The door hissed open, and Raxip stepped into his room. It was fully morning, now, the artificial station lighting making a jaunty yellow-tinted glow across his chamber which didn’t match his mood. Rax’s face was grim, his eyes seeming unfocused, staring into the distance, past the solid bulkheads of his apartment. He stood still for a moment, as the door returned to it’s closed position, then leaned back against it. His head dropped down, and his legs folded slowly, sliding him down the wall to sit on the floor. Raxip rested his head on his knees, and breathed deeply for a few minutes.
His composure regained, Raxip got to his feet, and glanced about. The bed was unmade, empty, the sheets half tossed to the floor. He shrugged, and went to clean up. Resting on the pillow, though was a small datachip. Raxip snorted, and scooped his ‘pad up from the small dresser. Slotting in the chip, he brought up it’s contents, and found a small text message.
Rax where did you go? I woke up and you were gone. You didn’t even leave me a note.
If that’s the way you’re gonna treat me, I think we shouldn’t see each other anymore.
-Shiaen
Shrugging, Raxip hit the ‘wipe’ command on his pad, and tossed it on the bed.
~
The hot water ran over Rax’s face, and down his body, almost washing the insanity of the morning away, but not quite. For a moment he just stood there in the shower, his head bowed under the stream, but a little sound wiggled its way into his conscious, cutting through his trance. When he realized it was the high insistent beep of an incoming call from his communications gear, Raxip leapt out of the small enclosed shower and into his living area, slapping the Receive button. As the screen flickered with static while the connection stabilized, he composed his features to neutrality. The screen resolved into the image of a Sebiestor man sporting a mohawk, his features thin and seeming prematurely lined. His face looked weary, but his eyes were alight, a seed of madness resting in their depths. His eyes widened with recognition, then his mouth quirked up in a smirk as he glanced Raxip from head to toe.
"Raxi, buddy, if I knew it was this kind of call, I wouldn’t have rushed. I’ve told you before, I’m not interested in that way,” he said, a mocking tone in his voice.
Raxip’s brow furrowed with confusion, then realization that he had forgot to dress from his shower swept through him. He abruptly sat down on his bed, and pulled the sheets over his lap.
“Uh, Coffee, um. No, that’s not it. I wanted to hire you for something. You can... Find people, right?”
The Sebiestor man smiled, and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “You’re a friend Rax, so I can look into it. But it’s still going to cost you.” His eyes widened, and he smiled broadly. “So, who am I finding, and you want him in one piece or what? Oh, and if he’s a capsuleer, it’s gonna cost extra.”
“No, he’s no capsuleer. Actually, I don’t know exactly who he is,” Rax said, his eyes narrowing to a glare, “But his name is Durynx, and I heard he’s out there somewhere. I wanna find him.”
“Alright, Raxip. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll get back to you when I have news.”. Coffee glanced off screen, and made a quick gesture, closing the connection.
Raxip sat there staring at the matte grey panelling of the wall where the screen was, before sighing deeply, and flopping down backwards onto his bed.
“It’s starting again,” he whispered to himself.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sounds In The Night
“I WILL LIVE!”
The shout echoed through the spartan and sparsely decorated bedroom, grey with the first lights of the station’s artificial morning. Raxip sat up and looked about, his chest heaving with adrenaline, trying to locate the source of the cry. Eventually, though, the last hazy mists of sleep evaporated from his mind and he realized that he himself had cried out. A hand reached up from the form in the bed beside him and gripped the muscles of his upper arm, pulling him downwards.
“Come back to bed, love,” said the form beside him, bleary with sleep. “ It was just a nightmare”.
Raxip twitched the offending limb off himself, though, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was early, a couple hours before true dawn, but he knew that the dreams would continue to haunt him if he tried to keep sleeping. They were getting worse. He got up and pulled on an undershirt and trousers, before getting up.
“I’ll be back later,” he said, brusquely. “ Leave, or don’t. Whatever.” There was an op tomorrow, he figured he may as well get an early start making sure everything was ready.
The inside of the hangar was cavernous, with the weaving spotlights only serving to highlight the enormous scale of the structure, built to consolidate much more massive craft than Raxip’s Rupture class cruiser, which currently inhabited it. He stopped at the computer panel beside the door, verifying that all the additional equipment he had requested had been loaded onto it by the station personnel. Everything was fine, however. Since he didn’t have any problems to pursue, and he didn’t want to risk sleep again, he decided to take a rest in his office.
To get to the office, Raxip had to travel down a connecting corridor to the door at the very end. As he got closer to the portal, however, Raxip realized that the oppressive claustrophobic feeling of the empty, silent, vast hangar complex had lifted from his shoulders. Immediately he stopped, and pressed himself up against the wall, willing his breathing to slow, his heart to stop. Gradually, he became aware that he wasn’t alone. He could faintly hear voices, coming from the office.
Pushing his spine hard up against the wall, he slowly slid down the hallway towards the entrance. Easing his small handgun from it’s holster in the small of his back, he opened the door several inches with glacial slowness. Crouching down low, he peered around the corner, and saw two figures, one with his back to him, talking, in his office. Raxip recognized the man facing him as one of his crewmen, his weapons officer. The other was dressed all in matte black, in the uniform of the Republic Commandos, with a full mask over his head, concealing his features.
“I just need you to give this to him. Is that such a hard task?” The voice, a harsh buzzing growl, seemingly modified by some process, came from the man with his back to Raxip.
“No! I told you, If it’s so important, tell him yourself. I don’t wanna get mixed up in this!” His officer seemed agitated. Just then, the man caught sight of Raxip, and just for a second his eyes widened, and flicked towards Rax’s hiding spot. He quickly smothered the reaction, but it was too late. All of a sudden, things started happening quickly.
Raxip saw the intruder begin to spin and reach for a weapon at his side, and shouting “DOWN!” at his officer, a surge of adrenaline blasted through Raxip’s system. Time seemed to slow down, and he rose from his crouch like a sprinter from his starting blocks. Before the other man had even turned halfway into him, Rax slammed his shoulder into the man’s arm and side. Using the moment of bad balance to his advantage, he grabbed the black-clad man’s arm, twisted it up behind his back, and used his momentum and new leverage to bullrush the man the four remaining feet up against the wall of the office. The man grunted with pain, and dropped the small sidearm he had been reaching for. Raxip kicked it away. Sweeping the man’s feet out from under him, Raxip bore the man to the ground, and pinned him there with his knee, pushing the barrel of his own gun into the back of the man’s neck.
“Let’s see who you are, then,” Raxip said, as he unbuckled the sub-vocal microphone collar holding the mask in place.
“Shit,” the man half-rasped, as midway through the word, the voice changer was lifted from his mouth.
When Raxip saw the tall Civire intruder’s face, however, his expression of cold fury was replaced with confusion.
“Graham,” he said, “is that you? What the fuck are you doing breaking into my office and fucking with my crew?”
His posture relaxed slightly, but he still kept his knee on the man’s spine, and the gun pointing unerringly towards his skull. The other man smiled, and said “It’s okay, Rax. I’m not doing anything bad.”
“Weren’t you ordered by your commander not to communicate with me in any way ever again,” Raxip asked, with the slightest hint of a smirk at the edges of his mouth.
The man nodded, “That’s why I did this. I was trying to convince your officer to deliver you the message, so there would be no trace back to me.”
Raxip holstered his weapon, and stood up, releasing his weight from Graham’s back. He offered his hand to the other man. “It’s been a long time, Graham.”
Graham clasped his old friend’s hand firmly, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing his abused shoulder. He smiled. “I know. We move in very different circles nowadays, though, Rax.”
“We do, that. So what the hell is so important that you had to risk court-martial by the republic and getting shot by me?”
Graham’s smile fell from his face. He put a hand on Raxip’s shoulder, and said “You’re not going to like this, Rax. It’s Durynx. I think he might have resurfaced.”
The shout echoed through the spartan and sparsely decorated bedroom, grey with the first lights of the station’s artificial morning. Raxip sat up and looked about, his chest heaving with adrenaline, trying to locate the source of the cry. Eventually, though, the last hazy mists of sleep evaporated from his mind and he realized that he himself had cried out. A hand reached up from the form in the bed beside him and gripped the muscles of his upper arm, pulling him downwards.
“Come back to bed, love,” said the form beside him, bleary with sleep. “ It was just a nightmare”.
Raxip twitched the offending limb off himself, though, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was early, a couple hours before true dawn, but he knew that the dreams would continue to haunt him if he tried to keep sleeping. They were getting worse. He got up and pulled on an undershirt and trousers, before getting up.
“I’ll be back later,” he said, brusquely. “ Leave, or don’t. Whatever.” There was an op tomorrow, he figured he may as well get an early start making sure everything was ready.
The inside of the hangar was cavernous, with the weaving spotlights only serving to highlight the enormous scale of the structure, built to consolidate much more massive craft than Raxip’s Rupture class cruiser, which currently inhabited it. He stopped at the computer panel beside the door, verifying that all the additional equipment he had requested had been loaded onto it by the station personnel. Everything was fine, however. Since he didn’t have any problems to pursue, and he didn’t want to risk sleep again, he decided to take a rest in his office.
To get to the office, Raxip had to travel down a connecting corridor to the door at the very end. As he got closer to the portal, however, Raxip realized that the oppressive claustrophobic feeling of the empty, silent, vast hangar complex had lifted from his shoulders. Immediately he stopped, and pressed himself up against the wall, willing his breathing to slow, his heart to stop. Gradually, he became aware that he wasn’t alone. He could faintly hear voices, coming from the office.
Pushing his spine hard up against the wall, he slowly slid down the hallway towards the entrance. Easing his small handgun from it’s holster in the small of his back, he opened the door several inches with glacial slowness. Crouching down low, he peered around the corner, and saw two figures, one with his back to him, talking, in his office. Raxip recognized the man facing him as one of his crewmen, his weapons officer. The other was dressed all in matte black, in the uniform of the Republic Commandos, with a full mask over his head, concealing his features.
“I just need you to give this to him. Is that such a hard task?” The voice, a harsh buzzing growl, seemingly modified by some process, came from the man with his back to Raxip.
“No! I told you, If it’s so important, tell him yourself. I don’t wanna get mixed up in this!” His officer seemed agitated. Just then, the man caught sight of Raxip, and just for a second his eyes widened, and flicked towards Rax’s hiding spot. He quickly smothered the reaction, but it was too late. All of a sudden, things started happening quickly.
Raxip saw the intruder begin to spin and reach for a weapon at his side, and shouting “DOWN!” at his officer, a surge of adrenaline blasted through Raxip’s system. Time seemed to slow down, and he rose from his crouch like a sprinter from his starting blocks. Before the other man had even turned halfway into him, Rax slammed his shoulder into the man’s arm and side. Using the moment of bad balance to his advantage, he grabbed the black-clad man’s arm, twisted it up behind his back, and used his momentum and new leverage to bullrush the man the four remaining feet up against the wall of the office. The man grunted with pain, and dropped the small sidearm he had been reaching for. Raxip kicked it away. Sweeping the man’s feet out from under him, Raxip bore the man to the ground, and pinned him there with his knee, pushing the barrel of his own gun into the back of the man’s neck.
“Let’s see who you are, then,” Raxip said, as he unbuckled the sub-vocal microphone collar holding the mask in place.
“Shit,” the man half-rasped, as midway through the word, the voice changer was lifted from his mouth.
When Raxip saw the tall Civire intruder’s face, however, his expression of cold fury was replaced with confusion.
“Graham,” he said, “is that you? What the fuck are you doing breaking into my office and fucking with my crew?”
His posture relaxed slightly, but he still kept his knee on the man’s spine, and the gun pointing unerringly towards his skull. The other man smiled, and said “It’s okay, Rax. I’m not doing anything bad.”
“Weren’t you ordered by your commander not to communicate with me in any way ever again,” Raxip asked, with the slightest hint of a smirk at the edges of his mouth.
The man nodded, “That’s why I did this. I was trying to convince your officer to deliver you the message, so there would be no trace back to me.”
Raxip holstered his weapon, and stood up, releasing his weight from Graham’s back. He offered his hand to the other man. “It’s been a long time, Graham.”
Graham clasped his old friend’s hand firmly, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing his abused shoulder. He smiled. “I know. We move in very different circles nowadays, though, Rax.”
“We do, that. So what the hell is so important that you had to risk court-martial by the republic and getting shot by me?”
Graham’s smile fell from his face. He put a hand on Raxip’s shoulder, and said “You’re not going to like this, Rax. It’s Durynx. I think he might have resurfaced.”
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Prices
(This is a story I wrote. Read the post below first please.)
The man’s body presses down on mine, constricting my movement. I lock my leg around him, and try to reverse our positions, but the floor is slick with blood, and I cannot get any purchase. He tries to reach for something in his boot, and I snap an elbow into his briefly unprotected face. His hand scrabbles against my face. I have my arms locked around his chest, but I cannot find leverage. I feel his thumb press against my left eye. I bite down on his wrist, and he shrieks.
A golden sunlight field, stretching in all directions as far as he could see. There were no clouds, and the warmth poured down from the sky. He ran, as far as he could, with no cares. He did not know anything else, so he was happy. The feel of the stubbly furrows under his unshod feet, the whisper of the stalks against his outstretched arms, the heat of the sun on his face, it all meant home to him. Behind him, his family, working the land. Far in front of him, a woman, just back from market, with baskets in her hands. She is thin, with a delicate face, and sadness is visible in the lines around her eyes. She seems tired. Her clothes are simple, and flowing. She wears a collar around her neck. When she sees him, her face transforms into a beaming smile.
I slam my fist once more into his body, just under his ribcage, on his left side. He curls towards the blow, which allows me to drag my right hand from between our bodies. My left arm is numb from repeated impacts, my fingers tingling with pain. I am about to reach up and hook my hand in his face when he snaps his forehead into my nose. Pain blossoms, seeming to fill the universe, and my vision briefly goes white.
A huge vaulted chamber, of yellowish stone. To his young eyes, the ceiling seems to stretch upwards, perhaps into heaven itself. There are huge stained glass windows along each wall, the light spilling through them, illuminating incredible images of serene, wise men and caring, motherly women, brightly coloured, throwing patchwork shadows across the white marble floor. As he walks, he looks in all directions. It is all so new. Halfway, the enormous icons give way to towering pillars, coated with a golden metal. Between them are hung vast tapestries, each one easily the size of his childhood home. At the end of the cavernous chamber, almost dwarfed by the scale of it all, is a chair, simple, hand-carved from wood. He recognizes it, they told him once that his father had made it. In the chair sits a young man, confident, draped with silks and golden decoration, self-consciously toying with a simple silver band on his left middle finger. He looks at the boy, and his mother, and smiles. The boy knows that things will be different.
My mind clears. His forearm is pressing down against my throat, slowly choking me, while he digs his gloved fingers into my left wrist, preventing me from striking him. I cough, and spit blood onto his cheek. I feel a crackle in the joint, but the pain doesn’t make it through the haze of adrenaline. The weight on my neck seems infinite, though, and my vision begins to be encroached by a grey tunnel.
A shadowed vault, made from roughly hewn blocks. Simple wood shelves cover the walls. They are filled with books. He had never even seen one book before. He didn’t even know what they were for. In the centre, lit by a flickering lantern, is a desk, strewn with scrolls, tomes, and old, tattered pages. Hunched over it, a man, ancient looking, with a long flowing beard, and dressed in the simple garb of a hermit or a monk. He adjusts a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He remembered, there was a bright red mark on the bridge of the old man’s nose, as if the adjustment was a nervous habit or a tick. He shuffles some parchments, then unrolls a scroll. He gestures at it to someone behind the boy. He turns, and behind him is the woman, and the confident young lord. The lord looks shaken and frightened, his face white. The woman’s eyes suddenly catch his, and his is filled with a feeling. “I love you. I will always love you.” The old man shakes his head, and a hand falls on the back of the boy’s neck, pushing his collar into his shoulders. He shouts something, a protest, a prayer, he can’t remember.
I can’t breath. I can’t see. I am about to give up, and go the rest of the way quietly. Suddenly, my grasping fingers settle on a handle. I explore it further. He had a small knife hidden on his back! I wrap my hand around it, and jerk it from it’s sheath. He feels the sudden tug, and the pressure on my breath is momentarily reduced as he twists about to see what is happening.
A small room, made from perfectly fitted blocks of smooth black stone. There are no windows, or decorations at all. Beside the simple steel door, the only interruption is a raised dias. Standing at the stage is the confident young lord. This time, his robes are red, and the ring, set with a large ruby, into which is carved a sigil. He struggles against the ties about his wrists and ankles, but they are too strong for his young limbs. The woman is lead onto the dias. She is dressed in gorgeous white linen robes, and wears a veil over her eyes. She seems limp, docile, like the drugged fowl he used to slaughter for the great feasts. His eyes fill with tears, but he shakes his head. He will not cry. He will not cry! His mother is lain across the altar, and the noble is handed a wicked knife. I WILL NOT CRY. I WILL LIVE!
The short blade of the knife disappears into his throat. We both stop. He looks at me incredulously, as though he doesn’t really believe what just happened. Red wells up around the sharpened spar of steel jutting from the half-shaven flesh of his neck. I pull the weapon out, and hot red blood sprays onto my face. He gurgles, tries to say something, but can’t. I plunge the knife into him again, and again. I will live.
The man’s body presses down on mine, constricting my movement. I lock my leg around him, and try to reverse our positions, but the floor is slick with blood, and I cannot get any purchase. He tries to reach for something in his boot, and I snap an elbow into his briefly unprotected face. His hand scrabbles against my face. I have my arms locked around his chest, but I cannot find leverage. I feel his thumb press against my left eye. I bite down on his wrist, and he shrieks.
A golden sunlight field, stretching in all directions as far as he could see. There were no clouds, and the warmth poured down from the sky. He ran, as far as he could, with no cares. He did not know anything else, so he was happy. The feel of the stubbly furrows under his unshod feet, the whisper of the stalks against his outstretched arms, the heat of the sun on his face, it all meant home to him. Behind him, his family, working the land. Far in front of him, a woman, just back from market, with baskets in her hands. She is thin, with a delicate face, and sadness is visible in the lines around her eyes. She seems tired. Her clothes are simple, and flowing. She wears a collar around her neck. When she sees him, her face transforms into a beaming smile.
I slam my fist once more into his body, just under his ribcage, on his left side. He curls towards the blow, which allows me to drag my right hand from between our bodies. My left arm is numb from repeated impacts, my fingers tingling with pain. I am about to reach up and hook my hand in his face when he snaps his forehead into my nose. Pain blossoms, seeming to fill the universe, and my vision briefly goes white.
A huge vaulted chamber, of yellowish stone. To his young eyes, the ceiling seems to stretch upwards, perhaps into heaven itself. There are huge stained glass windows along each wall, the light spilling through them, illuminating incredible images of serene, wise men and caring, motherly women, brightly coloured, throwing patchwork shadows across the white marble floor. As he walks, he looks in all directions. It is all so new. Halfway, the enormous icons give way to towering pillars, coated with a golden metal. Between them are hung vast tapestries, each one easily the size of his childhood home. At the end of the cavernous chamber, almost dwarfed by the scale of it all, is a chair, simple, hand-carved from wood. He recognizes it, they told him once that his father had made it. In the chair sits a young man, confident, draped with silks and golden decoration, self-consciously toying with a simple silver band on his left middle finger. He looks at the boy, and his mother, and smiles. The boy knows that things will be different.
My mind clears. His forearm is pressing down against my throat, slowly choking me, while he digs his gloved fingers into my left wrist, preventing me from striking him. I cough, and spit blood onto his cheek. I feel a crackle in the joint, but the pain doesn’t make it through the haze of adrenaline. The weight on my neck seems infinite, though, and my vision begins to be encroached by a grey tunnel.
A shadowed vault, made from roughly hewn blocks. Simple wood shelves cover the walls. They are filled with books. He had never even seen one book before. He didn’t even know what they were for. In the centre, lit by a flickering lantern, is a desk, strewn with scrolls, tomes, and old, tattered pages. Hunched over it, a man, ancient looking, with a long flowing beard, and dressed in the simple garb of a hermit or a monk. He adjusts a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He remembered, there was a bright red mark on the bridge of the old man’s nose, as if the adjustment was a nervous habit or a tick. He shuffles some parchments, then unrolls a scroll. He gestures at it to someone behind the boy. He turns, and behind him is the woman, and the confident young lord. The lord looks shaken and frightened, his face white. The woman’s eyes suddenly catch his, and his is filled with a feeling. “I love you. I will always love you.” The old man shakes his head, and a hand falls on the back of the boy’s neck, pushing his collar into his shoulders. He shouts something, a protest, a prayer, he can’t remember.
I can’t breath. I can’t see. I am about to give up, and go the rest of the way quietly. Suddenly, my grasping fingers settle on a handle. I explore it further. He had a small knife hidden on his back! I wrap my hand around it, and jerk it from it’s sheath. He feels the sudden tug, and the pressure on my breath is momentarily reduced as he twists about to see what is happening.
A small room, made from perfectly fitted blocks of smooth black stone. There are no windows, or decorations at all. Beside the simple steel door, the only interruption is a raised dias. Standing at the stage is the confident young lord. This time, his robes are red, and the ring, set with a large ruby, into which is carved a sigil. He struggles against the ties about his wrists and ankles, but they are too strong for his young limbs. The woman is lead onto the dias. She is dressed in gorgeous white linen robes, and wears a veil over her eyes. She seems limp, docile, like the drugged fowl he used to slaughter for the great feasts. His eyes fill with tears, but he shakes his head. He will not cry. He will not cry! His mother is lain across the altar, and the noble is handed a wicked knife. I WILL NOT CRY. I WILL LIVE!
The short blade of the knife disappears into his throat. We both stop. He looks at me incredulously, as though he doesn’t really believe what just happened. Red wells up around the sharpened spar of steel jutting from the half-shaven flesh of his neck. I pull the weapon out, and hot red blood sprays onto my face. He gurgles, tries to say something, but can’t. I plunge the knife into him again, and again. I will live.
And now for something...
Completely different. As anyone who used to follow this blog knows, I've kinda stopped posting. This is because I found that I had run out of things to write about in the narrow confines of the format I made for myself. Rather than repeat myself, endlessly, I just stopped. But I've been working on backstory and such for Raxip as a character, and I've written a little story. It's intentionally a little mysterious. Maybe I'll fill you all in later, maybe I won't =P. And keep in mind, this is my first real foray into writing actual fiction, so comments are in fact encouraged, to shore up the tatters of my fragile abused ego.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Rebuttal
As my Rifter’s computers began their full reboot, recovering from the confusion of jump gate travel, I took stock of the situation so far today. I’d spent the afternoon wandering through my usual haunts in Molden Heath, but absolutely nothing interesting had happened. I suppose everyone has days like this. It had been the same for much of the time yesterday, with one small exception. Normally the system of Half is outside my usual flight path, but yesterday I had decided to take a look around and see what I found. The area is dominated by a gang of do-gooders who go by the name of the “Shadows of Light” alliance, but I knew that most of them would be no match for a hardened warrior such as me. Sure enough, mere minutes after I entered system, I managed to blow another Rifter pilot out of space, under the bumbling gaze of a local defence force made up of several cruisers and a battleship. The kill itself was unimpressive, my foe having fit his craft to combat non-pod pilots, but the circumstances were what made it worth it. Today, however, the system seemed empty. Only a few pilots in the local comms, most likely docked up doing what ever it is white-hats do in their spare time. Still, it never hurts to check. I took a quick spin about the asteroid belts, hoping to find a straggler, but no such luck. I punched in the co-ordinates of the gate to Istotard, and hit warp.
As I landed on the gate, I sighed. Some days you get no luck. I had my hand on the command to hail the gate crew for immediate transport, but before I got the chance to finish my action, I saw the characteristic flash of light which indicates that someone has just been transported into system. I decided to give this place one more chance, and I brought up the local comms, checking for the new arrival. There was, of course, one, a pilot who went by the name of Vasavia. I knew her, having had an encounter with her about a week ago. She’d won, but I was pretty certain it was a fluke, myself having had a little too much to drink that night. Not that she was a bad pilot, I was just convinced I was better, as I almost always am. She was Shadows of Light, but unlike the rest of her organization, she seemed to actually have a pair of ovaries. This was good. She was holding her gate cloak, so I punched in a warp to a nearby asteroid belt, hoping she would get the hint and follow.
It wasn’t more than a few moments before I saw a Rifter appear on my long range sensors, and even less time before my sensors pinged, telling me that a vessel had just exited warp less than 3 klicks from mine. I quickly shouted orders to my crew, settling myself into an orbit approximately 5 kilometres from my foe, and painting her craft with my LADAR targeting suite. I activated my suite of combat modules, and disengaged the thermal safeties of my autocannons, pushing them past the manufacturer’s specifications. She responded in kind, and the fight was on. Swiftly, streams of nuclear death filled the space between our ships. I could tell she was using the standard cookie cutter setup for her craft, but mine was a little different, as I had filled the space normally containing a rocket launch system with an energy vampire, in order to steal my foes’ capacitor to run my modules for longer. This had been much more popular a few years back, before legal issues surrounding the patents forced manufacturers to limit the operation of the NOS modules, but they hadn’t been completely neutered. I knew that the added punch of the launcher would give her the advantage in sheer firepower, but if I held range, I could force the fight into distances where the inherent instability of the ammunition we fired would reduce the damage. This would allow me to capitalise on the greater staying power my nosferatu had given me.
Very rapidly, the multiple continuous detonations erupting about her craft overloaded the fragile shield projectors, and my cannons began to bite into the armour of her tough little craft. Almost simultaneously, however, an insistent warning light on my heads up display warned me of total system failure in my own shields, and my Rifter started to shake and lurch with the force of the Morphite explosives impacting my own hull. I activated my nanite repair modules, and watched the digital readout as the tiny robots clawed their way through my ship, converging at impact points to replace blackened craters with smooth tungsten. The repair systems were helping, but I wasn’t sure it would be enough. My sensors were telling me that although my weapons were in peak condition and my targeting systems were ably compensating for the contortions my helmsman and hers were putting our nimble frigates through, she was very good. This was going to be a very close fight, and I wasn’t certain of the victor if things continued as they were.
As my armour diagnostics reported 50% armour integrity, I knew I had only one more option available to me. I brought up the computer brains controlling my repair systems, and disengaged the safeties governing their operation. There was a certain amount of danger in doing this, as the increased speed and force of the nanites could damage and eventually even destroy my various protective measures, but for short times, the benefits outweighed the possible drawbacks, and repairs would still be much less expensive than replacing my craft.
The difference was very apparent. Almost immediately, my diagnostics systems reported that the damage incoming on my ship was nearly balanced out by the increased efficiency of my glowing green helpers. On the other hand, my opponent seemed not to be aware of this kind of modification, as her armour integrity dropped lower and lower, until my rounds finally began to blast hard radiation and concussive force into her very interior. She had set her systems up well, with protective internal force fields and redundancies, but it was no match for the fury of the 150mm cannon shells riding my LADAR guidance directly into the gaps in her defences, and Vasavia’s tough little Rifter quickly evaporated around her. It was an excellent test of my abilities as a warrior, however, and kudos to her for a fabulous duel, but to the victor goes the spoils.
I gathered up what undamaged equipment I could get from her wreck, and sent my craft to a safe spot to await the end of my global criminal countdown timer. It was always nice to find fresh blood flying in my home of Molden Heath, especially in a capsuleer as skilled as Vasavia seemed. I expected great things from her.
As I landed on the gate, I sighed. Some days you get no luck. I had my hand on the command to hail the gate crew for immediate transport, but before I got the chance to finish my action, I saw the characteristic flash of light which indicates that someone has just been transported into system. I decided to give this place one more chance, and I brought up the local comms, checking for the new arrival. There was, of course, one, a pilot who went by the name of Vasavia. I knew her, having had an encounter with her about a week ago. She’d won, but I was pretty certain it was a fluke, myself having had a little too much to drink that night. Not that she was a bad pilot, I was just convinced I was better, as I almost always am. She was Shadows of Light, but unlike the rest of her organization, she seemed to actually have a pair of ovaries. This was good. She was holding her gate cloak, so I punched in a warp to a nearby asteroid belt, hoping she would get the hint and follow.
It wasn’t more than a few moments before I saw a Rifter appear on my long range sensors, and even less time before my sensors pinged, telling me that a vessel had just exited warp less than 3 klicks from mine. I quickly shouted orders to my crew, settling myself into an orbit approximately 5 kilometres from my foe, and painting her craft with my LADAR targeting suite. I activated my suite of combat modules, and disengaged the thermal safeties of my autocannons, pushing them past the manufacturer’s specifications. She responded in kind, and the fight was on. Swiftly, streams of nuclear death filled the space between our ships. I could tell she was using the standard cookie cutter setup for her craft, but mine was a little different, as I had filled the space normally containing a rocket launch system with an energy vampire, in order to steal my foes’ capacitor to run my modules for longer. This had been much more popular a few years back, before legal issues surrounding the patents forced manufacturers to limit the operation of the NOS modules, but they hadn’t been completely neutered. I knew that the added punch of the launcher would give her the advantage in sheer firepower, but if I held range, I could force the fight into distances where the inherent instability of the ammunition we fired would reduce the damage. This would allow me to capitalise on the greater staying power my nosferatu had given me.
Very rapidly, the multiple continuous detonations erupting about her craft overloaded the fragile shield projectors, and my cannons began to bite into the armour of her tough little craft. Almost simultaneously, however, an insistent warning light on my heads up display warned me of total system failure in my own shields, and my Rifter started to shake and lurch with the force of the Morphite explosives impacting my own hull. I activated my nanite repair modules, and watched the digital readout as the tiny robots clawed their way through my ship, converging at impact points to replace blackened craters with smooth tungsten. The repair systems were helping, but I wasn’t sure it would be enough. My sensors were telling me that although my weapons were in peak condition and my targeting systems were ably compensating for the contortions my helmsman and hers were putting our nimble frigates through, she was very good. This was going to be a very close fight, and I wasn’t certain of the victor if things continued as they were.
As my armour diagnostics reported 50% armour integrity, I knew I had only one more option available to me. I brought up the computer brains controlling my repair systems, and disengaged the safeties governing their operation. There was a certain amount of danger in doing this, as the increased speed and force of the nanites could damage and eventually even destroy my various protective measures, but for short times, the benefits outweighed the possible drawbacks, and repairs would still be much less expensive than replacing my craft.
The difference was very apparent. Almost immediately, my diagnostics systems reported that the damage incoming on my ship was nearly balanced out by the increased efficiency of my glowing green helpers. On the other hand, my opponent seemed not to be aware of this kind of modification, as her armour integrity dropped lower and lower, until my rounds finally began to blast hard radiation and concussive force into her very interior. She had set her systems up well, with protective internal force fields and redundancies, but it was no match for the fury of the 150mm cannon shells riding my LADAR guidance directly into the gaps in her defences, and Vasavia’s tough little Rifter quickly evaporated around her. It was an excellent test of my abilities as a warrior, however, and kudos to her for a fabulous duel, but to the victor goes the spoils.
I gathered up what undamaged equipment I could get from her wreck, and sent my craft to a safe spot to await the end of my global criminal countdown timer. It was always nice to find fresh blood flying in my home of Molden Heath, especially in a capsuleer as skilled as Vasavia seemed. I expected great things from her.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
I'd like to thank the Academy...
In case you didn't already see it, I've been added to KrazyKinux's Eve Blogroll! This is very exciting, I now feel validated as a blogger. In all seriousness, though, thanks so much. I guess I'll actually have to start posting again, though, huh.
Oh, and a shout out from one Canadian Eve player to another! Thanks again.
Oh, and a shout out from one Canadian Eve player to another! Thanks again.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Gods of Thunder
I looked about at the now very familiar vista of the Bosena system surrounding my ship. There had been a lot of activity in here earlier, so I Had been forced to stay low, but I was hoping to catch a straggler or two now that things had calmed down a little. I called a sensor report up to my main view screen, and checked my surroundings. According to my scanner, somewhere nearby there was three ships. First, a Hurricane class Battlecruiser, probably too much for my Rifter. Second, a Raven class Caldari Battleship, favoured by the dogs of the empire for killing non-pod pilots, probably deep in space running a mission. Finally, a Taranis class Interceptor. The Taranis is one of the few frigate-sized ships I’m not 100% comfortable engaging in my Rifter. Not only is it faster than my Rifter when fitted with afterburners, but it can also fit an appreciable amount of armour plating, and the Blasters it normally mounted were quite capable of pulverizing my Rifter into shreds of vapour at close range. Still, I knew that despite my poor record against them up to this point, which I believe was 0-4, I had a chance. If he fit a microwarp drive, I could easily use my afterburners to keep him at arms length where the rapid loss of shot cohesion would render his Blasters useless.
I began scanning all the known Celestials near the safe spot I was sitting at, and found him at the Stargate leading to Teonusude. I sighed, guessing that as usual, by the time I arrived, he would already be long gone, but engaged my warp drives anyway. Sometimes you get lucky. To my surprise, when my craft shot from the warp, he was in fact still inside the window of my mid-range sensors. I looked around and found him, sitting 40 km away, looting a wreck or some sort. After a second, he finished with it, and began to burn at high speed towards another. A burst of laughter slipped from me, his speed was much too great to be based on an afterburner. I might actually have a chance. I book marked the wreck he was aiming at, and dropped my ship into warp towards the nearby planet, while setting my navigation computer to automate an orbit at four and a half klicks, which should be more than enough to muffle the fury of his guns, while allowing mine to still apply enough damage to him to give me a chance at victory. The moment I arrived, I slammed the warp button again, directing me to the marked wreck.
As the space bubble collapsed from around my ship, allowing my sensors a look at my environment, it became clear that I had timed this perfectly. He was just arriving at the wreck, and I ordered my tactical officer to engage a targeting lock on my foe. I could not shoot him first, since that would Instigate the Empire defence sentries to make short work of my ship, but I knew that interceptor pilots are often cocky to the point of foolishness, and seeing a juicy T1 frigate piloted by an outlaw under his guns, he wouldn’t hesitate. I was right, and he locked me back and almost instantly opened up with all of his systems. I returned the favour, and the fight was on.
I knew that my greater speed due to my AB would let me prevail in the end, but he managed to fly into point-blank range in the opening moments of the engagement, and his stasis web was interfering with my engines, making my retreat to safer ranges a slow and terrifying experience. My guns were spraying fire into his shields, but in only two volleys, his powerful blasters filled with antimatter ammunition turned my unprotected defence field projectors into so much overheated slag smeared across the tungsten plates of my armour. His guns began to eat into my plates, and I knew that I probably could not stand up to this in the time it would take me to gain range. He had also released a pair of second generation Hobgoblin light scout drones, and while they were nothing as terrifying as the Minmatar Warrior class drone to a frigate pilot, they were adding their own appreciable fire to the torrent already splashing across my ship. My repair nanites were mitigating the damage to a certain extent, but they just couldn’t quite seem to keep up. This was the time to pull out my ace in the hole, and try something I’d never done before. I sent orders to my engineering crew to increase the power input to the repair systems, to about 125 percent. I knew I couldn’t keep this up for long, as the massive heat being built up in my systems would eventually shut down my modules, but I knew I if I could just weather the fire for a few more moments, I would be safe. Just as my armour integrity crept towards 0 and the fire started eating slowly into my well-protected hull, the Interceptor’s damage abruptly dropped out. Once I had settled into a comfortable orbit, already having stripped my foe of his shields, I ordered to also overload my guns, and the nuclear fire of my cannons bit deeply into his armour, vaporising large chunks with every volley. Molten steel began to bubble up through channels in his plates, carried by his own repair systems, but the screaming fury of my abused and overloaded autocannons was ripping his vessel apart far faster than it’s ability to heal, and at that point, the fight was quickly over, with the relatively light bulwarks of his nimble ship evaporating into a cloud of expanding gasses. I don’t think I’ll be in a hurry to engage further Taranises, seeing as how incredibly tough they are for their size, but it’s nice to finally be able to put a tick in the win column.
I began scanning all the known Celestials near the safe spot I was sitting at, and found him at the Stargate leading to Teonusude. I sighed, guessing that as usual, by the time I arrived, he would already be long gone, but engaged my warp drives anyway. Sometimes you get lucky. To my surprise, when my craft shot from the warp, he was in fact still inside the window of my mid-range sensors. I looked around and found him, sitting 40 km away, looting a wreck or some sort. After a second, he finished with it, and began to burn at high speed towards another. A burst of laughter slipped from me, his speed was much too great to be based on an afterburner. I might actually have a chance. I book marked the wreck he was aiming at, and dropped my ship into warp towards the nearby planet, while setting my navigation computer to automate an orbit at four and a half klicks, which should be more than enough to muffle the fury of his guns, while allowing mine to still apply enough damage to him to give me a chance at victory. The moment I arrived, I slammed the warp button again, directing me to the marked wreck.
As the space bubble collapsed from around my ship, allowing my sensors a look at my environment, it became clear that I had timed this perfectly. He was just arriving at the wreck, and I ordered my tactical officer to engage a targeting lock on my foe. I could not shoot him first, since that would Instigate the Empire defence sentries to make short work of my ship, but I knew that interceptor pilots are often cocky to the point of foolishness, and seeing a juicy T1 frigate piloted by an outlaw under his guns, he wouldn’t hesitate. I was right, and he locked me back and almost instantly opened up with all of his systems. I returned the favour, and the fight was on.
I knew that my greater speed due to my AB would let me prevail in the end, but he managed to fly into point-blank range in the opening moments of the engagement, and his stasis web was interfering with my engines, making my retreat to safer ranges a slow and terrifying experience. My guns were spraying fire into his shields, but in only two volleys, his powerful blasters filled with antimatter ammunition turned my unprotected defence field projectors into so much overheated slag smeared across the tungsten plates of my armour. His guns began to eat into my plates, and I knew that I probably could not stand up to this in the time it would take me to gain range. He had also released a pair of second generation Hobgoblin light scout drones, and while they were nothing as terrifying as the Minmatar Warrior class drone to a frigate pilot, they were adding their own appreciable fire to the torrent already splashing across my ship. My repair nanites were mitigating the damage to a certain extent, but they just couldn’t quite seem to keep up. This was the time to pull out my ace in the hole, and try something I’d never done before. I sent orders to my engineering crew to increase the power input to the repair systems, to about 125 percent. I knew I couldn’t keep this up for long, as the massive heat being built up in my systems would eventually shut down my modules, but I knew I if I could just weather the fire for a few more moments, I would be safe. Just as my armour integrity crept towards 0 and the fire started eating slowly into my well-protected hull, the Interceptor’s damage abruptly dropped out. Once I had settled into a comfortable orbit, already having stripped my foe of his shields, I ordered to also overload my guns, and the nuclear fire of my cannons bit deeply into his armour, vaporising large chunks with every volley. Molten steel began to bubble up through channels in his plates, carried by his own repair systems, but the screaming fury of my abused and overloaded autocannons was ripping his vessel apart far faster than it’s ability to heal, and at that point, the fight was quickly over, with the relatively light bulwarks of his nimble ship evaporating into a cloud of expanding gasses. I don’t think I’ll be in a hurry to engage further Taranises, seeing as how incredibly tough they are for their size, but it’s nice to finally be able to put a tick in the win column.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
I Guess They Were French
As the gate bubble around my ship dissolves, I punch in the coordinates that will send my ship through the warp to the assistance of my CEO, Ozkar, and I shudder into maximum warp. As I decelerate into the asteroid belt, my sensors sweep about and tell me who I’m sharing it with. The first thing I see is floating wreckage, and a moment of frustration passes through me, but then I see Oz and his Jaguar sitting calmly right beside the blasted shell of a Hulk class mining Barge. We scoop what loot we can together, and as we warp to a safe spot to wait out his criminal flag, I ask him what exactly happened, and why he didn’t wait. He explained that moments after he engaged the Hulk, a squadron of Fighter craft from a nearby allied carrier had appeared from warp, so he had finished the hulk quickly and prepared to flee. However, once the Hulk they were protecting was dead, they didn’t seem interested in revenge, and simply left. But that wasn’t the strangest thing about the fight. It appears that the Hulk pilot had fitted powerful warp stabilizers on his craft, preventing Oz’s propulsion jamming from operation, but the pilot still did not warp out and died in his ship.
As we sit in the safespot, laughing about this, I notice the local comms channel demanding attention. I check, and see the pilot we just attacked and his friends saying some very rude things in local, but in Gallentean, I suppose in the hopes that we wouldn’t know what they were saying. Luckily for us, I speak fluent Gallentean after my year as a refugee on one of their planets, and translate for my CEO.
As we banter back and forth, my long range scanners start picking up a small signature nearby, and my technician quickly resolves it down to a Caldari Hawk-class Assault Frigate, probably flown by one of the pilots we just offended with our attack. Oz and I take a moment to confer, and we decide that I will hunt this ship in the asteroid belts and lock it down so that Oz’s much more powerful Jaguar can come and kill it. I engage my warp drives, and fly to the third belt, where I saw the Hawk last, but when I exit warp he is nowhere to be found. As I begin scanning down each belt in turn, I load the powerful but extremely short range EMP ammunition into my guns. It may not have the extended reach of the rocket assisted multi-warhead Barrage rounds I usually load, but the devastating lightening bolt of energy it releases upon impact will cut through the Caldari’s foolish preference towards shields like nothing else.
Finally, I get a solid sensor reading at a belt, and my warp drive hurtles me to his location. I exit the warp no more than 3 klicks from the other ship, and targeting systems stab out from both craft. As my computer feeds me the clean tone of a good lock, the brackets about my enemy suddenly flash from yellow to red, indicating that not only has he locked me as well, he has also aggressed me in the eyes of Concord. Both of our combat systems activate, and I punch in an orbit at five hundred metres from him. For the first few seconds he seems faster than my Rifter, which is very strange, but once I activate my advanced afterburner systems, my ship gains substantial advantage and I leap to once again close the range between us. Once settled into a comfortable orbit, I signal to my backup, and engage my autocannons. I don’t expect to be able to break through his powerful defensive systems by myself, because if there is one thing the Caldari know how to do, it is build shields for their ships, and for it’s size, the Hawk will have some of the most powerful. To my surprise, however, the blinding blue flashes of artificial lightening created by my shells are stabbing deep into him, and a glance at my deep sensor readout, showing his probable defensive integrity, reveals that my guns are rapidly peeling layer upon layer of his defences away with ease.
As I notice this, however, my CEO’s craft bursts from the warp onto the scene. I send him a message asking to wait, because I want to see how much of this my little craft is capable of on its own. By the time I’m finished with my comms, there is a crackle of energy from the other ship and the rest of his shield relays and projectors evaporate into space, overheated by the strain of sustaining power while my guns shattered them. I think to myself that perhaps this is some strange experimental Hawk with heavy armour plating, but the armour seems to fall just as fast as his shield, if not faster. Before the enemy craft falls completely, I tell Oz to fire a shot into his structure to so that concord will include him on the mail. After all, we are a team. Very quickly it is all over, and the Hawk, under the fury of two sets of powerful cannons explodes into a ball of nuclear light, causing my view screen to darken momentarily.
We warp away together back to our safe spot, and look at the kill mail sent by Concord, and a shock awaits us. The Hawk had been fitted with incredibly expensive modules made by the Angels and Serpentis corporation, worth something over one hundred million isk in total. We immediately leap back towards the belt where we got the kill, and the wreck is still there. Wonderfully, when we examine it, we find that half of the equipment was not destroyed in the blast, and we scoop it up. And who says crime doesn’t pay?
As we sit in the safespot, laughing about this, I notice the local comms channel demanding attention. I check, and see the pilot we just attacked and his friends saying some very rude things in local, but in Gallentean, I suppose in the hopes that we wouldn’t know what they were saying. Luckily for us, I speak fluent Gallentean after my year as a refugee on one of their planets, and translate for my CEO.
As we banter back and forth, my long range scanners start picking up a small signature nearby, and my technician quickly resolves it down to a Caldari Hawk-class Assault Frigate, probably flown by one of the pilots we just offended with our attack. Oz and I take a moment to confer, and we decide that I will hunt this ship in the asteroid belts and lock it down so that Oz’s much more powerful Jaguar can come and kill it. I engage my warp drives, and fly to the third belt, where I saw the Hawk last, but when I exit warp he is nowhere to be found. As I begin scanning down each belt in turn, I load the powerful but extremely short range EMP ammunition into my guns. It may not have the extended reach of the rocket assisted multi-warhead Barrage rounds I usually load, but the devastating lightening bolt of energy it releases upon impact will cut through the Caldari’s foolish preference towards shields like nothing else.
Finally, I get a solid sensor reading at a belt, and my warp drive hurtles me to his location. I exit the warp no more than 3 klicks from the other ship, and targeting systems stab out from both craft. As my computer feeds me the clean tone of a good lock, the brackets about my enemy suddenly flash from yellow to red, indicating that not only has he locked me as well, he has also aggressed me in the eyes of Concord. Both of our combat systems activate, and I punch in an orbit at five hundred metres from him. For the first few seconds he seems faster than my Rifter, which is very strange, but once I activate my advanced afterburner systems, my ship gains substantial advantage and I leap to once again close the range between us. Once settled into a comfortable orbit, I signal to my backup, and engage my autocannons. I don’t expect to be able to break through his powerful defensive systems by myself, because if there is one thing the Caldari know how to do, it is build shields for their ships, and for it’s size, the Hawk will have some of the most powerful. To my surprise, however, the blinding blue flashes of artificial lightening created by my shells are stabbing deep into him, and a glance at my deep sensor readout, showing his probable defensive integrity, reveals that my guns are rapidly peeling layer upon layer of his defences away with ease.
As I notice this, however, my CEO’s craft bursts from the warp onto the scene. I send him a message asking to wait, because I want to see how much of this my little craft is capable of on its own. By the time I’m finished with my comms, there is a crackle of energy from the other ship and the rest of his shield relays and projectors evaporate into space, overheated by the strain of sustaining power while my guns shattered them. I think to myself that perhaps this is some strange experimental Hawk with heavy armour plating, but the armour seems to fall just as fast as his shield, if not faster. Before the enemy craft falls completely, I tell Oz to fire a shot into his structure to so that concord will include him on the mail. After all, we are a team. Very quickly it is all over, and the Hawk, under the fury of two sets of powerful cannons explodes into a ball of nuclear light, causing my view screen to darken momentarily.
We warp away together back to our safe spot, and look at the kill mail sent by Concord, and a shock awaits us. The Hawk had been fitted with incredibly expensive modules made by the Angels and Serpentis corporation, worth something over one hundred million isk in total. We immediately leap back towards the belt where we got the kill, and the wreck is still there. Wonderfully, when we examine it, we find that half of the equipment was not destroyed in the blast, and we scoop it up. And who says crime doesn’t pay?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Close, But No Cigar
My ship burst from warp to the asteroid belt, and a quick glance at my sensor readout showed that the other Rifter was still there, only 5 klicks from my own. Immediately, the microwave lasers of my targeting systems stab out and painted my target with the glow of an active sensor lock, enabling my tracking computer to guide my guns to their target. I kick my combat modules into activation and as blue waves of energy fly from my craft to interfere with his drives, my own engines scream into the red with the force of my advanced afterburners. I settle into a comfortable 4 klick orbit around my opponent, far enough out that his earlier-model weaponry has difficulty reaching my ship. The whirring of my Autocannons cycling into life is almost impossible to hear over the roar of my drives, but the thunder of their battle cry cuts through all other lesser sounds.
My Rifter, the Baying of the Hounds, will have little trouble with this lesser foe. His shielding has already evaporated under the fury of my ACs, and I bite deep into his unresisting armour. His own firepower is barely managing to land a few paltry scores into the tungsten plates surrounding my craft, but what little harm they do is mitigated by the roiling green nanobot soup flowing from reservoirs and knitting new plating atop the damage. Just as the nuclear fire of my own weaponry begins to cut through his plating and stab into the bulkheads and systems of his ship, I see a new foe on my scan. It is a Rupture class Cruiser, one of the most deadly cruisers I would ever have the misfortune of facing. Worse, it is piloted by a Capsuleer of the same corporation as my first target. The Rupture is still 40 klicks from the fight, and I am certain that I can dispatch my first target before it comes within range of the electronic warfare systems necessary to catch and hold my craft.
I cross my fingers within the bubbling green goo of my pod, and as my heart thunders in my chest, the thunder of my cannons continues to shred my enemy. I find my self counting down the range to Actylla’s Rupture. If it gets within 24km, the of the advanced warp disruptors his ship probably fits, it is all over for my craft. Though my original enemy poses little threat to me, my capacitor is already sorely taxed from running full combat systems for the duration of this fight, and the nearly full flight of Warrior II drones The Cruiser has already released from his ship can easily rip my ship into vapour and floating shrapnel. As my count reaches 25km, the pounding of my heart seems to drown out everything else. A warhead launched from my 150mm Autocannons finds a gap in the other Rifter’s already melted and torn armour, flying true into the centre of his warp drive. The resulting detonation turns his ship into nothing but an expanding cloud of gasses.
Just as the Rupture’s drones speed out to make mincemeat of me, I lurch towards the course already set into my navigation computers, my warp drive shrieking as I exit to freedom. I breathe out, realizing I had been holding my breath, and allow myself a smile of satisfaction. Next time perhaps Actylla will remember to align his ship to his bait instead of the celestial body it is located at. However, this time the day is mine.
My Rifter, the Baying of the Hounds, will have little trouble with this lesser foe. His shielding has already evaporated under the fury of my ACs, and I bite deep into his unresisting armour. His own firepower is barely managing to land a few paltry scores into the tungsten plates surrounding my craft, but what little harm they do is mitigated by the roiling green nanobot soup flowing from reservoirs and knitting new plating atop the damage. Just as the nuclear fire of my own weaponry begins to cut through his plating and stab into the bulkheads and systems of his ship, I see a new foe on my scan. It is a Rupture class Cruiser, one of the most deadly cruisers I would ever have the misfortune of facing. Worse, it is piloted by a Capsuleer of the same corporation as my first target. The Rupture is still 40 klicks from the fight, and I am certain that I can dispatch my first target before it comes within range of the electronic warfare systems necessary to catch and hold my craft.
I cross my fingers within the bubbling green goo of my pod, and as my heart thunders in my chest, the thunder of my cannons continues to shred my enemy. I find my self counting down the range to Actylla’s Rupture. If it gets within 24km, the of the advanced warp disruptors his ship probably fits, it is all over for my craft. Though my original enemy poses little threat to me, my capacitor is already sorely taxed from running full combat systems for the duration of this fight, and the nearly full flight of Warrior II drones The Cruiser has already released from his ship can easily rip my ship into vapour and floating shrapnel. As my count reaches 25km, the pounding of my heart seems to drown out everything else. A warhead launched from my 150mm Autocannons finds a gap in the other Rifter’s already melted and torn armour, flying true into the centre of his warp drive. The resulting detonation turns his ship into nothing but an expanding cloud of gasses.
Just as the Rupture’s drones speed out to make mincemeat of me, I lurch towards the course already set into my navigation computers, my warp drive shrieking as I exit to freedom. I breathe out, realizing I had been holding my breath, and allow myself a smile of satisfaction. Next time perhaps Actylla will remember to align his ship to his bait instead of the celestial body it is located at. However, this time the day is mine.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Eve + Flu = Dead Ships
Hey there gentle readers! Or what is left of you after my taking a week's holiday after only 2 posts. Heh. Heh. Anyway. Today, I have a bit of wisdom for you, gathered from my day's eveings. Mainly, I fly Rifters, and though I tend to have a rather suicidal aggression in my piloting practices, I've gotten relatively good at getting my ships out of sticky situations. When I first started piloting, I would lose a ship more or less every time I took one into combat. Nowadays, I'd reduce that to about 1 in four or less depending on the day. I've even gotten good, or lucky, at escaping from situations which really should kill me without a bit of effort, as you will all see in a relatively minor instance in my next actual post (Yes Raxip fans, I do in fact have one on the burner as I type this, but it needs a little more work). Anyway, today has seen a massive exception to the growing trend. Today I have lost three Rifters, gotten no kills, and gotten in fact into no fights. That's right, one from gate sentries, and two from concordokken, one of which was when I jumped into a 0.6 system with a GCC. Go ahead, laugh. I dare you. Jerks. The lesson to be learned from this is never play EvE with a fever so high you can't stand up without black spots encroaching on your vision and the room gently twisting counter-clockwise. Yes, I should've just stayed in bed.
Friday, February 27, 2009
My Ship Is Not The Hammer
Once again I find myself sitting in the Bosena system, absorbing the beauty. However, this time my interest is not directed towards the system itself. Instead, the lenses of the drone which acts as my eyes in space are focussed towards my new ship. She’s called the Broken Nose, a Maller class Cruiser, made by the Amarrian Empire. Honestly I wouldn’t care if she was made by Jamyl herself; the Broken Nose is mine now. I sit at the lagrange point, panning about and admiring the clean lines of the heaviest armour in the class, broken only by the jutting turrets of the five 200mm autocannons.
Moments later, my scanner pings, and I glance away to see the signature of a Minmatar Wolf assault frigate. I’ve flown those before, I know exactly how dangerous they are. I am, however, confident in my belief that I am more dangerous than this intruder, but still I broadcast orders to my crew to go to full combat readiness. I narrow him down to a belt, but since I’m supposed to be playing the part of a simple lower class pilot not prepared for duels against other immortal ship-gods, I decide to wait and let him come to me. I sit patiently, checking my scanner so that I’d know if he decided to leave, but he seems stationary. Alright, I think to myself, if you want to make me come, I’ll comply. I set in a course for the asteroid point he seems to be lurking at, and activate my warp drive. It is a sharp contrast to the drive of my ramshackle Rifters: instead of screams reverberating and shaking the entire ship, this brute simply purrs and rumbles, all the vibration of the massive drives absorbed by my still more massive armour plating.
However, just as my ship is about to pierce Einsteinian limits and hurl itself towards the point in space, I see on my displays the bracket and icon of a new ship flying into the point I’m sitting at. A Wolf class assault frigate. Damn, should’ve been patient. It’s too late to cancel warp, but in the brief second I see him, I notice that the white brackets around his ship in my HUD are filled with a blinking red overlay, symbolizing that Concord, in it’s infinite wisdom, has decided that this Capsuleer has done enough damage to peace and stability to warrant open season on the ships he flies. Not only will the sentry gunners at gates and turrets not engage me if I decide to attack him nearby, but Concord will not penalize me for destroying his ship around his pod.
The moment I arrive at the place I first saw the Wolf on my scanner, I snap out orders to reverse direction and spin up the warp drive as fast as my engineers humanly can, so that I can fly back to my origin. The Wolf is still there, fourteen klicks off my bow. I order my sensor tech to get a lock on his ship, while laying in a course to orbit him as close as I can, and send out a ping on my corporation comm channel. The instant the intermittent blips of the targeting software turn to the clear tone of a solid lock, I slam my fists on the activators for my guns and my propulsion jamming suite. As we both approach each other under one kilometre, struggling for a position of advantage on the other, his guns find their range, and my shields, which are only an afterthought on this ship, fade instantly to the barrages of nuclear fire spitting from his craft. Moments later, my own cannons, slightly at odds with the software of my craft which was not designed to compute firing solutions for such unwieldy weapons as projectiles, spew their solution into the turrets’ trackers. My own hail of ammunition, perhaps not as accurate but certainly greater in volume, slam into his ship, rocking it, melting his shield projectors to drifting vapour. He begins to dig into my armour, but my massive bulwarks of tungsten, layered with energized nanite webs, absorb it like so much space dust. The lines of my fire begin to trace back and forth across his now-unshielded craft, and I see that even as the stitching paths of hell run across his ship, green mist bubbles from the depths of his hull and reform the twisted scraps into clean and shining plates.
I engage my frigate-sized capacitor neutralizer, but even with it’s help, he’s holding up marvellously. Slowly but surely the monstrous output of his guns are chewing precise well grouped holes into my armour. To make matters worse, an opportunistic captain of an Angels faction cruiser has decided to add his pitiful firepower to the mix. Luckily, my comms ping from earlier has finally been answered, and the two new members of my organization exit warp and engage the Wolf. Under the firepower of myself, another Wolf, and a Rifter, my opponent quickly melts. I let his pod go while I chase down the impetuous Angels captain, and punish him for his impudence, permanently.
The fight over, I retire to a prepared safe spot, and check my comms for any chatter I need to respond to. I see that the pilot whose frigate I just tore apart around him has said “Good fight” in local. I respond in kind, and he mentions that he in fact suspected it was a trap, but engaged anyway. I laugh, but inside I’m smiling grimly. That’s exactly why I won.
Then I see the best news of all in a local pirate’s channel. Before I tell you, first, some back story. When I first came to be a black hat in the realm of New Eden, I met a great man by the name of Sard Caid. Not only did he teach me all I know about combat and hunting as a Capsuleer, he was also a good friend and a deadly wingman and commander. Of late, however, he has been inflicted with a strange glitch in his pod interface implants, meaning that occasionally without warning, while piloting his ship, he suddenly falls unconscious. This of course has meant that he has been able to in combat safely. However, with the help of a man in my corporation, who was a cybernetics expert before he became a killer, his problem has been fixed.
Moments later, my scanner pings, and I glance away to see the signature of a Minmatar Wolf assault frigate. I’ve flown those before, I know exactly how dangerous they are. I am, however, confident in my belief that I am more dangerous than this intruder, but still I broadcast orders to my crew to go to full combat readiness. I narrow him down to a belt, but since I’m supposed to be playing the part of a simple lower class pilot not prepared for duels against other immortal ship-gods, I decide to wait and let him come to me. I sit patiently, checking my scanner so that I’d know if he decided to leave, but he seems stationary. Alright, I think to myself, if you want to make me come, I’ll comply. I set in a course for the asteroid point he seems to be lurking at, and activate my warp drive. It is a sharp contrast to the drive of my ramshackle Rifters: instead of screams reverberating and shaking the entire ship, this brute simply purrs and rumbles, all the vibration of the massive drives absorbed by my still more massive armour plating.
However, just as my ship is about to pierce Einsteinian limits and hurl itself towards the point in space, I see on my displays the bracket and icon of a new ship flying into the point I’m sitting at. A Wolf class assault frigate. Damn, should’ve been patient. It’s too late to cancel warp, but in the brief second I see him, I notice that the white brackets around his ship in my HUD are filled with a blinking red overlay, symbolizing that Concord, in it’s infinite wisdom, has decided that this Capsuleer has done enough damage to peace and stability to warrant open season on the ships he flies. Not only will the sentry gunners at gates and turrets not engage me if I decide to attack him nearby, but Concord will not penalize me for destroying his ship around his pod.
The moment I arrive at the place I first saw the Wolf on my scanner, I snap out orders to reverse direction and spin up the warp drive as fast as my engineers humanly can, so that I can fly back to my origin. The Wolf is still there, fourteen klicks off my bow. I order my sensor tech to get a lock on his ship, while laying in a course to orbit him as close as I can, and send out a ping on my corporation comm channel. The instant the intermittent blips of the targeting software turn to the clear tone of a solid lock, I slam my fists on the activators for my guns and my propulsion jamming suite. As we both approach each other under one kilometre, struggling for a position of advantage on the other, his guns find their range, and my shields, which are only an afterthought on this ship, fade instantly to the barrages of nuclear fire spitting from his craft. Moments later, my own cannons, slightly at odds with the software of my craft which was not designed to compute firing solutions for such unwieldy weapons as projectiles, spew their solution into the turrets’ trackers. My own hail of ammunition, perhaps not as accurate but certainly greater in volume, slam into his ship, rocking it, melting his shield projectors to drifting vapour. He begins to dig into my armour, but my massive bulwarks of tungsten, layered with energized nanite webs, absorb it like so much space dust. The lines of my fire begin to trace back and forth across his now-unshielded craft, and I see that even as the stitching paths of hell run across his ship, green mist bubbles from the depths of his hull and reform the twisted scraps into clean and shining plates.
I engage my frigate-sized capacitor neutralizer, but even with it’s help, he’s holding up marvellously. Slowly but surely the monstrous output of his guns are chewing precise well grouped holes into my armour. To make matters worse, an opportunistic captain of an Angels faction cruiser has decided to add his pitiful firepower to the mix. Luckily, my comms ping from earlier has finally been answered, and the two new members of my organization exit warp and engage the Wolf. Under the firepower of myself, another Wolf, and a Rifter, my opponent quickly melts. I let his pod go while I chase down the impetuous Angels captain, and punish him for his impudence, permanently.
The fight over, I retire to a prepared safe spot, and check my comms for any chatter I need to respond to. I see that the pilot whose frigate I just tore apart around him has said “Good fight” in local. I respond in kind, and he mentions that he in fact suspected it was a trap, but engaged anyway. I laugh, but inside I’m smiling grimly. That’s exactly why I won.
Then I see the best news of all in a local pirate’s channel. Before I tell you, first, some back story. When I first came to be a black hat in the realm of New Eden, I met a great man by the name of Sard Caid. Not only did he teach me all I know about combat and hunting as a Capsuleer, he was also a good friend and a deadly wingman and commander. Of late, however, he has been inflicted with a strange glitch in his pod interface implants, meaning that occasionally without warning, while piloting his ship, he suddenly falls unconscious. This of course has meant that he has been able to in combat safely. However, with the help of a man in my corporation, who was a cybernetics expert before he became a killer, his problem has been fixed.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Everything Begins Somewhere
There is no sound more relaxing than that of an idle ship at your command. It all blends into a gentle massage, the thrum of the superconducting capacitors, the soft whir of the autocannon barrels in standby, the calming buzz of the engines at neutral power. I sat in my half opened pod, enjoying the sounds, and the red-orange mists of Bosena glowing up from the monitors. I'd had a busy day, this was exactly what I needed. Until, of course, the insistent bleep of the ship's long-range scanner alarm shatters the calm of my mind.
I sigh and close the pod around me, then bring up the scan interface, and quickly manage to localize the source of Aura's panic to one of the lagrange points surrounding the planet where asteroids tend to collect. It's a Thorax class Cruiser. Gallente manufacture, and when it comes to ship design, the Gallente don't mess about. I consider for a moment. After all, my Rifter class Tissue Fang is tough, but it's only a frigate, and the Thorax is one of the top tier combat ships in it's class. My indecision lasts very little time, however. I am, after all, an immortal Capsuleer. I shout orders to my crew, and as my ship aligns to the point in space where the cruiser was, the warp drive screams it's fury to space and hurls my tiny craft into speeds greater than anything even imaginable in the human psyche.
As my ship decelerates into the asteroid point, I pan my drone about and take my bearings. At first I think I am too late, when I spot nothing but rocks and a single wreck. But on second glance, I notice my overview claiming that there is a thorax only 30 km from me, and then I see it seemingly hiding behind the wreck. I engage my engines and order my helmsman to set course straight for the enemy vessel, planning to start manoeuvring to avoid his guns when he's locked me and getting as much closing as I can before. I'm surprised, though, when I manage to get within 8km of him before he even locks be, but once I set in an orbit a klick away from him and engage my various combat systems, he deigns to open up on me with his blasters. At that point, though, my rack of 150mm autocannons are already spitting tiny nuclear death at him, and I can see the bright flashes as his shield relays and projectors fail one after the other, until with a bright flash they disintegrate altogether and the brilliant sprays of metal and fission from my guns being to impact on his armour. However, by this time he's also managed to blast through my unguarded shield, so I spring the surprise I kept up my sleeve on him. I direct my crew to begin draining his capacitor with my newly fitted NOS, and activate the nanite repair pumps to patch the chips he's flaking off of my armour plating. Things are going well, and my cannons are steadily walking across the thick plates of his armour towards his relatively unguarded warp drive when I see a secondary proximity alarm. A Jaguar class Assault Frigate and another Thorax, both belonging to the same corporation as the first. Things are, of course, over very quickly, and as my pod is blasted out of the wreckage of the Tissue Fang, I lament that I didn't have those extra few seconds I would have needed to bring that thorax down before his gangmates showed up. Perhaps next time. Well, I suppose it was a glorious death for my crew. Time to start interviews for a new one, I guess. Sometimes it's tough being an immortal.
------------
Hi. My name's Raxip Elamp, but you can call me Rax. Everyone does, after all. This is my blog about EvE online, and it'll probably drift between In character and out of character posts. I haven't really made up my mind yet, heh. In EvE, I guess I could be best described as a pirate, but I've also been known to dabble in other elements of PvP such as Highsec Wardecs. I've been Doing PvP solidly for about three or four months now, so I wouldn't exactly call myself a newbie anymore, but I'm by no means a vet.
I sigh and close the pod around me, then bring up the scan interface, and quickly manage to localize the source of Aura's panic to one of the lagrange points surrounding the planet where asteroids tend to collect. It's a Thorax class Cruiser. Gallente manufacture, and when it comes to ship design, the Gallente don't mess about. I consider for a moment. After all, my Rifter class Tissue Fang is tough, but it's only a frigate, and the Thorax is one of the top tier combat ships in it's class. My indecision lasts very little time, however. I am, after all, an immortal Capsuleer. I shout orders to my crew, and as my ship aligns to the point in space where the cruiser was, the warp drive screams it's fury to space and hurls my tiny craft into speeds greater than anything even imaginable in the human psyche.
As my ship decelerates into the asteroid point, I pan my drone about and take my bearings. At first I think I am too late, when I spot nothing but rocks and a single wreck. But on second glance, I notice my overview claiming that there is a thorax only 30 km from me, and then I see it seemingly hiding behind the wreck. I engage my engines and order my helmsman to set course straight for the enemy vessel, planning to start manoeuvring to avoid his guns when he's locked me and getting as much closing as I can before. I'm surprised, though, when I manage to get within 8km of him before he even locks be, but once I set in an orbit a klick away from him and engage my various combat systems, he deigns to open up on me with his blasters. At that point, though, my rack of 150mm autocannons are already spitting tiny nuclear death at him, and I can see the bright flashes as his shield relays and projectors fail one after the other, until with a bright flash they disintegrate altogether and the brilliant sprays of metal and fission from my guns being to impact on his armour. However, by this time he's also managed to blast through my unguarded shield, so I spring the surprise I kept up my sleeve on him. I direct my crew to begin draining his capacitor with my newly fitted NOS, and activate the nanite repair pumps to patch the chips he's flaking off of my armour plating. Things are going well, and my cannons are steadily walking across the thick plates of his armour towards his relatively unguarded warp drive when I see a secondary proximity alarm. A Jaguar class Assault Frigate and another Thorax, both belonging to the same corporation as the first. Things are, of course, over very quickly, and as my pod is blasted out of the wreckage of the Tissue Fang, I lament that I didn't have those extra few seconds I would have needed to bring that thorax down before his gangmates showed up. Perhaps next time. Well, I suppose it was a glorious death for my crew. Time to start interviews for a new one, I guess. Sometimes it's tough being an immortal.
------------
Hi. My name's Raxip Elamp, but you can call me Rax. Everyone does, after all. This is my blog about EvE online, and it'll probably drift between In character and out of character posts. I haven't really made up my mind yet, heh. In EvE, I guess I could be best described as a pirate, but I've also been known to dabble in other elements of PvP such as Highsec Wardecs. I've been Doing PvP solidly for about three or four months now, so I wouldn't exactly call myself a newbie anymore, but I'm by no means a vet.
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