I have to apologize to all of my wonderful viewers for not keeping up with the blog to much as of late. After all I know those of you like Lucas that have no lives must be very saddened by the lack of maddening disaster filled entries. I however have found myself with a few extra minutes before I pass out from boredom so I thought I'd regale you all with a few tales of what has been going on around essence lately.
The past few weeks have seen the rapid decline as I see it, of my beloved Black Rebel Rifter Club. Even my good friends, Lucas and John, as odd and dysfunctional they may be have decided to part ways with the corp leaving me utterly alone and quite saddened by my newfound lack of people to go kill shit with. This naturally left me in a rather sour mood, so I thought to myself, "Why not go kill nubs to satisfy my now gaping emotional emptiness". And set off to kill them I did.
It was a rather unproductive day as I recall and the slow flow of targets did nothing to assuage my anger at John for becoming a null bear and Lucas a dirty tusker the day before! On top of that, the application I submitted to Shadow Cartel had been denied on the sole reason of my low SP (this did not sit well with me at all, I think corps should accept on skill and facts rather than paper statistics, but hey I'm just a 11m Sp nub right?). The day had not been kind to me at all. So after a little bit of milling around the station and pouting in my room of pilfered valuables from blapped mining vessels, I couldn't sit in the hangar any longer. I had to get out and at least do something productive.
As I undocked I casually warped off to a safe spot in space and cloaked up. Nothing presented itself immediately so I pulled out the newest addition of Pirate weekly and began reading the editorials and about how everyone hated the Venture more than ever. This did not surprise me in the least. With a +2 warp core strength the could even slip out of the clutches of all but the most specialized tackling ships. With a ship as illusive as this a competent pilot could avoid all but the worst of situations. But as many people in the EVE universe know, there is a key word here, competent, and most of the pilots around here (John being a prime example) dear reader are the exact opposite of competent.
Not long after I finished laughing at the miserable failures of my flashy colleagues, speak of the devil, a venture appeared on scans. I quickly narrowed him down to a belt and warped in to end his misery of shooting space rocks for isk. I found him about 30km off me so I decided I'd get a little closer so I could spam his comms with demotivational gifs as my furious torpedoes reduced his ship to what it should be at all times, a floating pile of scrap metal. I prepared myself for glorious battul and decloaked and locked up the poor bastard. I could practically visualize the unsuspecting miner staring at his overview like a deer in headlights as his shields melted away. Trust me if you've never experienced that feeling before you haven't lived yet, or you're just a bear that likes rock mining like John.
At any rate, I digress, as the torpedoes smashed his rickety vessel to pieces he managed to get a lucky align time and warped out in structure. The bastard not only escaped but also proceeded to troll me in local as he considered himself elite for having escaped me by the skin of his teeth. Threatening to return and kill me with a larger ship, I warmly welcomed him to try his luck and come on back. He promptly turned tail and ran. Much to my surprise however he did return with a Corax class destroyer which did worry me a little as the dps could in theory melt my bomber if light missiles were fit. After even more smack talk he left again. Now he was going to die in a fire. No one pisses me off and lives. So I made it the days goal to go and kill him as well as his pod.
I lurked around Adirain a little while longer and even ventured out a few jumps to see what else might be out there. and just like usual, there was pretty much nothing. Then the unthinkable happened. The little shit that made me death threats was spotted by one of my associates in the Lisbaetanne Solar System. Time to die mother fucker. I made all haste to his last known location and found a very satisfying sight. It seems my little friend had taken his destroyer into a belt and gotten in a little over his head with the rats that were quickly melting away his shields. I had been looking forward to this all day long. I decloaked and savored every second like a drug as I pointed the poor fool. Now to have a little fun. I decided the most hilarious way to make him die would be to let the rats get him into hull and then pop him with one last volley. I trolled him very flagrantly over local chat and after many healthy lolz decided it was time to end his sorry existence. I promptly fired all weapons and opened a hailing frequency for my oh so sweet victory yodel. Seeing the blue explosion of his little destroyer was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in days.
The sound of his hull buckling as his cabin depressurized was unlike any other. There's simply no simulated sound that could ever be half as exciting. After looting his wreck and loling like a baus at him I returned to my cabin, victorious. You can't cheat the reaper bitch.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Monday, February 4, 2013
Into Shadow
Today was a good day, I thought to myself as I lounged on my *new* sofa. Yes, due to my recent tyrannical actions I have managed to acquire sever new assets including but not limited to, several new corpses, a new cooler, a new sofa, and a nice piece of scrap metal that almost reminds me of Seth Rogan's face. I had also acquired several cases of booze and some strippers clinging to space wreckage floating around the wreck of Nosta's Ishkur. Thats a double win. So once again I sat down and recollected the crazy events of the evening.
And well....... shit........ I'm tired as fuck. Long story short we got blobbed on a roam, all died while I loled many lolz cloaked. Then I went and 4v1ed some nubs. Ill fucking explain it tomorrow or something.
And well....... shit........ I'm tired as fuck. Long story short we got blobbed on a roam, all died while I loled many lolz cloaked. Then I went and 4v1ed some nubs. Ill fucking explain it tomorrow or something.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
A man and his torpedoes
It's been a slow few nights around Essence so I really have not had much reason to log anymore entries into this battle log. However in light of my spare time, napping in my cloaked bomber making everyone feel unsafe, I have began to ponder on what it truly means to be a cutthroat pirate. It's simply a life that's not cut out for everyone (even if collecting carebear tears is the most satisfying occupation I've had).
As I sat down on my couch and popped open a coke (I ran out of booze because of all the free time and the fact that Nostra's ability to ship any in with the loss of about 12 ships has prevented him from shipping any in) I began to ponder one unlucky Venture pilot who was on the wrong side of my torpedoes yesterday. I had tracked him through several belts, slowly taking my time while positioning myself for the perfect ambush. There's not quite any more satisfying feeling in the world than watching the carebear in his natural habitat, alone in a belt with no rats, shooting space rocks. I could practically hear the poor unsuspecting fool at his controls, using his hands as guns making cool shooting sounds at the rocks.
Pew! Pew! I had to laugh at myself as I saw the mining lasers fire up and I knew the time was right. I decloaked and savored that oh shit! moment that follows a carebear seeing a flashy red icon appear on his monitors out of nowhere. I spammed the poor fool with demotivational posters in local as my warp disruptor (even if it was a wasted gesture) attempted to knock the the warp drive out of operation. Wasting no time I went to hit the fire button and all of the sudden time stopped and I had an epiphany. Was the regret I was feeling in my stomach? I mean after all this death and killing had I even pondered the meaning of life and death? Oh, wait, that was just indigestion creeping up on me. And then the torpedoes began to fly and were soon enveloped in the wonderful (Ventures make the most satisfying explosions) color of light and shrapnel.
I have to remind myself not to eat tacos before I go out to kill shit. Oh and I almost forgot: Note to self BITCH SLAP Captain John Crichton for being a flip floppity homo fag for leaving me alone in R1fta. But I digress, there is no need to feel remorse for bears as a staunch pirate. A man needs only one relationship in his life. Those between him and his wonderful torpedoes.
As I sat down on my couch and popped open a coke (I ran out of booze because of all the free time and the fact that Nostra's ability to ship any in with the loss of about 12 ships has prevented him from shipping any in) I began to ponder one unlucky Venture pilot who was on the wrong side of my torpedoes yesterday. I had tracked him through several belts, slowly taking my time while positioning myself for the perfect ambush. There's not quite any more satisfying feeling in the world than watching the carebear in his natural habitat, alone in a belt with no rats, shooting space rocks. I could practically hear the poor unsuspecting fool at his controls, using his hands as guns making cool shooting sounds at the rocks.
Pew! Pew! I had to laugh at myself as I saw the mining lasers fire up and I knew the time was right. I decloaked and savored that oh shit! moment that follows a carebear seeing a flashy red icon appear on his monitors out of nowhere. I spammed the poor fool with demotivational posters in local as my warp disruptor (even if it was a wasted gesture) attempted to knock the the warp drive out of operation. Wasting no time I went to hit the fire button and all of the sudden time stopped and I had an epiphany. Was the regret I was feeling in my stomach? I mean after all this death and killing had I even pondered the meaning of life and death? Oh, wait, that was just indigestion creeping up on me. And then the torpedoes began to fly and were soon enveloped in the wonderful (Ventures make the most satisfying explosions) color of light and shrapnel.
I have to remind myself not to eat tacos before I go out to kill shit. Oh and I almost forgot: Note to self BITCH SLAP Captain John Crichton for being a flip floppity homo fag for leaving me alone in R1fta. But I digress, there is no need to feel remorse for bears as a staunch pirate. A man needs only one relationship in his life. Those between him and his wonderful torpedoes.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Truth Hurts
So it would seem that the slander of my colleagues John & Lucas stirred the pot a little (in the funny kind of way) and also marked me with quite the stigma today as my usual neutral luck took a turn towards FUCK YOU SPECTRE ╭∩╮(◣_◢)╭∩╮. As I sat down on my old cloth couch blotched with spots of food and the overtone of spilled beer (I had to sell the nice leather one due to the fact I lost about 320mil on the day), and cracked open a PBR, yea I sold the brandy too, and reminisced on the day full of shortcomings.
The downward spiral started when another colleague of mine, Nostradamouse Riralle, proposed that we go clear out some sleeper infestations in a worm hole he scanned down not far from station. Normally I would stay away from such endeavors because it entitles me to fly something that doesn't cloak........ which speaks against most of my philosophy; decloak scare the shit out of the poor bastard, close my eyes and laugh maniacally, mercilessly rain torps on him for about 45 seconds, open my eyes and if he isn't dead or quickly dying, GTFO. However my lapses in judgement seem to have been never ending today. So we jumped in to the worm hole and began clearing out the sleepers and salvaging the wrecks. About 3 sites in we got a few blips on the system scanners. 2 Thrasher class destroyers, a Hound bomber, and a Tornado battle-cruiser were quickly approaching our position. Knowing there wasn't much chance of me escaping I locked up the first thing that landed which happened to be one of the thrashers, I began slamming Heavy Missiles into but to no avail. I gritted my teeth and cursed as I kicked myself for have being lulled into a very false sense of security that accompanies all acts of fuzzy beariness.
It wasn't long before my bear fit Drake collapsed from the repeated attacks of my assailants. As my ship exploded into space dust as all ships of it's carebearing nature deserve to do, I was forced to leave the field and re-ship. I took this moment to size up my opponents. The Tornado pilot Quake590 was an older man of medium build. He obviously went a little heavy on the hair gel and had a sense of classics as he reminded me of an uglier version of Harrison Ford. Manu Militari was the only other character who actually left some kind of impression on me. A younger man, he looked like he had obviously gone through several nights of excessive drinking due to the horrendous tattoos all over his face, due to this I could judge Quake was the brains as neither of the other two seemed able to come to the most basic of conclusions.
After a little bit of lip in local the fight migrated back home to Adirain where my misfortunes came to a head. I decided to undock the Rohk, because I thought to myself, what good are nice things if I cant play with them. It soon became very clear to me why I can't have nice things. As I landed to support my foolhardy friend he exploded in a spectacular fashion mixed with flames, shrapnel, and many words that I can't repeat. So I did my best to avenge my fallen (for about the 5th or so time) friend. However my zeal was soon met by the very uncomfortable feeling of having to activate shield boosters. It wasn't long before my ship was into structure and crumbling due to excessive fire from the the ships. After a few more trial and errors and one Stabber less, I decided to call it quits and call for back up. Soon enough friends arrived and I got some much deserved payback. I hopped in my Jaguar and headed for one of the Thrashers, I locked him up and started hitting him hard. The frigate I was piloting was much faster and more agile than the tornado that was trying to send me back to the station in a pod, so I was able to avoid much of his fire as I weaved in and out of range melting his friend. After several volleys the Thrasher began to spin out of control and vanished into a ball of orange flame. The Tornado came next, but by the time I switched targets he was already in deep armor. The ship started to unravel and come undone at its seams and joined its counterparts shortly after in another large ball of flame.
Although a small consolation at the loss of my ships, I did learn a powerful lesson, bigger isn't better in any way shape or form. I had gotten more kills in frigate in a few minutes than I had with any other ship all day. I can guarantee that I won't be trying anymore Battleship shenanigans for a while. The truth hurts, I thought to myself as I finished my beer which simply couldn't wash away the bad taste that had lingered in my mouth since the conclusion of the battle. However there's always another chance, and some mistakes can be corrected. With a nice padding of insurance money I punched up the console and put in a few orders for some new assault frigates.
The downward spiral started when another colleague of mine, Nostradamouse Riralle, proposed that we go clear out some sleeper infestations in a worm hole he scanned down not far from station. Normally I would stay away from such endeavors because it entitles me to fly something that doesn't cloak........ which speaks against most of my philosophy; decloak scare the shit out of the poor bastard, close my eyes and laugh maniacally, mercilessly rain torps on him for about 45 seconds, open my eyes and if he isn't dead or quickly dying, GTFO. However my lapses in judgement seem to have been never ending today. So we jumped in to the worm hole and began clearing out the sleepers and salvaging the wrecks. About 3 sites in we got a few blips on the system scanners. 2 Thrasher class destroyers, a Hound bomber, and a Tornado battle-cruiser were quickly approaching our position. Knowing there wasn't much chance of me escaping I locked up the first thing that landed which happened to be one of the thrashers, I began slamming Heavy Missiles into but to no avail. I gritted my teeth and cursed as I kicked myself for have being lulled into a very false sense of security that accompanies all acts of fuzzy beariness.
It wasn't long before my bear fit Drake collapsed from the repeated attacks of my assailants. As my ship exploded into space dust as all ships of it's carebearing nature deserve to do, I was forced to leave the field and re-ship. I took this moment to size up my opponents. The Tornado pilot Quake590 was an older man of medium build. He obviously went a little heavy on the hair gel and had a sense of classics as he reminded me of an uglier version of Harrison Ford. Manu Militari was the only other character who actually left some kind of impression on me. A younger man, he looked like he had obviously gone through several nights of excessive drinking due to the horrendous tattoos all over his face, due to this I could judge Quake was the brains as neither of the other two seemed able to come to the most basic of conclusions.
After a little bit of lip in local the fight migrated back home to Adirain where my misfortunes came to a head. I decided to undock the Rohk, because I thought to myself, what good are nice things if I cant play with them. It soon became very clear to me why I can't have nice things. As I landed to support my foolhardy friend he exploded in a spectacular fashion mixed with flames, shrapnel, and many words that I can't repeat. So I did my best to avenge my fallen (for about the 5th or so time) friend. However my zeal was soon met by the very uncomfortable feeling of having to activate shield boosters. It wasn't long before my ship was into structure and crumbling due to excessive fire from the the ships. After a few more trial and errors and one Stabber less, I decided to call it quits and call for back up. Soon enough friends arrived and I got some much deserved payback. I hopped in my Jaguar and headed for one of the Thrashers, I locked him up and started hitting him hard. The frigate I was piloting was much faster and more agile than the tornado that was trying to send me back to the station in a pod, so I was able to avoid much of his fire as I weaved in and out of range melting his friend. After several volleys the Thrasher began to spin out of control and vanished into a ball of orange flame. The Tornado came next, but by the time I switched targets he was already in deep armor. The ship started to unravel and come undone at its seams and joined its counterparts shortly after in another large ball of flame.
Although a small consolation at the loss of my ships, I did learn a powerful lesson, bigger isn't better in any way shape or form. I had gotten more kills in frigate in a few minutes than I had with any other ship all day. I can guarantee that I won't be trying anymore Battleship shenanigans for a while. The truth hurts, I thought to myself as I finished my beer which simply couldn't wash away the bad taste that had lingered in my mouth since the conclusion of the battle. However there's always another chance, and some mistakes can be corrected. With a nice padding of insurance money I punched up the console and put in a few orders for some new assault frigates.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
The blob wins again
As I awoke from my slumber I decided to hit the bar and see what was going on in the usually deserted Adirain system. The hour was asleep and only the foolhardy and the brave remained awake to indulge in the nights gifts. Among the latter was a friend of mine Lucas Padicain who as usual was hitting on the male strippers in the corner of the room. A man of slight stature, Lucas was a tall 6' 3" with a fair complexion and a love for any man that would bring him out of his world of detachment and solitude for a few iskies. After being denied in a rather typical fashion (he had learned to shake off rejection after numerous failures) he meandered over to a seat next to me and sat down gingerly no doubt still nursing a sore backside from the previous nights events. Lucas, now in a foul mood, asked me if I wanted to blow off some steam and go find some poor soul to take advantage of so he could take the corpse back to his room later that evening. I thought why not, as I still had a few ships to throw around.
We formed up a fleet and set out intent to either find someone to terrorize or become flaming balls of space fire. As flaming as Lucas already was I figured a little bit of terror is never a bad thing. The initial part of our roam brought nothing but more sadness as we either found systems empty or targets that were not available to die in a fire. Accompanied by Lucas' Vexor, my Hurricane was ill suited to enter the various faction warfare complexes we found along the way but before to long we found a lone Drake clearing out a rouge drone site. Wrong move, now in the path of 2 pissed off space pirates the Drake didn't stand much of a chance against our guns and the combined firepower of the drones he had stirred up. I cranked up the rock music of ages gone past and rocketed in to ruin the unfortunate capsuleer's day. It wasn't long before he crumbled into shards of metal and Lucas and I were momentarily relieved of the day's tensions.
As we continued our roam no other targets presented themselves. We both insured our ships and decided to camp one of the FW plexes in the area. Realizing this most likely meant a ride back home in a pod we decided fuck it and went for it anyways. It wasn't long before a Stiletto came poking around our encampment. Several other ships jumped in after briefly sizing us up and the fun started. Realizing that a savage battle and glorious flaming death awaited us, we hurtled towards the Stabber Fleet Issue that jumped in with reckless abandon. After depleting his shields he began burning away from us and a sizable support fleet landed on us to save their lucky buddy. Lucas began taking serious fire and quickly melted leaving me to do the dirty work and try and finish off the Stabber. I overloaded every module I could and began melting away the Stabber's flimsy armor, however it was a little to late as I cursed and watched my shields disappear and my armor deplete in a short fashion after. The Stabber went into structure and I prayed to every CCP god out there that I would at least take him with me. However being the flip floppy bastards they are the CCP gods denied me and I'm sure belted out sick laughter as my Hurricane's duct tape began coming apart and exploded in what I'm sure was a marvelous grandeur to our blobbing attackers.
I lazily hopped my pod back home embittered by the loss of yet another ship on the day. As I walked back to my cabin in station I had to laugh to myself as I noticed even Lucas was too pissed to even attempt to pick up any of the male strippers walking around the loading bay. While I digress, the day was overall rather successful, with the total ISK destroyed topping out at just about 300 mil compared to my 110 mil with the slight buffer of the 20 mil the loot brought in on the day. Another day, another flurry of explosions and even another quart of the bear tears.
We formed up a fleet and set out intent to either find someone to terrorize or become flaming balls of space fire. As flaming as Lucas already was I figured a little bit of terror is never a bad thing. The initial part of our roam brought nothing but more sadness as we either found systems empty or targets that were not available to die in a fire. Accompanied by Lucas' Vexor, my Hurricane was ill suited to enter the various faction warfare complexes we found along the way but before to long we found a lone Drake clearing out a rouge drone site. Wrong move, now in the path of 2 pissed off space pirates the Drake didn't stand much of a chance against our guns and the combined firepower of the drones he had stirred up. I cranked up the rock music of ages gone past and rocketed in to ruin the unfortunate capsuleer's day. It wasn't long before he crumbled into shards of metal and Lucas and I were momentarily relieved of the day's tensions.
As we continued our roam no other targets presented themselves. We both insured our ships and decided to camp one of the FW plexes in the area. Realizing this most likely meant a ride back home in a pod we decided fuck it and went for it anyways. It wasn't long before a Stiletto came poking around our encampment. Several other ships jumped in after briefly sizing us up and the fun started. Realizing that a savage battle and glorious flaming death awaited us, we hurtled towards the Stabber Fleet Issue that jumped in with reckless abandon. After depleting his shields he began burning away from us and a sizable support fleet landed on us to save their lucky buddy. Lucas began taking serious fire and quickly melted leaving me to do the dirty work and try and finish off the Stabber. I overloaded every module I could and began melting away the Stabber's flimsy armor, however it was a little to late as I cursed and watched my shields disappear and my armor deplete in a short fashion after. The Stabber went into structure and I prayed to every CCP god out there that I would at least take him with me. However being the flip floppy bastards they are the CCP gods denied me and I'm sure belted out sick laughter as my Hurricane's duct tape began coming apart and exploded in what I'm sure was a marvelous grandeur to our blobbing attackers.
I lazily hopped my pod back home embittered by the loss of yet another ship on the day. As I walked back to my cabin in station I had to laugh to myself as I noticed even Lucas was too pissed to even attempt to pick up any of the male strippers walking around the loading bay. While I digress, the day was overall rather successful, with the total ISK destroyed topping out at just about 300 mil compared to my 110 mil with the slight buffer of the 20 mil the loot brought in on the day. Another day, another flurry of explosions and even another quart of the bear tears.
Back to the Basics
Today was a very eventful day as far as explosions and glorious flaming death goes. As I once again returned to my cabin I marveled at the brand new sofa I had acquired from the smoldering wreck of a Dominix that fell victim to the combined firepower of myself and a few other adventurous souls. I promptly sat down ignoring the slight odor of sweat and shame that often accompanies a pilot when having to activate armor repairers. I grabbed a glass and some ice from the cooler and poured myself a tall stiff drink and began to reminisce on the days achievements and unfortunate shortcomings
The day started out in its normal fashion with me talking to the flight engineers and hitting on the occasional call girl carrying cases of booze on to Nostradamous Riralle's Drake. So I decided to take the good ole bomber out for a spin to kick off the action. Little did I know that this would entail a roller coaster ride of action, adrenaline, and furious communication over opened comm stations. Shortly after my departure I got a frazzled message of a small gang roaming through the Onne system.
I loaded up the torps and headed out to get a gang up and going. After a little brow beating and trashtalking we got our group together and set about making a plan of action. The enemy fleet was composed of 2 Thorax class cruisers, an Omen class cruiser, and finally the leader of the group was piloting around a Dominix class battleship. Way to much for any honest pirate to pass up. My group assigned me to a humble scout as I watched the Domi camping the gate obviously baiting any hungry pirate for an engagement under gate guns, not really favorable for my flimsy bomber. So I sat contently and waited for the firework show. Sure enough John Crichton flying his Rifter engaged one of the younger Omen pilots, and the Dominix promptly aligned for the ensuing fight. Before his departure another Omen entered the field and things started to get interesting.
I quickly kicked my warp drive in action and engaged my cloak as I rocketed off toward the battle at top speed. John as usual was babbling over comms about shields dropping and in typical fashion we all laughed at his demise as we ensued to rain death upon our unsuspecting victims. However in a quite spectacular failure my warp drive disengaged a mere 7km from one of the enemy Thoraxes. I laughed knowing that this would be a one way trip for my corpse loaded bomber. So in a heroic act of selflessness (I say this to merely keep my slowly diminishing ego alive) I decloaked and pounded volley after volley as fast as my launchers could muster into the Dominix whose armor repairers were failing under my fleets combined firepower. The Thorax however had not missed the fact that I decloaked a stones throw from the barrels of his main guns. A flight of light drones quickly encircled my ship and began tearing into my shields.
The Dominix began crumbling after a series of explosions racked the ship. However there was no time to savor the kill as a sudden jolt and the sound of screeching and tearing of metal jarred my senses. The structure of my bomber began to fail and it wasn't long before a lucky hit set off my ammo rack completely disabling my ship. I was forced to eject as flames entered my cockpit and I sent my capsule packing off to the gate to reship. I sprinted as fast as my legs would carry men to the Rupture I had sitting in my hangar and undocked to rejoin the fight. As I entered the system however I was greeted by congratulations and laughter as everyone commended one another for a job well done while everyone ignored John's sobbing at the loss of his prized Rifter.
I went back to the floating debris field in hopes that there would be something to salvage from the wrecks of the ships that had been lain low from the fighting. I was able to salvage most of the equipment from my bomber but unfortunately John in his anger had beat me to the field and taken all my corpses in a feeble attempt to boast that he was a better and more notorious pilot than me, but hey we all know the truth anyways right. As I salvaged about 20 mil worth of materials from the debris some scavengers jumped into the field in order to try and swindle some of my hard earned loot. Mistake number 1. Number 2 came when the Ishkur accompanied by a Retribution burned into scram range. Already majorly pissed off at the loss of my corpse collection, I ripped into the Ishkur even if my backup was a pilot as inept as John. Little did he know that I had constructed my Rupture for one soul purpose, to send any frigate pilots back to station in a clone vat. My 220mm vulcan cannons tore into the now rattled pilot. John's drones dinged off of him as I gloriously melted the Assault Frigate.
Sooner than I expected the Ishkur wretched and I saw several collapses form on his hull from repeated impacts from my autocannons. An explosion momentarily blinded me and I cursed as the Retribution burned out of scram range. He quickly disengaged and warped out before the losses mounted for the day. I smiled as I finished looting the wrecks realizing the battle had already paid for the loss of my bomber several times over. I headed back to the station to drop off the loot and put it on the market. I promptly put in an order for a new bomber as soon as I docked, not being able to bear the thought that it wouldn't be there when I woke up. As I drifted off into some much deserved fleet I couldn't help but smile as I thought about how many carebear tears had been shed in the chaos.
The day started out in its normal fashion with me talking to the flight engineers and hitting on the occasional call girl carrying cases of booze on to Nostradamous Riralle's Drake. So I decided to take the good ole bomber out for a spin to kick off the action. Little did I know that this would entail a roller coaster ride of action, adrenaline, and furious communication over opened comm stations. Shortly after my departure I got a frazzled message of a small gang roaming through the Onne system.
I loaded up the torps and headed out to get a gang up and going. After a little brow beating and trashtalking we got our group together and set about making a plan of action. The enemy fleet was composed of 2 Thorax class cruisers, an Omen class cruiser, and finally the leader of the group was piloting around a Dominix class battleship. Way to much for any honest pirate to pass up. My group assigned me to a humble scout as I watched the Domi camping the gate obviously baiting any hungry pirate for an engagement under gate guns, not really favorable for my flimsy bomber. So I sat contently and waited for the firework show. Sure enough John Crichton flying his Rifter engaged one of the younger Omen pilots, and the Dominix promptly aligned for the ensuing fight. Before his departure another Omen entered the field and things started to get interesting.
I quickly kicked my warp drive in action and engaged my cloak as I rocketed off toward the battle at top speed. John as usual was babbling over comms about shields dropping and in typical fashion we all laughed at his demise as we ensued to rain death upon our unsuspecting victims. However in a quite spectacular failure my warp drive disengaged a mere 7km from one of the enemy Thoraxes. I laughed knowing that this would be a one way trip for my corpse loaded bomber. So in a heroic act of selflessness (I say this to merely keep my slowly diminishing ego alive) I decloaked and pounded volley after volley as fast as my launchers could muster into the Dominix whose armor repairers were failing under my fleets combined firepower. The Thorax however had not missed the fact that I decloaked a stones throw from the barrels of his main guns. A flight of light drones quickly encircled my ship and began tearing into my shields.
The Dominix began crumbling after a series of explosions racked the ship. However there was no time to savor the kill as a sudden jolt and the sound of screeching and tearing of metal jarred my senses. The structure of my bomber began to fail and it wasn't long before a lucky hit set off my ammo rack completely disabling my ship. I was forced to eject as flames entered my cockpit and I sent my capsule packing off to the gate to reship. I sprinted as fast as my legs would carry men to the Rupture I had sitting in my hangar and undocked to rejoin the fight. As I entered the system however I was greeted by congratulations and laughter as everyone commended one another for a job well done while everyone ignored John's sobbing at the loss of his prized Rifter.
I went back to the floating debris field in hopes that there would be something to salvage from the wrecks of the ships that had been lain low from the fighting. I was able to salvage most of the equipment from my bomber but unfortunately John in his anger had beat me to the field and taken all my corpses in a feeble attempt to boast that he was a better and more notorious pilot than me, but hey we all know the truth anyways right. As I salvaged about 20 mil worth of materials from the debris some scavengers jumped into the field in order to try and swindle some of my hard earned loot. Mistake number 1. Number 2 came when the Ishkur accompanied by a Retribution burned into scram range. Already majorly pissed off at the loss of my corpse collection, I ripped into the Ishkur even if my backup was a pilot as inept as John. Little did he know that I had constructed my Rupture for one soul purpose, to send any frigate pilots back to station in a clone vat. My 220mm vulcan cannons tore into the now rattled pilot. John's drones dinged off of him as I gloriously melted the Assault Frigate.
Sooner than I expected the Ishkur wretched and I saw several collapses form on his hull from repeated impacts from my autocannons. An explosion momentarily blinded me and I cursed as the Retribution burned out of scram range. He quickly disengaged and warped out before the losses mounted for the day. I smiled as I finished looting the wrecks realizing the battle had already paid for the loss of my bomber several times over. I headed back to the station to drop off the loot and put it on the market. I promptly put in an order for a new bomber as soon as I docked, not being able to bear the thought that it wouldn't be there when I woke up. As I drifted off into some much deserved fleet I couldn't help but smile as I thought about how many carebear tears had been shed in the chaos.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Smoke and Mirrors
As my evening came to a close I thought it best to reflect on the days accomplishments. Although today was a slow day, all of my stealthy lurking in my home system of Adirain finally paid off. Just as I was dozing off at the console of my wonderful stealth bomber 'Reaper', the stargate to the Arnon system fired. I nearly gave myself a concussion I jumped so far out of my pilot's seat. I quickly double-checked to make sure my forehead hadn't hit the decloak button on my console and thanked the CCP gods (praise them) that my momentary lapse in concentration hadn't ruined a whole night's stake out.
Shortly following the gate fire a retriever popped up on grid on my overview. The grin that had formulated on my face could hardly have emulated any more malice and spite if Satan himself had tried to shove it in there. Realizing my ship was out of immediate danger I set my overview to track which direction the unsuspecting carebear would warp off to. In a rather predictable manner he warped off to the 4 cluster, or as I have coined it, "The Carebear Crematorium" without a moments hesitation. I quickly followed suit and warped to the first belt in the cluster at 30km so as to avoid decloaking on those pesky space rocks. Unfortunately my provincial tactics did not suit me in this particular situation. As soon I landed I bumped right off of a large chunk of veldspar which not only decloaked me but also proved a large barrier between my itchy trigger finger and my helpless quarry. After several seconds of words and phrases that I can't justify reiterating and furious manual piloting, I finally overloaded my mids and burned to overheated disruptor range.
I quickly locked up my target and disabled his warp drive leaving him at my rapidly dwindling mercy. My fingers deftly flicked over the console to the familiar joystick I'd held so many times before and without much thought I flipped open the fire switch and couldn't hide the smirks of anticipation as I began dropping torpedo after torpedo into the hull of the helpless mining vessel. After two or so volleys slamming into the ship I could only imagine the dreadful feeling of the Russian pilot having to activate his shield boosters. Ultimately it was a wasted effort as plating was stripped off his ship and the familiar orange and blue flame of an internal explosion erupted from the aft section of the now derelict wreck. His pod was promptly ejected into space and right into the waiting clutches of my torpedoes.
One might ask, does being killed in a spectacular ball of fire and waking up in a clone vat incur any type of pain? The answer would be, only slightly, only slightly. I swooped over to the wreck and found nothing of value, I then scooped up the corpse bringing my total count in my cargo hold to 29. Thus my night was concluded and I decided to head back to my quarters and relax on my pilfered couch and sip on my stolen brandy. I promptly taunted my victim and sent him and EVE mail. Please alert the captain for any issues and have a pleaseant flight! Thank you for choosing Spectre's Pod Express!
Shortly following the gate fire a retriever popped up on grid on my overview. The grin that had formulated on my face could hardly have emulated any more malice and spite if Satan himself had tried to shove it in there. Realizing my ship was out of immediate danger I set my overview to track which direction the unsuspecting carebear would warp off to. In a rather predictable manner he warped off to the 4 cluster, or as I have coined it, "The Carebear Crematorium" without a moments hesitation. I quickly followed suit and warped to the first belt in the cluster at 30km so as to avoid decloaking on those pesky space rocks. Unfortunately my provincial tactics did not suit me in this particular situation. As soon I landed I bumped right off of a large chunk of veldspar which not only decloaked me but also proved a large barrier between my itchy trigger finger and my helpless quarry. After several seconds of words and phrases that I can't justify reiterating and furious manual piloting, I finally overloaded my mids and burned to overheated disruptor range.
I quickly locked up my target and disabled his warp drive leaving him at my rapidly dwindling mercy. My fingers deftly flicked over the console to the familiar joystick I'd held so many times before and without much thought I flipped open the fire switch and couldn't hide the smirks of anticipation as I began dropping torpedo after torpedo into the hull of the helpless mining vessel. After two or so volleys slamming into the ship I could only imagine the dreadful feeling of the Russian pilot having to activate his shield boosters. Ultimately it was a wasted effort as plating was stripped off his ship and the familiar orange and blue flame of an internal explosion erupted from the aft section of the now derelict wreck. His pod was promptly ejected into space and right into the waiting clutches of my torpedoes.
One might ask, does being killed in a spectacular ball of fire and waking up in a clone vat incur any type of pain? The answer would be, only slightly, only slightly. I swooped over to the wreck and found nothing of value, I then scooped up the corpse bringing my total count in my cargo hold to 29. Thus my night was concluded and I decided to head back to my quarters and relax on my pilfered couch and sip on my stolen brandy. I promptly taunted my victim and sent him and EVE mail. Please alert the captain for any issues and have a pleaseant flight! Thank you for choosing Spectre's Pod Express!
The Beginning of the End
As I slowly made my way back to the captain's cabin after a very slow and inactive day, I thought that maybe it was time to archive a few of my many endeavors in New Eden. After a few hours of floating around space hunting for new pilots to rape and pillage and a very severe case of blue balls involving a Scorpion and a few useless station games it was good to finally sit down and relax on the vintage leather sofa that had so conveniently been ejected into space following the explosion of one Iteron I had dispatched a few days earlier. The several bottles of booze certainly entertained my imagination further and prompted me to begin this archive in short order.
So after pouring myself a nice glass of brandy, I sat back and set out to begin explaining the things I do and ultimately why I do them and how they turn out, be it glorious victory or glorious flaming death. Of course both being acceptable outcomes. So without further ado I sat down and clicked the the transmit button on the holo-com and chuckled to myself. Let the lolz flow long and continuously most certainly in conjunction with a growing river of carebear tears.
So after pouring myself a nice glass of brandy, I sat back and set out to begin explaining the things I do and ultimately why I do them and how they turn out, be it glorious victory or glorious flaming death. Of course both being acceptable outcomes. So without further ado I sat down and clicked the the transmit button on the holo-com and chuckled to myself. Let the lolz flow long and continuously most certainly in conjunction with a growing river of carebear tears.
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