Empire of Lag
ISK Balance: 82,805,197.44
In the Federation, I christened my new Stabber Kabbalah, somewhat accidentally keeping with the theme of archaic religious texts - seems like a better naming convention for Amarr ships, to be honest. Oh well. As I had promised myself, Kabbalah was promptly kitted out in full Tech 2 gear. No slot was left untouched by those little orange corners that make me giddy for the fiery testing grounds of a dogfight. Kabbalah outdoes Apocrypha in the speed department by almost 250m/s - perhaps that edge will save it from the same fate as its predecessor.
While in the Federation, my spending spree on Kabbalah was matched - if not exceeded - by the number of skills I picked up, including Medium Autocannon Specialization and Recon Ships, two skills I had fervently awaited the acquisition of and wished desperately to put to use.
However, Kabbalah was for the moment unarmed and - deigning there were more adventures to be had in Empire than had first occured to me - I headed for that terrifying graveyard for latency and packets, Jita.
Jita is populated by two kinds of player: the hypercompetitive undercutting billionare manufacturing moguls, and the soulless automatons that buy things from them. I was about to become one of the latter, and I steeled myself for the transformation by slimming down my Graphical User Interface as much as possible. The waves of lag had been crashing against the hardy hull of my wireless connection for five jumps now, and as Kabbalah dropped out of warp atop the final gate in the aptly-named Perimeter, I checked my frames per second so I could make a comparison once I was within the monster's gullet.
The map had lied to me some, overestimating the population of Jita by some 400 pilots, but that was probably from the masses coming and going in their ceaseless tides of dip and swell. I black screened for only five minutes or so, and my frames per second remained at a steady sixty as Kabbalah and I were regurgitated one the other side of the gate. I checked the market, scoffing some at the ridiculous cycle of 1 ISK undercutting. While normally when faced with this demented form of undercutting, I'll buy the third or fourth cheapest item, but this time I went for maximum savings and bought four of the cheapest Tech 2 220mm Vulcan Autocannons. The 4-4 Jita station loomed before me, and I shuddered under its slow, cool gaze. Once fitted, they looked positively menacing, but only made amusing clicking sounds when I tried to fire them. Once I'd spent 150% my ship's cost on ammunition, my guns were dangerously warm and ready to be spun up on some poor sap.
A sidenote: one of my guns was obviously worth much more than I paid for, as it was so advanced it didn't show up on my fitting screen once bolted on. Unfortunately, the cloaking device shorted out after I undocked.
I fled Jita, leaving with the sense there was much more to Empire than cheap supplies and Veldspar. I'm going to stick around The Forge a bit longer, and see what kind of trouble I can get into before setting sail for the northern tip of EVE.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Interlude
The Magnanimous Benefactor
Somewhere between Chapters Three and Four, I got my first taste of in-game fan mail. Grash Freedom - I hope he won't mind being named - sent me a few kind words, puzzling me with an offer of sponsorship. When I contacted him in conversation, he told me he didn't have much time for EVE anymore, and that my stories brought back memories of what it was all about (seems to be a developing theme with my readers). He stated he wanted to fund my adventures, and even after he told me with how much ISK he was prepared to part, I was torn. Here I was being offered a lump sum of ISK nearing the most my wallet had ever been in all my years of (sort of) hard work, in exchange for continuing to write about wandering the galaxy without a source of income.
I decided I could take the money. It was the best compliment of all, I told myself in lame justification, to be paid to be poor. But I couldn't use the funds in my travels; rather, I transferred the money to my alt to be left untouched. It's a retirement fund, or something of the sort, for if I ever tire of wandering. Or, perhaps it's the inheritance for a vagabond that decides to take up the mantle in my stead. Either way, even though it was no physical part of my journey, it has been one of the most interesting and morality-trying parts.
Furthermore, I have had a trio of thoughts bumbling around in my head, one of which I have already acted on. Desiring to be free of my NPC corp ticker, as of today I am CEO, founder, and sole member of Vagabonds Unincorporated. The headquarters is currently in Empire, and while I would do away with any footprint whatsoever of my corporation if I could, it's more likely I'll be moving the headquarters somewhere more remote. I'm not yet sure how I feel about others wanting to join the corporation, but I don't delude myself to think so highly of my little smidgin of the spotlight that others would want to join.
Next, I wonder if a blog is appropriate. Yes, it lends more structure and perhaps a bit more professionalism to a topic such as mine, but by how much would I be slashing my potential audience by leaving this thread to die and moving off to a slightly more obscure corner of the internet? Perhaps I will wait to be incorporated into a sticky, or something that won't drown in the rushing waters of General Discussion. By bringing this up, of course, I am implicitly asking for advice from anyone who cares to offer it.
Finally, a sig. I did away with the one from my old corporation, proud as I was of it. I'm capable of making most simple, unimpressive signatures, but maybe someone with a bit more taste in design and a bit more practical experience wouldn't mind applying themselves to the task. Of course, I am more than happy to pay for such a service.
I've gotten a bit ahead of myself in that I've been making more progress in game than I have cataloged here, so after a bit of a break after this post I'll catch up with myself, and then I must make sure I gather no moss.
Somewhere between Chapters Three and Four, I got my first taste of in-game fan mail. Grash Freedom - I hope he won't mind being named - sent me a few kind words, puzzling me with an offer of sponsorship. When I contacted him in conversation, he told me he didn't have much time for EVE anymore, and that my stories brought back memories of what it was all about (seems to be a developing theme with my readers). He stated he wanted to fund my adventures, and even after he told me with how much ISK he was prepared to part, I was torn. Here I was being offered a lump sum of ISK nearing the most my wallet had ever been in all my years of (sort of) hard work, in exchange for continuing to write about wandering the galaxy without a source of income.
I decided I could take the money. It was the best compliment of all, I told myself in lame justification, to be paid to be poor. But I couldn't use the funds in my travels; rather, I transferred the money to my alt to be left untouched. It's a retirement fund, or something of the sort, for if I ever tire of wandering. Or, perhaps it's the inheritance for a vagabond that decides to take up the mantle in my stead. Either way, even though it was no physical part of my journey, it has been one of the most interesting and morality-trying parts.
Furthermore, I have had a trio of thoughts bumbling around in my head, one of which I have already acted on. Desiring to be free of my NPC corp ticker, as of today I am CEO, founder, and sole member of Vagabonds Unincorporated. The headquarters is currently in Empire, and while I would do away with any footprint whatsoever of my corporation if I could, it's more likely I'll be moving the headquarters somewhere more remote. I'm not yet sure how I feel about others wanting to join the corporation, but I don't delude myself to think so highly of my little smidgin of the spotlight that others would want to join.
Next, I wonder if a blog is appropriate. Yes, it lends more structure and perhaps a bit more professionalism to a topic such as mine, but by how much would I be slashing my potential audience by leaving this thread to die and moving off to a slightly more obscure corner of the internet? Perhaps I will wait to be incorporated into a sticky, or something that won't drown in the rushing waters of General Discussion. By bringing this up, of course, I am implicitly asking for advice from anyone who cares to offer it.
Finally, a sig. I did away with the one from my old corporation, proud as I was of it. I'm capable of making most simple, unimpressive signatures, but maybe someone with a bit more taste in design and a bit more practical experience wouldn't mind applying themselves to the task. Of course, I am more than happy to pay for such a service.
I've gotten a bit ahead of myself in that I've been making more progress in game than I have cataloged here, so after a bit of a break after this post I'll catch up with myself, and then I must make sure I gather no moss.
Chapter Four
The Dash To Empire
ISK Balance: 154,294,018.32
After the magical teleportation of jump cloning whisked me away to the same Stabber-less Outer Ring station, I rejected the patronizing offer of a free Ibis and undocked in my pod. My travels would take me through Syndicate, home of many a troll-under-the-bridge pirate and the Intaki Syndicate - sole claimant of rivalry to the Angels in drug-related activities. My journey was quiet enough I was led to entertain myself by making less-than inspired quips about players that will most likely never read this. I hope. Also, somebody switched up their less/more than signs, or was the victim of a cruel joke. Again, I hope.
Low security was beginning to look like a bastion of safety and much needed supplies as my journey neared its welcoming orange glow, but I got a jolting wake up call before I would be able to ease my tired pod into a warm docking ring. I noticed a suspicious quartet of fellows as I entered one of the last legs of the trip, but ignored the oddity and engaged warp anyway - and promptly smacked dead on into an interdictor's bubble. I had cause to thank the capsule's inherent agility once more as I managed to warp away before the pirates could act.
Disgruntled with the inconvenience and thrilled with my escape, I cloistered myself within the guaranteed safety of the nearest station and settled down to haggle with the pirates. I was very grateful when they decided to believe I had no implants (the truth) and allowed me passage for a five million ISK payment. I loitered at the gate and snapped a couple pictures of their cozy little racket before being warned the pirates - like all good pirates - had very itchy trigger fingers, and I had better click the damn jump button already.
Since there were only three of them at the gate and four in system, I figured out afterwards they had a covert operations ship sitting on the gate I came in through, so the interdictor timed and placed the bubble perfectly. Or, at least, that's how I would have done it.
After nearly getting lost in a mind-bending little cluster of jumps, I finally managed to plot the last leg of my journey and sailed into the Gallente Federation without incident.
It didn't feel like home - it shouldn't have, anyway - but Empire space has a comfort all its own.
ISK Balance: 154,294,018.32
After the magical teleportation of jump cloning whisked me away to the same Stabber-less Outer Ring station, I rejected the patronizing offer of a free Ibis and undocked in my pod. My travels would take me through Syndicate, home of many a troll-under-the-bridge pirate and the Intaki Syndicate - sole claimant of rivalry to the Angels in drug-related activities. My journey was quiet enough I was led to entertain myself by making less-than inspired quips about players that will most likely never read this. I hope. Also, somebody switched up their less/more than signs, or was the victim of a cruel joke. Again, I hope.
Low security was beginning to look like a bastion of safety and much needed supplies as my journey neared its welcoming orange glow, but I got a jolting wake up call before I would be able to ease my tired pod into a warm docking ring. I noticed a suspicious quartet of fellows as I entered one of the last legs of the trip, but ignored the oddity and engaged warp anyway - and promptly smacked dead on into an interdictor's bubble. I had cause to thank the capsule's inherent agility once more as I managed to warp away before the pirates could act.
Disgruntled with the inconvenience and thrilled with my escape, I cloistered myself within the guaranteed safety of the nearest station and settled down to haggle with the pirates. I was very grateful when they decided to believe I had no implants (the truth) and allowed me passage for a five million ISK payment. I loitered at the gate and snapped a couple pictures of their cozy little racket before being warned the pirates - like all good pirates - had very itchy trigger fingers, and I had better click the damn jump button already.
Since there were only three of them at the gate and four in system, I figured out afterwards they had a covert operations ship sitting on the gate I came in through, so the interdictor timed and placed the bubble perfectly. Or, at least, that's how I would have done it.
After nearly getting lost in a mind-bending little cluster of jumps, I finally managed to plot the last leg of my journey and sailed into the Gallente Federation without incident.
It didn't feel like home - it shouldn't have, anyway - but Empire space has a comfort all its own.
Chapter Three
Old Haunts
ISK Balance: 159,294,018.32
Time Remaining For Jump Clone Preparation: 1 Hour, 31 Minutes, 15 Seconds
With dedication and a bit of an edge, I got Salvaging from nothing to Level Three by this morning, and my hopes were realized when former corpmate Kallion logged on just an hour or so after me. It wouldn't be wise for me to go salvaging in IAC space unaccompanied. Not only do I know from first hand experience how much my former alliance loves popping NPC corporation characters, but Kallion loves informing me of all the buzz concerning me in the intelligence channels. I enjoy this - it's more attention than I got while I was actually part of the alliance. Maybe I'll give them a run for their money and try to leave their space without jump cloning.
In any case, I was relatively safe in Kallion's care; his Dominix casting a sheltering shadow over Astagyes - my Catalyst - we romped about Sansha space, terrorizing the locals.
It brought back lots of memories, mostly of doing the same thing over and over again ad nauseum, but there were lots of good times to be had in the belts. Among them were amusing pseudointellectual conversations in local, sprinkled with the occasional super informal "omglolwtfbbq" or "that's what she said" in response to a tirade on the impact of post-modernist art on the failure of the U.S.S.R.'s Five Year Plan. More amusing were the less frequent super ganksquads of a PvP-less defense gang taking out their frustration on the nearest overly spiky frigate, annihilating its pitiful armor tank in a veritable holocaust of Tech 2 cruise missiles and Quake L. Ratting is comparable to mining in excitement level, granted with more explosions, but like mining it becomes infinitely more tolerable when other people are around to share in your experience. This goes without saying, but it isn't noted enough, and it doesn't hurt to take a moment to thank the blessing of sociability.
Kallion and I wasted several belts of red crosses, some of whom had some suspiciously awesome locking abilities. I was both pleased and displeased as my wallet neared 160 million ISK, for while I could buy and fit an excellent replacement for my dearly departed Apocrypha, my balance was supposed to be going down, not up. I pledged to myself that Apocrypha's successor would be a specimen of such fine Stabberhood that my wallet would plummet towards greater poverty.
Moreso than practicing my skill at popping NPCs - sheer skillpoints can take care of that for me at this point - I practiced my newest occupation, that of a junkman. It seemed a fitting occupation for a wanderer, and my newly found proficiency at salvaging assisted greatly in my accumulation of junk. Having always been one to scorn the tedium of looting wrecks, I changed my approach and took everything I could lay my hands on. I left no wreck unsalvaged or unlooted and then - in true junk master style - did nothing with it. I did not sell or refine it, only left it as a looming pile of unpackaged and damaged goods, to be used for "something or another" at some undefined point in time.
Pleased with my burgeoning empire of junk, I smiled as I watched the jump clone timer inch towards zero.
ISK Balance: 159,294,018.32
Time Remaining For Jump Clone Preparation: 1 Hour, 31 Minutes, 15 Seconds
With dedication and a bit of an edge, I got Salvaging from nothing to Level Three by this morning, and my hopes were realized when former corpmate Kallion logged on just an hour or so after me. It wouldn't be wise for me to go salvaging in IAC space unaccompanied. Not only do I know from first hand experience how much my former alliance loves popping NPC corporation characters, but Kallion loves informing me of all the buzz concerning me in the intelligence channels. I enjoy this - it's more attention than I got while I was actually part of the alliance. Maybe I'll give them a run for their money and try to leave their space without jump cloning.
In any case, I was relatively safe in Kallion's care; his Dominix casting a sheltering shadow over Astagyes - my Catalyst - we romped about Sansha space, terrorizing the locals.
It brought back lots of memories, mostly of doing the same thing over and over again ad nauseum, but there were lots of good times to be had in the belts. Among them were amusing pseudointellectual conversations in local, sprinkled with the occasional super informal "omglolwtfbbq" or "that's what she said" in response to a tirade on the impact of post-modernist art on the failure of the U.S.S.R.'s Five Year Plan. More amusing were the less frequent super ganksquads of a PvP-less defense gang taking out their frustration on the nearest overly spiky frigate, annihilating its pitiful armor tank in a veritable holocaust of Tech 2 cruise missiles and Quake L. Ratting is comparable to mining in excitement level, granted with more explosions, but like mining it becomes infinitely more tolerable when other people are around to share in your experience. This goes without saying, but it isn't noted enough, and it doesn't hurt to take a moment to thank the blessing of sociability.
Kallion and I wasted several belts of red crosses, some of whom had some suspiciously awesome locking abilities. I was both pleased and displeased as my wallet neared 160 million ISK, for while I could buy and fit an excellent replacement for my dearly departed Apocrypha, my balance was supposed to be going down, not up. I pledged to myself that Apocrypha's successor would be a specimen of such fine Stabberhood that my wallet would plummet towards greater poverty.
Moreso than practicing my skill at popping NPCs - sheer skillpoints can take care of that for me at this point - I practiced my newest occupation, that of a junkman. It seemed a fitting occupation for a wanderer, and my newly found proficiency at salvaging assisted greatly in my accumulation of junk. Having always been one to scorn the tedium of looting wrecks, I changed my approach and took everything I could lay my hands on. I left no wreck unsalvaged or unlooted and then - in true junk master style - did nothing with it. I did not sell or refine it, only left it as a looming pile of unpackaged and damaged goods, to be used for "something or another" at some undefined point in time.
Pleased with my burgeoning empire of junk, I smiled as I watched the jump clone timer inch towards zero.
Chapter Two Delta
The Junkman's Savior
ISK Balance: 155,778,018.32
I just couldn't catch a break today. Zipping around in a pod really makes you appreciate the obnoxiously flashing egg's agility when there's an Apocalypse, two Drakes, Hurricane, Scorpion, and a Purifier on your tail. You'd think with such an investment in impressive ships and the effort to get them together they'd have something better to do than chase a harmless pod around. I found it slightly incongruous I was being chased by a group called the Soul of Fountain when I had already made it into the Outer Ring, but they had the guns and I had the pod they wanted to pop, so I made no quip about how they should go home.
In our two or three jump chase my pod gave me a significant lead, and I rapidly made it to a safespot before triumpantly Control-Q-ing. When I logged back on an hour or two later, I had freed myself of Fountain's shadow - the Outer Ring was now mine to explore. A glance at my map and the clever cross-application of some filters showed a suspicious system with seven ship kills and seven pod kills to match in the past hour. To me, this screamed bubble camp, so I decided to avoid the bubble bath and made a note to stop before I made that jump.
Far before I had to worry about this system, I stumbled unexpectedly upon ORE space. Never before have I been so overjoyed to happen upon NPC stations. This meant two important things to me - first, I could find a new ship. Second, I could jump clone back to my old home and grab my long-neglected copy of the Salvaging skillbook, which would give me something to do while I roamed. It seemed extraordinarily appropriate; of course the vagabond should be gathering scrap as he wanders, to build a grand machine to reach the Jovians with or - more realisticly - trade for ISK or favors when he was down on his luck. I was severely disappointed to find ORE apparently doesn't deal in Stabbers, or any Minmatar ships for that matter - a good thing to remember for later.
Nevertheless, I made the clone jump down to Catch, my former home, costing myself a twenty-four hour timeframe just to get a low-rank skill. Perhaps there is some visiting to be done down here. A member of Masssive Homicide noted my former alliance status and asked if I wanted to join MASSH. I declined, but mentally noted something that amused me. Not so long ago, I had a friend in MASSH, back when the corporation was part of FREGE Alliance in the drone regions. I wanted my friend to be able to come visit me in my home, so I helped my friend get MASSH blue standings to my alliance. He loved my 0.0 home so much it would soon become his home, too, and he left MASSH. As I spoke to this MASSH member, I wondered to myself if it was those blue standings my friend and I garnered that eventually introduced MASSH to my alliance and led them to ingrain themselves and become members. It's a unique feeling to have made a small impact on the path of other players.
While biding my time in Catch, that fellow LocutusOBorg from a couple days back recontacted me. He's moved on from the NPC corp and is dabbling in manufacturing. His drake is still alive, too. Before I logged, I promised him he'd be building Titans for huge conglomerates before long. I hope the best for him.
ISK Balance: 155,778,018.32
I just couldn't catch a break today. Zipping around in a pod really makes you appreciate the obnoxiously flashing egg's agility when there's an Apocalypse, two Drakes, Hurricane, Scorpion, and a Purifier on your tail. You'd think with such an investment in impressive ships and the effort to get them together they'd have something better to do than chase a harmless pod around. I found it slightly incongruous I was being chased by a group called the Soul of Fountain when I had already made it into the Outer Ring, but they had the guns and I had the pod they wanted to pop, so I made no quip about how they should go home.
In our two or three jump chase my pod gave me a significant lead, and I rapidly made it to a safespot before triumpantly Control-Q-ing. When I logged back on an hour or two later, I had freed myself of Fountain's shadow - the Outer Ring was now mine to explore. A glance at my map and the clever cross-application of some filters showed a suspicious system with seven ship kills and seven pod kills to match in the past hour. To me, this screamed bubble camp, so I decided to avoid the bubble bath and made a note to stop before I made that jump.
Far before I had to worry about this system, I stumbled unexpectedly upon ORE space. Never before have I been so overjoyed to happen upon NPC stations. This meant two important things to me - first, I could find a new ship. Second, I could jump clone back to my old home and grab my long-neglected copy of the Salvaging skillbook, which would give me something to do while I roamed. It seemed extraordinarily appropriate; of course the vagabond should be gathering scrap as he wanders, to build a grand machine to reach the Jovians with or - more realisticly - trade for ISK or favors when he was down on his luck. I was severely disappointed to find ORE apparently doesn't deal in Stabbers, or any Minmatar ships for that matter - a good thing to remember for later.
Nevertheless, I made the clone jump down to Catch, my former home, costing myself a twenty-four hour timeframe just to get a low-rank skill. Perhaps there is some visiting to be done down here. A member of Masssive Homicide noted my former alliance status and asked if I wanted to join MASSH. I declined, but mentally noted something that amused me. Not so long ago, I had a friend in MASSH, back when the corporation was part of FREGE Alliance in the drone regions. I wanted my friend to be able to come visit me in my home, so I helped my friend get MASSH blue standings to my alliance. He loved my 0.0 home so much it would soon become his home, too, and he left MASSH. As I spoke to this MASSH member, I wondered to myself if it was those blue standings my friend and I garnered that eventually introduced MASSH to my alliance and led them to ingrain themselves and become members. It's a unique feeling to have made a small impact on the path of other players.
While biding my time in Catch, that fellow LocutusOBorg from a couple days back recontacted me. He's moved on from the NPC corp and is dabbling in manufacturing. His drake is still alive, too. Before I logged, I promised him he'd be building Titans for huge conglomerates before long. I hope the best for him.
Chapter Two Gamma
Oil and Water
ISK Balance: 156,018,018.32
While forging south through Fountain's reverse-Italy-esque structure, I noticed at one point I was caught between two cleverly named systems; one looked an awful lot like "Kevin," while the other reminded me of "OGOD" (Goonswarm's favorite, I'm sure). There are a lot of these throughout EVE: "I ate dog," "yay sex," and just plain old "woot" and "leet." I began thinking about my own avatar's name, the heavy, cast iron "Hello, My Name Is" placard I've dragged along behind me throughout my tenure as an EVE player. I am proud in my own minor way that this is my only character, transparent and honest. I have no duplicitous second, third, or fourth accounts, and my only alt is the aptly-named "PriceCheckAisle3." The name I chose for myself is unoriginal, but it has a story behind it nonetheless. In Dungeons and Dragons there is a fearsome creature called a Mindflayer, which does just that. It is very unpleasant, as you might assume. I liked the name, but figured it would have a nice ring to it if the terribly overused prefix "cyber" were slapped onto it. Now, I find a small amount of humor in its classic unoriginality, as well as the fact I have played DnD but once, and never came close to encountering a Mindflayer in those brief travels.
These ponderings carried me to my destination, the westernmost point in EVE. I know I said before it was Y-2ANO, but further inspection of the map show it is in fact the system right before, LBGI-2. The much more crowded system of Y-2ANO would have provided a much more dangerous and thrilling adventure, but we can't go sacrificing accuracy for such things. Besides, I'd had my fill of crowded Fountain systems and their efficient defenses.
I looked into the abyss beyond the EVE galaxy, and then back at the hanging mobile of stars behind me. I felt as though I was at the edge of time and space itself, and it was a happy feeling to have pierced the fortress that is Fountain and come so far just for this simple screenshot.
I turned Apocrypha about for what I assumed would be a relatively smooth ride back home. It wasn't until a few jumps later I realized I was surrounded by Czechs. At first it was just one, but it turned out he was leading four others in a chase, and their quarry was me. At each gate I made a narrow escape until I gained enough of a lead to lose them by hiding in a safespot and praying no one had probes. Heart thumping from my first real chase in Fountain, I smiled broadly and victorious as I saw local slowly tick down as my pursuers gave up and went home. Pleased with my blockade running skills, I warped to the next gate, on my way north.
I then realized all five of them were waiting on the other side.
Later, in my pod a few systems worth of hasty jumps away from the bright blue flash of Apocrypha's demise, I cursed my foolishness. Not wanting to head back through PNQY-Y, I plotted a course that wheeled north and led me back into low security, where I might procure a new ship and the applicable modules. After a few jumps into Pegasus, I tired of my pod's incessant flashing and logged in a safespot, pondering over what ship could possibly replace Apocrypha.
A sidenote: Those dastardly Jovians have been redesigning some of our constellations in their image, I just knew it!
ISK Balance: 156,018,018.32
While forging south through Fountain's reverse-Italy-esque structure, I noticed at one point I was caught between two cleverly named systems; one looked an awful lot like "Kevin," while the other reminded me of "OGOD" (Goonswarm's favorite, I'm sure). There are a lot of these throughout EVE: "I ate dog," "yay sex," and just plain old "woot" and "leet." I began thinking about my own avatar's name, the heavy, cast iron "Hello, My Name Is" placard I've dragged along behind me throughout my tenure as an EVE player. I am proud in my own minor way that this is my only character, transparent and honest. I have no duplicitous second, third, or fourth accounts, and my only alt is the aptly-named "PriceCheckAisle3." The name I chose for myself is unoriginal, but it has a story behind it nonetheless. In Dungeons and Dragons there is a fearsome creature called a Mindflayer, which does just that. It is very unpleasant, as you might assume. I liked the name, but figured it would have a nice ring to it if the terribly overused prefix "cyber" were slapped onto it. Now, I find a small amount of humor in its classic unoriginality, as well as the fact I have played DnD but once, and never came close to encountering a Mindflayer in those brief travels.
These ponderings carried me to my destination, the westernmost point in EVE. I know I said before it was Y-2ANO, but further inspection of the map show it is in fact the system right before, LBGI-2. The much more crowded system of Y-2ANO would have provided a much more dangerous and thrilling adventure, but we can't go sacrificing accuracy for such things. Besides, I'd had my fill of crowded Fountain systems and their efficient defenses.
I looked into the abyss beyond the EVE galaxy, and then back at the hanging mobile of stars behind me. I felt as though I was at the edge of time and space itself, and it was a happy feeling to have pierced the fortress that is Fountain and come so far just for this simple screenshot.
I turned Apocrypha about for what I assumed would be a relatively smooth ride back home. It wasn't until a few jumps later I realized I was surrounded by Czechs. At first it was just one, but it turned out he was leading four others in a chase, and their quarry was me. At each gate I made a narrow escape until I gained enough of a lead to lose them by hiding in a safespot and praying no one had probes. Heart thumping from my first real chase in Fountain, I smiled broadly and victorious as I saw local slowly tick down as my pursuers gave up and went home. Pleased with my blockade running skills, I warped to the next gate, on my way north.
I then realized all five of them were waiting on the other side.
Later, in my pod a few systems worth of hasty jumps away from the bright blue flash of Apocrypha's demise, I cursed my foolishness. Not wanting to head back through PNQY-Y, I plotted a course that wheeled north and led me back into low security, where I might procure a new ship and the applicable modules. After a few jumps into Pegasus, I tired of my pod's incessant flashing and logged in a safespot, pondering over what ship could possibly replace Apocrypha.
A sidenote: Those dastardly Jovians have been redesigning some of our constellations in their image, I just knew it!
Chapter Two Beta
We Don't Go To Fountain Anymore...
Once the defense went to sleep, I made it into PNQY-Y and took the risk of taking a peek at the station. I found a carrier pilot that was either asleep or a braggart, and in the interest of self preservation I resisted the urge to fly circles around the brick and instead moved on in the direction of my destination.
I've flown through BoB Coalition space before, and aside from the occasional population cluster around a station system, it's all but devoid of life. Past the station the ride was much the same, which lent itself well to thought.
A major thought of mine while I made jump after glimmering blue jump through barren space was that perhaps enough members of the 0.0 alliances would hear of my travels in one way or another I would have free reign through their space, ushered through star systems as a revered guest - the travelling wise man of blesses and curses. An alliance of a great many notable personalities would deny me entrance to the space they had carved out of 0.0, and within nary a month their towering empire would crumble.
But I am not a member of the Guiding Hand Social Club, and the glory of that hope disappeared with Istavaan's departure.
Once a few blips of Axiom Empire grunts appeared in my local window, these delusions of grandure dissipated. It wouldn't be much fun anyway, racing through 0.0 without obstacles. I hope it's never so easy.
I deigned the next jump was a little bit risky, and my adventures in trespassing had satisfied me for today. I logged in my safespot, happy.
Finally, a chance for a meme. An Viator is enroute. Engrish, rare for CCP, and intriguing when it does happen.
Once the defense went to sleep, I made it into PNQY-Y and took the risk of taking a peek at the station. I found a carrier pilot that was either asleep or a braggart, and in the interest of self preservation I resisted the urge to fly circles around the brick and instead moved on in the direction of my destination.
I've flown through BoB Coalition space before, and aside from the occasional population cluster around a station system, it's all but devoid of life. Past the station the ride was much the same, which lent itself well to thought.
A major thought of mine while I made jump after glimmering blue jump through barren space was that perhaps enough members of the 0.0 alliances would hear of my travels in one way or another I would have free reign through their space, ushered through star systems as a revered guest - the travelling wise man of blesses and curses. An alliance of a great many notable personalities would deny me entrance to the space they had carved out of 0.0, and within nary a month their towering empire would crumble.
But I am not a member of the Guiding Hand Social Club, and the glory of that hope disappeared with Istavaan's departure.
Once a few blips of Axiom Empire grunts appeared in my local window, these delusions of grandure dissipated. It wouldn't be much fun anyway, racing through 0.0 without obstacles. I hope it's never so easy.
I deigned the next jump was a little bit risky, and my adventures in trespassing had satisfied me for today. I logged in my safespot, happy.
Finally, a chance for a meme. An Viator is enroute. Engrish, rare for CCP, and intriguing when it does happen.
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