Archive for May, 2011

Moveded – again.

Posted in General Ignorance on May 28, 2011 by DosTuMai

Yup, you read it right, I’m moving my blag HEOR, so you’ll need to reset RSS & st00f™ and other things to be able to follow my ravings.

But right now, I’m poking it until it looks all nice and shiney.


Warding against podkills

Posted in In-char on May 24, 2011 by DosTuMai

Adrenalin was coursing through my veins, locator agents informed of several names, one comes back a hit; Pilot SummitSet located in the Masalle system.
I smile and set destination to the system, my Arazu-class Recon and Seraphina’s Legion-class Strategic Cruiser sliding quickly and invisibly to the target’s location.
After a quick search of the stations, I leave and jump back into Claulenne, waiting on the gate. “He’s not docked,” I say over the fleet comms system. “Roger,” came Sera’s response. “I’m faster than you, want me to check the belts?” With an acknowledgement, ship jumps through as I sit and wait on the Claulenne side of the Masalle gate.
All the belts called out as clear apart from one with a miner mining into a container, “BM the location, we’ll get it…” I get cut off as the gate fires, our target appearing in local, “Summit’s jumped into Claulenne, modules are hot, awaiting engagement.”
“Roger, on my way.”
A red-tagged Harbinger appears on my overview and I immediately engage, hoping Sera gets there before I have to bug out.
Dual-150s firing wildly at my target, Warrior II attack drones disgorged as I watch my shields slowly drop.
Gate fire, Summit’s shields gone, my hyper-velocity Iron rounds spanging from the enemy Battlecruiser’s armor. “Took your time,” I say as Seraphina’s Legion joins in the fray. “Aww, you missed me?” Came her sarcastic response, her lasers joining in and making greater tears into the target’s armor plating.
Moments later, our target detonates, but no time to watch the beautiful detonation, my targeting systems activating on the capsule, he warps out. I sigh and follow, docking and undocking from the station the target warped to.
A short while later, Sera left to rest. Not feeling like station camping a target in an un-tanked ship, I leave and switch to my Vexor and go out for some agent work.

Warding against fear

Posted in In-char on May 22, 2011 by DosTuMai

The scent of blood is in the air. I lift my head and sniff, the copper tang tickling the back of my throat.
Sensor relays in my Arazu-class Recon flashing back every few seconds.
A Typhoon-class Battleship undocks and I tag it with a camera drone. She shudders and turns slowly, a wallowing sow basking in the light of the local star. The pilot kicks in the warp drive, heading to nowhere in particular. Just some random pocket of nowhere, perhaps at an agent’s behest.
With a mental nudge, I pull the drone back, allowing it to nestle in the minute comparment.
I smile and take note, passing the information to my Corporate channel, “Iskender Rissan, Typhoon. Looks like he’s Arty fit.”

Interview process

Posted in In-char on May 8, 2011 by DosTuMai

Reading the information off my datapad, I frown. Another new recruit scheduled to enter the office in five minutes. More than enough time to throttle myself to death to purge the stain of the last interview from my soul. I should’ve just shot him, I think wistfully, browsing through the next fool’s details.

Former Fed Navy, turned capsuleer only a few months ago. Promising combat record.

The door opens quietly, followed by soft footsteps.

I ignore them and continue to read the information on the datapad.

The chair in front of the desk creaks slightly. A man clears his throat.

I ignore him, continuing my reading. He clears his throat again. Persistent bastard.

Two slow, rhythmic clicks bring my attention around, a gun, the guards are getting sloppy. I kick my legs, sliding my chair back, the man letting out a startled yelp as the datapad hits him on the head, spilling his can of Quafe over the desk. My arm stops mid-swing, a small throwing blade in my hand.

The man stares at me, blinking in surprise, covered in the sticky substance that was his drink.

“I-I uhh,” he stammers. I sigh and wheel my chair back to behind the desk, looking from the spilled drink to the man in front of me. Gallente, his accent coloured with an unusual flavour, slightly Caldari. “You startled me,” I say, offering him a box of tissues, then proceed as if nothing happened.

After a short, uneventful interview, I send him on his merry way and head to the bar to meet up with my contact in the FDU.