Built from the core of a hollowed-out asteroid, Port Ol’val’s gravity is regulated through a reactor located deep in the asteroid’s core. Oxygen is pumped through ventilation shafts and filtered through a series of generators stringed throughout the asteroid’s infrastructure. In case of a fire or chemical outbreak, emergency sprinkler systems have been installed throughout Ol’val which, if triggered, would be the closest thing to rain the shadowport ever saw.

Entry to Port Ol’val can only be obtained by flying through a corkscrewing, rocky pathway known as the Kas Tunel. This route acts as a natural buffer and deterrent for stray ships, while providing additional time for sensors to run inspection on any incoming craft. It can similarly, of course, offer a convenient excuse for ships to go “missing” if they are flagged as a security threat.

Once cleared through the Kas Tunel, ships are then able to land and depart from the Docks towards the central transportation hub: the Ducts

The Ducts serve as the main means of transportation and navigationally routing to the various sub-sectors of the shadowport. The Ducts tunnels can range from just a meter wide to several dozens, such as the main tunnels that connect Ol’val’s major districts.

Jarem Plaza serves as one of the more safe and well populated areas where trade and commerce are featured with bright and eye-catching attractions storefronts, and signage.

Further down rests The Pride of Corellia, it is the lone residential zone for those that wish to keep permanent residence on Port Ol’val.

Perhaps where Ol’val gets its more seedy notoriety, the Blind Spot grew out of the now defunct Besadii Entertainment district to become the new home to casinos, drug dens, and pleasure houses favored by the high-rolling crime lords and self-appointed gang leaders.

The shadowport itself is no stranger to bounty hunters, debt collectors, con artists, beggars, thieves, or privateers. Some might be honest folk looking to make ends meet, but others can be wanted criminals escaping the heat from the Core worlds. Those who stay long enough, of course, soon discover the truth:

While open trade and commerce are encouraged business ventures that keep Port Ol’val a haven for espionage, law evasion, the true rules of the shadowport are the members of House Qel-Droma.

"And stay out you bum!" came the shout from the casino entrance as a fuzzy gray and blue figure was thrown bodily into the street, clutching a bottle and not much else. He thumped into a massive Nautolan man, gray of skin and heavily armored. The exceedingly drunken Ryn didn't even make a dent, simply smacking into it violently and sliding haplessly down to the floor.

"Ow....bloody...'ell...least give me back me trousers!" he shouted at the door as it closed, shaking a fist and trying to stand. He stumbled, staggered, and ran into the wall of armor again, head rebounding slightly, causing him to sway dizzily.

And then he threw up on the big man's boots.

Kordath Bleu wiped his mouth with the back of his fuzzy hand, spreading the mess around more than anything else, and blinked up at the tall man.

"Ey, mate, sorry abou—"

And that was when the Force told him to duck, prompting him to fall backward onto the floor as a powerfully large-looking fist swung through where his head had just been.

"Oi, mate! No reason ta...ta...I'll uhh...cleaning bill...or somethin'...whatever," he mumbled and slurred, trying to stand, only to get punched in the gut by the large Nautolan, lifting him a good six inches off his feet and forcing what was left of his insides to spew out on to the man's chest plate.

Oh kark me if tha boots made him pissy this is gonna get me killed

The Ryn watched as the massive figure looked down at said mess dripping down his armor and seeping into nooks and crannies. Pretzels and crackers and whiskey and bile all made up a familiar mix to the Ryn, an old friend of a second dinner wetly caked now into his beard. They stuck between some fancy plates etched with feather and sun designs.

The Nautolan looked back up.

Even drunk -- if quickly sobering thanks to the involuntary evacuating -- Kordath was quick to react. His reflexes for a lifetime of running away and bar fights were second to none.

So he reached into his crack, grabbed a baggy wedged there for emergencies, and threw it directly three feet up into the bastard's face before the Nautolan had even finished meeting his gaze.

Burning dust exploded out in a cloud between them, and a sound like scraping glass issued from his bilious attacker as the man staggered backwards, covering both eyes with his hands.

Of course, this close, the dust also rained down on the Ryn, powdering his fur like ash and stinging his skin something fierce. Reminded him uncomfortably of having lice. But at least he had the benefit of eyelids to close, unlike the fish man.

The Ryn wasted no time in turning tail and sprinting away.

"SEE YA MATE SEND THE BILL TA A LASS ZUZA!" he hollered, burping, as he ran and checked into some garbage cans.

The clattering metal was enough for the Nautolan, apparently. Despite having a hand still over his eyes, the karker drew a throwing knife and hurled it Kordath's way. With alarming accuracy. It missed him by inches.

"Oi! Oi! No need fer that, ain't ya mother ever tell ya not t' run with sharp things--"

He cut off with a shriek as four more knives came his way, one of them spearing through a rotting bag of something and burying itself right in his foot.