for illegal meats, rare delicacies, and conservation violations.

• Spindle Row: A maze of stalls hawking off-brand biotech, scavenged mods, and organ deals.

• Cavern Lot: A hidden market deep in a salt fissure where living creatures are traded in silence.

Every structure is a patchwork of rusted ship hulls, torn metal siding, and tarp stitched roofs.
There are no signs. There are no names. If you have to ask, you don't belong.

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The Teeth

Carved into a jagged cliff face and partially collapsed into an old quarry, The Teeth is the planet's single infamous arena. Sand-coated and stained with the blood of long-lost souls, it's where slaves and prisoners are forced to fight for survival while potential buyers watch from the stands.
The matches are rarely fair and always fatal. The few who win more than one round demand a higher price. For some, winning is the only path off the planet. For most, it's a grave with a cheering crowd.
The locals say the arena earned its name because it chews through everything eventually.

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Economy & Trade

Old Trov12 deals in whatever the core worlds won't touch:

• Credits (official currency)

• Barter (weapons, tech, or favors)

• Illegal biotech & black-market mods

• Xenofauna and trafficked species

• Planetary relics from restricted zones

• Weapons, IDs, stolen data, AI fragments

• Sentient labor, both disposable and trained

Trade is quick, private, and final. No refunds. No tracking.

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Control & Enforcement

No single syndicate owns Old Trov12. Instead, it's held in balance by silent consensus: trade continues only if peace holds. Unofficial enforcers made up of ex-soldiers, bounty dropouts, and worse, keep disputes short and graves shallow.
The rule is simple: don't interrupt the trade.

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Reputation & Rumours

To most in the galaxy, Old Trov12 doesn't exist, or is nothing more than an empty rock on the edge of the map. To those in the know, it's a shortcut to anything the law frowns upon. Rumours speak of deep salt fissures that whisper madness in the storms, and buyers who aren't always organic in nature.
The only clean thing on the planet is the salt, and even that is questionable.

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Access & Arrival

There are no starports. Small ships land on cracked stone pads near each market. Larger vessels remain in orbit and send shuttles down. There are no signs, welcome towers, or air traffic control towers.