The Ghostly Shame, a vessel that had seen better centuries – or at least better decades – lurched to a stop at the Xylos spaceport. Xylos, a sprawling metropolis of rusting metal and shimmering neon, clung to the surface of a gas giant like a desperate parasite. It was a place where ambition and desperation collided in a heady cocktail of illicit trade and questionable morals – exactly the kind of place the Ghostly Shame called home.