Catastrophe and nightmare often starts with innocent and, while illegal, often times commonplace circumstances. Take the spread of the Rakghoul plague, for example. One wouldn't expect such things as grave and destructive as that to be spread so easily without some sort of malicious intent, but the prime case, subject Zero, a Rodian Smuggler that was new to his job, and was a fresh face on Nar Shadaa, hardly had such things. What he didn't have, was credits, and the robed men, black robed figures with wide smiles and apparently limitless bank accounts, had offered the young Rodian more than he would have made in his career to get their package onto Nar Shadaa, where those who knew of such things would collect it and deliver the payment as due. Such a young smuggler hardly knew a scam when he heard one that quickly, and he accepted such a contract on the spot, and the poor fool loaded the strange canister onto his small ship, a nearly unarmed freighter, and off he went, a small leak in the canister sealing his doom as much as it did the many on Nar Shadaa. But that would not manifest for some time, as the artifact he was transporting, and the virus encased with it, did not work fast anymore. The Rodian smuggler would know not of his fate until it was far too late to save anyone else.


Nar Shaddaa The Smuggler's Moon. A city world populated by billions of beings from all across the galaxy and all walks of life. A planet that retains some level of neutrality in the war between the Republic and Empire, its native organizations profiting from both sides. Now in the middle of a battle far more savage than any between the two great forces of the galaxy; a battle as old as life itself. A battle of survival.
The Rakghoul plague has made its way to the Smuggler's Moon; arriving via an unknown freighter and a foolish, young pilot too eager to begin his life of villainy. The disease spread like fire from the small, cartel space port, and has already consumed the lower levels of the city-world. Its citizens clamor to the upper levels to escape the spreading plague and the monsters it creates; seeking to leave the planet and reach safety. Escape ships have started launching from all corners of the world, only to be shot down.
The Empire has moved in on the planet, acting in response to the deadly plague that spreads across its surface. They have enacted a planetary quarantine until the disease is eradicated; shooting down all those that attempt to leave and stopping all those that attempt to reach the planet. This, of course, includes those of the Republic.
The Republic has been blockaded from the planet and have been kept from the stims and diverse supplies the Hutts of the Cartels provided, greatly impacting the war effort. They are becoming ever more desperate in their attempts to break the Imperial quarantine and blockade, so that relief efforts may be made on the planet below.
As the Republic battles the Empire in the skies overhead, the people left planetside fight to survive against the plague and the mutant creatures it creates. The population dwindles rapidly, the plague claiming all those powerless to protect themselves or unable to find adequate shelter. Even the Cartels have found it impossible to take advantage of the situation; the plague having cut their numbers down to less than half and blocking them from many of their assets. They now turn to calling out across the Galaxy for aid from anyone willing to break the blockade and help fight the Rakghouls in the streets. Fortunes have been offered, amounts that would stagger anyone of reasonable greed, to those who contribute to the cleaning of the city-world.
Who will answer the call?