It was a great feeling to get back in to the pilot's seat after such a long time away. I had to take a second to just sit back and admire Razorwing's sharp angles and contours. The Caldari have an amazing way of making their ships not only deadly but true pieces of art. I walked around after and smelled the sweet fumes of the fueling dock. There was also a hint of cordite in the air accompanied by the mechanized clanking of the weapon rack loading salvo after salvo of rockets into the launchers I had "re appropriated" from some poor merchant who was not expecting to be scrammed only 2 AU away from his pos heh.
I had taken up residence in a faction warfare lane with several fellow RIFTA pilots and so far the pickings had been plentiful. Wave after wave of militia members tried their hands at removing us from the area but for every one of our measly frigates they managed to destroy, we would simply re-ship and destroy 10 more. It was a war of attrition if I'd ever seen one. One that benefited me and my fellow scallywags 10 fold. As I was doing a quick systems check, Sam Sobati came strolling up with his tea in his usual manner, He was of English descent or something, whatever that meant. Something to do with a predisposition to tea and some horrid food called crumpets. They must have been a homely people back in their time (you know I love ya bud haha).
"Feel good to be back eh?" Sam asked casually.
"You don't even know the half of it. I being sober might have been the worst of it though." I replied jokingly.
Sam laughed heartily then in a rather sudden manner asked, "Hey how about we go take that thing out for a spin. It hasn't seen the light of day in ages since you've been gone."
"I don't know man, I'm still working out some kinks in the Tracking Disruption system. I can't afford to take any direct hits in this thing. It's made of spit and some of that head wax Brink used to keep in his Rifter." I replied.
"Well no better way to test that hero tank than to throw it into a battery of weapons right? I will admit trying a Rocket Condor like that is pretty balsy though." said Sam.
"Haha might as well I suppose, you're the boss. Lets head out."
Fights were plentiful all night and Sam and I both scored several kills. The minmatar and amaar militias simply didn't have the experience to counter both Razorwing and Sam's Atron. Our destination Siseide seemed fairly active and after a few battles to get in to the system, Sam and I both managed to dodge customs and security at the gate and make our way in. After we had located and set up at a perch we both began to scan down the system for possible targets. After a few minutes a rather large and foreign signature popped up at the Large militia outpost.
"Hey Spec, you recognize this signature? My scanner can't pick it out." Sam asked.
I plugged the signature in my scanner and began decoding. It was a newer Gallente signature, but what was it doing all the way out in Amaar/Minmatar FW space? I contemplated the thought for a few minutes when my scanner started blinking. "DECRYPTION COMPLETE: SHIP NUMBER 077265 GALLENTE FACTION BATTLECRUISER: CLASS: BRUTIX" A Navy Brutix? Out here?
"Hey Sam check this out, you won't believe it." I said as I tried to hide my excitement.
Sam was quiet for several seconds as he took in the signature and what it meant for us and our prospective wallets.
"You think we can break it mate?" He questioned.
"The worst that can happen is we hold point and get back up. We might as well try." I replied.
"Lets do it, sig locked in, engaging warp drive." Sam relayed to me.
We warped in and landed about 10 km off of our unsuspecting target. Sam and I both locked on and began pouring all the fire power our frigates could muster into the hulking ship. I engaged my Tracking disruptor halfway expected it to fizzle out and go offline. Much to my surprise, the module engaged and worked perfectly. The Brutix attempted to return fire but simply could not get a solid lock on our small fast moving frigates. After several minutes of brutal fighting the Brutix had finally found itself capped out and quickly losing pressure in it's cabins. Small vents of air began rupturing from it's sides and it began to list as key stabilizing and weapons systems began to fail and go offline. As the ship began to enter structure damage, my console lit up like a christmas tree. Flashing lights were going off all around my weapons modules. "WARNING WEAPONS MALFUNCTION: UNABLE TO LOAD."
"Shit! I can't be out of fucking rockets! Not now! Sam, can you hold him while I find some ammunition?" I asked frantically.
"Negative mate, I'm running low on cap as it is. Can you stay on grid and keep point? Your Tracking Disruptor is the only thing keeping me going out here." He replied.
"Copy that, staying on grid. Finish him quick. We need to get out of here."
"I've got a little surprise for this guy hehe." Sam said with a sadistic tone.
After repeated volleys from our ships the Brutix's core had become partially exposed leaving the ship extremely vulnerable to a magnetically charged round from Sam's railguns. I saw a bright light gathering around his rails and in a split second he released his round. Time slowed to a standstill. I tracked the round in its bluish white tint almost like a shooting star. The round found it's mark at exactly the right time. It only took a split second for the core to overload and begin overloading all of the ships systems and wracking it with explosions all throughout the ship. In a final death throw you could hear the ship creaking and groaning as it's structure began tearing apart. The ship split and was engulfed in a massive explosion that blinded us both.
"Hell yea! We just killed a fucking Brutix man." I yelled over the comms.
"Mate, you're going to want to take a look at this." Sam whispered over the comm link.
I squinted at the hologram Sam sent over and could barely believe my eyes. The ship had been outfitted with the latest faction equipment down to the railguns it had online. The total worth of the ship was estimated in the hundreds of millions of isk. Sam and I could barely believe our eyes, or our wallets. We had hit the jackpot.
"Scoop this shit up and lets get the fuck out of here." Sam hurriedly squeezed out.
"Yea, yea lets do that." I replied still in disbelief.
"Lets hightail it out of here, I'll scout ahead of you." I told Sam.
We warped off in to the distance as fast as our ships could muster still in disbelief. As we finally entered the station and dropped off our loot, the realization began to sink in. We had done the unthinkable. Just goes to prove ladies and gents, size may matter to your wives and/or hookers, but not out in space. Respect the T1. You know what they say. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
https://zkillboard.com/kill/42772181/
Brutix Navy Kill
Monday, December 1, 2014
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
You Can't Cheat the Reaper
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.
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.
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.
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