Acting on Intelligence

Day 5 - Curse

At last! Curse! Where the action is, or so I had been told back over on the West side of the galaxy. I'd had my bloodlust whetted by the battle I had watched on the way here, and was itching to watch a bigger, more exciting splodefest.

Then I checked the galaxy map... and it turns out I had been misled. Despite a rather large number of ship and pod kills in the region, there were relatively few active pilots, and even less who were willing to bandy words with a stranger in a shuttle.

So here I was, sat in H-DOC, whistling into the solar wind, when finally I was answered by a friendly native, Selty:

 

I could scarcely believe my eyes. Truly I was doing the fabled Grand Tour our ancestors once spoke of... for here was another European nation to tick off my list: France. And these Frenchmen were less timid than some of their countrymen. Section XIII held this area, apparently, and they are, in general, not a friendly bunch. They revealed to me a very cunning ploy... the ultimate distraction for a pod pilot. When an unknown enters their system, they will play fairly friendly at first, chatting a bit and linking up videos of something no hot-blooded capsuleer could say no to: tits. Or, if that fails to capture their attention, a chimp raping a frog's mouth.

Meanwhile, as the unsuspecting pilot either faps or craps him/herself, they are scanned down and systematically vaporised.

Apparently I was beginning to outstay my welcome here in the center of the French Badlands, as more accusations of spamming began to fly, until one unsavory character, Elm'o, continually blanketed local with a big block of silence. He kept up this childish behaviour for at least ten minutes. After informing him of the folly of spending all his time watching local just so he can say nothing, I decided to see if other denizens of Curse were a tad more friendly. I continued my chat with Selty as I moved on, and learnt a bit more about my brief, reluctant hosts, Section XIII.

Apparently, they had very recently been involved in a battle with elements of GoonSwarm and their allies (GoonSwarm and co being a rather large and dangerous force in the galaxy, or so I've gleaned). Acting on intelligence, they had invaded a nearby system in which they were building a 'supercap', a term that was new to me:

So these crazy, cheese-eating, wine-swilling surrender-monkeys not only didn't surrender, they blew up a super-expensive super capital ship in production, a Titan, for kicks and giggles. Perhaps I should move on a bit quicker then, I thought, as I set my course to the other edge of Curse.

A few jumps later, I was sent an invitation to talk from someone I didn't know. This young pilot went by the name of Jenem, and she had sought me out personally. She wanted to know where in the galaxy she could find true enlightenment. As I was yet to find it myself, and feeling both honoured and a bit weirded out, I returned the compliment the only way I knew how: with a spin of my patented destination decider.

And so she was sent of into the northern wastes of space, near to Jovian territory, into a dangerous, populous part of the galaxy. Entirely unintentionally.

Unfortunately for me, the karma of the Eve galaxy works rather quickly... as I was deciding the fate of another noob to the stars, I was being hunted down by someone who wasn't quite so new. Then this happened:

Once more, bugger.

As I was actually watching when I got blown to smithereens, I created an artists impression, which I think is perhaps slightly more dramatic than what it really looked like:

And that was the end of my first foray into Curse! It was brief, strange, and over all, French. While I was there, during my conversations with my young disciple Jenem, I was prompted to wonder at the future of my Corporation... and now that I was back in slightly more civilised space, I was tempted to pause, take stock, go to Glastonbury festival, and come back reinvigorated and ready to take on my next destination.

Where shall I go next? Answers on a postcard please!

Discretion > Valour

Day 4 - Enroute to Curse

I set off on my epic journey to Curse, a mere 90-odd jumps away, with a light heart. So far, my travels had taken me on a tour of the old Soviet countries, and after a brief stop sunning myself in Italian Syndicate, I was off once more. I had met some friendly pilots, and only been killed once, and so was feeling optimistic.

I happily greeted everyone in local, only to discover I had found what I thought at first must be EVE's Dr Who:

Satisfied that I had managed to spread some patriotism to this errant Aussie time-traveller, I hastened onwards. As the number of jumps ticked slowly downwards, my mind turned to my finances. In setting out with 1m ISK, I had somewhat underfunded myself if I wanted to be able to actually make a life out here.

As much as anonymous, and indeed nonymous, donations are gratefully accepted, I would rather not make it my MO to rely on charity. That, and so far I'd only been given 10 ISK, so one must be realistic. As such, I needed a plan if I wanted to be able to keep a steady supply of defenceless space craft.

Not long after I began musing on a plan, I was approached by what at first seemed to be a friendly entrepreneur, who had mistaken me for a trader (or tradder, apparently):

Hooray! Someone had finally attempted to lure me to my unsuspecting death via the old jetcan flip. As soon as I 'look' at his items, by which I mean he expected me to cop a feel of them in my own cargo bay, the bizarre laws of the universe would suddenly make me fair game! Then I thought again... I was in a system with 0.2 security... there would be no repercussions for shooting me on sight. So he probably would just vaporise me when I arrived. Deciding that in this case discretion > valour, I fled to the next gate in the intention of swiftly fleeing. However, I was stopped short by a grisly discovery...

A corpse was floating in space, near the wreck of a frigate. Being the inquisitive soul that I am, I approached cautiously, wary that this might be some sort of ambush. I'd heard that people can get cloaks for their ships, and I was not wanting to experience this first hand unless it was me doing the cloaking. Even so, I got close enough to scoop the poor dead man to my cargo bay. I was also quite excited by this find, as it must mean that I had missed a recent battle. Not only that but it was the corpse of that famous space wanderer DavidBoweh!

I announced my discovery, and was surprised when it transformed into a lucrative opportunity:

Perhaps I had discovered a new, if morbid, source of funding! Asina told me to inform her if I found any more corpses in my travels, and I diligently made a note:

Now a little richer, and more secure about my financial future, I continued on my way. I was nearing my destination now, though I was somewhat disappointed that my route couldn't incorporate the system of Rancer due to a highsec system on the path. Despite rumours of an invasion by Sansha forces elsewhere in the galaxy, the map continued to tell me that the majority of pod-deaths had occurred in and around Curse, and I was itching to see some action.

My itch was soon scratched. Whilst travelling through the Offikatlin system, 24 jumps from my destination, I was greeted by a clairvoyant stranger:

Soon I got chatting to the rather intimidating xxxAlloxxx (not his name, obviously), and he began to taunt another pilot, Niarta, in local. Clearly a fight was brewing, and I wanted to watch. Popcorn in the microwave, I headed to the action, despite my reservations that I might become collateral damage:

Fortunately, by this time they were too busy to follow up on this tantalising red herring, as they were merrily shooting three shades of shit out of each other. I quickly swooped in on the scene, orbiting the combatants, Allo flying a Hurricane and Niarta at the controls of a Stabber, at close range. Rounds and missiles screamed past my portholes as I snapped a few pictures to send to the folks:

They hammered away at each other for an agonizing few minutes, using all the tricks at their disposal. Allo's shields failed quite soon into the fight, but his armour held long enough to break through Niarta's heavily reinforced shields. With her shields gone, and armour plating boiling off her hull under Allo's onslaught, she managed to break through her opponent's warp scrambler and fled. Allo quickly fired up his engines and followed on her last known heading, leaving me alone in the shadow of the seventh planet. My only companions were some inactive drones, abandoned by Niarta in her desperation to escape. Disappointed at the anticlimax, but still pleased at my first taste of combat, I headed to the next jump gate on my itinerary.

Soon, I would be in Curse, center of explodey death as far as the map and my friend Cadrega back in Syndicate were concerned. Would I get a glimpse of the violent and cruel nature of the region? Would I remember to upgrade my clone before I ended up back in Italy? Would I be able to further my burgeoning corpse-hunting career? Find out not too long after patch day!

Shooting Everything In Space

Day 3

My shuttle, the 'Nice to meet you', shook as it powered into the short warp jump to the next gate, and the doppler-shift of the light impressed me once more. I have always found the subtle red- and blue-shifted light quite beautiful, and it seemed even more so out here on the edge of nulsec.

My journey so far had involved my much regrettable death at the hands of some unruly Ukrainian mobsters, members of Solar Fleet, and number 1 on my list of grudges. It was thanks to this encounter that I implemented my new ship-naming tradition: Every time my shuttle is destroyed, the name shall become less and less friendly... hence the 'Hi! Nice to meet you' becoming a bit less congenial. I eventually envision myself, fifty deaths down the line, with the delightfully named 'FUCK OFF AND DIE', but somehow I think this won't go down too well with the people I meet. But by then, I imagine my corpse will be in many a space-graveyard (more on that later...).

So now I was travelling to a new destination: GRNJ-3, in the Syndicate region. As ever, I set off completely bereft of knowledge of the region, but confident that I would be able to charm any locals out of shooting me the moment they saw me. Fortunately, I was occasionally right:

Pleasantly surprised that mere words might be a good defence after all, and considering a reference involving pens being mightier than swords (and possibly a nob gag in there for fun), I stopped my inexorable march onwards to chat a little longer. Sarkelias gave me an invaluable tip regarding the combat-worthiness of my shuttle, which I am sure will turn the tide of many a battle in my favour in the months to come:

He explained that neutrals use shuttles to nudge pilots as they are going to dock, keeping them out of a station long enough to destroy them. This seemed despicably underhand to me, but also probably would come in handy. At the very least, it would be a better excuse for bumping people that "Your ship is pretty and I wanted a closer look." That would make me sound insane.

My arsenal of dirty tricks thus reinforced, I departed, and made the last 10 jumps to my destination in relative safety. In one system a few jumps out, my pleasant greeting of "Greetings!" was met with an attractive Czech/Slovakian lady pirate trying to jump my bones. And by jump my bones I mean blow me up into small pieces. So I quickly did the brave, manly thing, and fled sharpish to the nearby gate. A quick inspection of her bio, and those of others in the area, revealed their Czechoslovakian origins, and it seemed there were a lot of them in these systems.

It seemed that my journey was now transforming into a tour of the former Soviet-bloc countries. And my grasp of the language around those parts makes the drunk people singing outside my window sound eloquent and refined. Undeterred, I jumped to warp and sped on, avoiding these suspect characters. I suspected that they were in league somehow with my foes in the Ukraine, but this theory was based on statistics that I made up, and was therefore dubious at best.

Finally, I was here! My second destination in my trip in as many days travel. I was quite pleased, and feeling already as if this trip might not be so bad after all. All I needed now was some friendly pilots to have a convivial chat with around the brilliant space-fire place that is the star of the GRNJ-3 system.

So, were there pilots to talk to? Why yes, at least twenty in that system, and quite a few in the systems surrounding it. Were they from a country that I speak the language of? Were they bollocks! They were all Italian. The Ukraine, to Italy, via Czechoslovakia. I was expecting to tour the universe, not the world. Nevertheless, I extended my greetings to the inhabitants of the area, and swiftly made friends with some English-speaking Avieres. 

Guiliare and Cadrega of the Insurgent New Eden Tribe, a 100% Italian corporation, declared their personal intentions to not shoot me, despite their modus opperandi being 'Not Blue, Shoot It' (a policy that is apparently simultaneously controversial and wide-spread). Apparently my 'kindness' was my saving grace... They however warned me of their comrade, Jimbooh, an usavoury character if I ever met one:

Despite his positive security status, they assured me that he was 'shooting everything in space' and that if I hadn't upgraded my medical clone, I might want to sooner rather than later if I hoped to avoid another explosive and messy setback. I begrudgingly parted with the 5000-odd ISK to transfer my clone to the friendly staff in the system's medical bay. I didn't want to seem afraid of one psycho Italian, but I had come a long way since my last cloning...

Ever eager to learn about the situation out here, I asked Cadrega, who spoke English rather better than some pilots I've met, what was the happy-hap.

So not a very safe part of space for this budding Mafioso outfit to take root, but that was probably exactly what they were looking for, if Jimbooh was anything to go by. He hunted me as I crossed their space, targeting me and letting rip, nearly putting a dent in the fresh armour on my second shuttle. This was the last straw, and I resolved to move on, and set myself a third destination. I asked Cadrega where he would suggest I head next, and after discussing where the most action was taking place, Curse was decided upon. I felt that using the rumours of the galaxy might be a more interesting way of choosing where to go, as so far I had ended up in vaguely dangerous, but not downright exciting stretches of space. Hopefully this time, I could see a big fight for myself...

And so I bade farewell to the spaghetti-munching scooter-riding Italians, and fired up my warp engines once more. With Jimbooh, in tight pursuit, I departed.

Destination: Curse! (Only around 90 jumps...)

Ruskie Lapdogs

Day 2

And so it begins... I swooped out of the station in my shiny new Caldari shuttle, set my sights on pastures new and dangerous, and began on my journey to BWF-ZZ, bidding farewell to the safety and security of overbearing Mother Conchord. After a powerful wave of support from the inhabitants, I departed.

Soon after, I approached the edge of civilised space. The great unknown spread like an intimidating wall of fairy lights, and I teetered on the brink, suddenly nervous for an instant as the true scope of my intended voyage hit home. Was I taking on too much? Probably, but I'd started writing now, and I'd be damned if I was going to give in straight away after the introduction... And so I clicked on jump, and began.

My arrival in lowsec was somewhat less spectacular than I had hoped... no scary pirates patrolling the gates, no feuding alliances skirmishing across the systems... it was rather quiet. Perhaps my destination-deciding process was flawed? Never the less, I plowed on, defiantly extending my greetings to the nearly empty systems as I passed, until I arrived at my first stop: BWF-ZZ. Empty, but for one guy. Bugger.

As it was 4am at this point, and I was a bit tired, I decided to pop to bed and see how things were in the morning. Upon my return, the situation had improved somewhat... plenty of people to chat to, a fresh load of unsuspecting pilots to aid my plans of getting to know the denizens of nulsec. I apporoached the only station in the system, in the hopes that I could install a new clone there, and never have to return to highsec upon my likely fast-approaching death. Then this happened:

Bugger.

At this point I felt compelled to wonder what it was that I, my corporation (n0.0btrality - formed in the aims of giving corps a way of 'making me blue'), and my nonexistance alliance ever done to the Ukraine, to cause such hostility? Perhaps the name of my shuttle was an insult to them?

After hanging around a while, trying to work out why the local denizens were less than chatty, I managed to put two and two together with the aid of a simple visual clue.

Just as I dedided that the former Soviet bloc probably wasn't the best place to make my introductions to the populace of nulsec, and was activating my decision-maker once more (swirling my mouse over the map), I noticed that the shields, hull and structure of my precious shuttle were swiftly and unforgivingly shrinking. Then this happened:

Bugger.

Moments later, I was reborn, back where I started, and a bit shocked. I thought the end of the Cold War had ended such hostility between the Soviets and the English-speaking world. Are they not content enough with buying our football teams with their dirty oil money, that they must destroy our shuttles too? So I made the brave decision to completely avoid Solar Fleet, and their ruskie lapdogs U.K.R.A.I.N.E, safe in the knowledge that they speak Russian, so are unlikely to read this.

Here I was, then, back where I started. Was my mission doomed from the start? Well, one well wisher in the Nourvukaiken system, on the edge of lowsec on the path to my new destination in Syndicate, thought so...

However, a quick look at the friendly, but fatalistic, Wantless Hero's Corporation, Frontier Elite, revealed he was a friendly, fatalistic coward:

So after hanging around next to the gate for a while, writing this all down and hesitating before puting my squishier parts on the line once more, and after the actually very nice Wantless Hero's asking me if I had cold feet, I set off into the unknown once more, destination: GRNJ-3.

What would I find there? Adventure? Romance? Another minion of Stalin? I don't know, because I haven't got there yet!

To Boldly Go Where Many Men Have Gone Before

Somewhere, floating out in the depths of lawless nulsec, lies the answer to a question that has long been nagging me as I sit, reducing asteroids to sweet, invisible rubble... what in the hell is going on out there?

I've never really spent any time trawling the underbelly of the galaxy in my short time playing EVE, but my few brief forays have taught me one thing: Don't set an autopilot to 0.0 and then pop off to make a bolognase.

Armed with this formidable reserve of knowledge and cunning, I have decided to see for myself the wonders of living life on the edge, sending myself out unwitting into the wilderness armed with naught but a shuttle, and 1m cash, and the solemn vow to never return to Empire space again.

At this point, things might be looking a little familiar... it is true, my journey has been inspired by reading the 'Historical Documents', the possibly holy writings of the unreplacable INNOMINATE NIGHTMARE 

The word unreplaceable is important. I don't aim to follow in his footsteps, that path has been well trod. And I don't intend to seek out his shuttle, bravely drifting between the stars, to ask him if he ever found the Viking Gods or had a showdown with Emilio. But I am setting out with his same spirit of adventure, permanently neutral stance, and complete lack of preparation. And so, without further ado or conjunctions starting sentences, I present to you:

Eponymous n00b

Rugged, handsome looking fellow isn't he? Not sure whether you want to snuggle up next to the fire place or file for a restraining order, right? And the hint of a smile shows that he's either friendly, or has the corpses of twenty bunnies buried under the porch.

Here's how it looked when he first entered the world, and purchased his faithful shuttle, the good ship 'Hi! Nice to meet you'. (First impressions are important.)

As you may have noticed, my very scientific destination decision-making process of waving the mouse on the map with my eyes closed had landed me on the alluringly named BWF-ZZ system. So, destination set, hopes high, and booze in hand, I undocked and embarked on my voyage. I hope you'll join me as I unravel the mysteries of 0.0, and inevitably explode on various exciting occasions.