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.

Traditional Achuran Mooncakes

Posted in General Ignorance on April 25, 2011 by DosTuMai

Spiral Achuran Moon Cake Recipe

For the Moon Cake Filling:


300g sweet potatoes (purple ones preferable)—start with about 400-500g sweet potatoes unpeeled.

1/4 cup milk

2 oz butter

1/4-1/2 cup sugar (depending on how sweet your sweet potatoes are, just taste and add more sugar to taste)

1/2 tsp salt


1. Boil sweet potatoes then peel and mash the sweet potatoes.

2. Add the rest of the ingredients to the mashed potatoes and mix till it forms a paste.

3. Roll out into 20 balls. Put aside while making the pastry dough.

For the Moon Cake Dough:


Water Dough (A)

200g unbleached all-purpose flour

28g icing sugar

pinch of salt

80g cold butter

80g water

Oil Dough (B)

180g unbleached all-purpose flour

pinch of salt

90g oil (I use canola)

½ tsp pandan essence


1. For the water dough, sift flour, sugar and salt. Then cut butter into flour mixture using fingertips or pastry blender until mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add in water and mix to form a soft, non-sticky dough. If it is sticky, you will need to add a bit more flour to get it to be the right texture. You should be able to form a soft ball that won’t stick to your hands. You don’t have to knead it. Cover and set aside to rest for 20 mins.

2. For the oil dough, sift flour and salt. Then, make a well in the centre of the flour and add in oil and pandan essence. Draw in the flour from the sides and mix to form a soft even coloured dough (same thing here, if it’s too sticky, add more dough till you form a soft ball that doesn’t stick to your hands). Do not over-mix. Cover and set aside for 20 mins.

To assemble and bake:

3. Preheat oven to 185 C or 350 F.

4. Divide A and B into 10 equal balls.

5. Taking one piece of (A), flatten and wrap (B) in it. Pinch to seal edges.

6. With the sealed side facing up, roll into a rectangle.

7. Roll up like a snail to form a ‘cylinder’, turn the cylinder 90 degrees, with the end facing up.

8. Roll again into a long thin strip.

9. Using a sharp knife or a pastry cutter, cut the cylinder in the middle into two pieces.

10. With the cut side facing down, flatten the dough, making the edges slightly thinner than the centre. I tend to leave a little hump in the center so that when the filling is wrapped around the pastry, the dough will be evenly thick all around (looks like a Mexican sombrero).

11. Wrap the filling and pinch to seal. Try not to ‘tug/pull’ too hard, otherwise the layers will tear. Best to flatten the dough larger than smaller so it’s easier to pinch. And when you pinch, you will find that the bottom looks ugly—don’t worry about it.

12. Place sealed side down on lined baking tray and bake for about 30 mins until the top and bottom are a light golden brown.

Then enjoy this traditional treat.

Varoga’s lesson

Posted in In-char on April 25, 2011 by DosTuMai

“Dossie, I’ve just delivered your stuff,” a smiling, familiar face says on a comms channel I frequent. I nod and smile back, “thank you, Ryan. How are you, dear?” I ask.

He shrugs, “same as usual, and you Dossie dear?” I respond in kind, shrugging and setting course to the system he’d delivered my vessel and other equipment, “I’m good, just prowling the space lanes as usual.” My Taranis-class Interceptor turns about, my drones returning back to the comfort of their bay as I begin to warm up my warp drive. “Excellent,” I say to my old friend, “I’m on my way to pick them up.”

I yawn and twitch in my capsule, on-board scanner pulsing every few seconds. A ping comes back; Retriever-class Barge with a container. The small, fast vessel shudders and groans as she drops out of warp, then is immediately thrown around to warp to the nearest asteroid belt.

As the small vessel drops out of warp, I begin the transferral of goods, removing all the ore from his can and placing it into my own. He waits a few seconds then drops a flight of Tech one Hobgoblin drones, my teeth baring in a feral grin, I do likewise and begin tearing into his larger vessel with my Blasters and Hobgoblin II drones.

It was fast, my weapons systems tearing his vessel apart in seconds. I sit and scan the wreckage. Nothing much of use. So I wait and see what he brings out. Proximity warning, a large vessel coming in. I chuckle as the poor man lands his Dominix-class Battleship in the belt, throwing out yet more low-tech drones. I kill them and leave the system, heading out to find something bigger, the nearest vessel being a Federation Navy modified Vexor.

And hour later, I return to find the pilot in local and begin to call him out. “I’m back, did you miss me?”

Returning to the belt I’d destroyed him in, and sit there, waiting. He comes back and drops another flight of Hobgoblin I drones, my own Berzerker II drones flying out to greet his Dominix, I throw a graviton beam into his warp coil, Dual 150mm Railguns spitting hyper-velocity death towards him.

My body twitches within the capsule, adrenalin coursing through my veins. Proximity warning, a Dramiel-class Frigate and Nemesis-class Stealth Bomber from his Corporation just appearing in the area, their arrival announced with a fiery corona of torpedoes impacting on my armor plating.

I chuckle, keeping my drones on Battleship, I switch targets and start to fire at the Bomber. First volley missed, second hitting squarely, most of his vessel’s armor dissipating in the time it takes to click your fingers, the Bomber pilot flees, leaving behind a lingering flash of his Torpedoes. Nanite armor reconstructors barely being troubled by the onslaught, I return my full attention to the Battleship.

Slowly, surely, his vessel crumbles beneath the onslaught, I turn my attention to the last vessel attacking me.

I throw a graviton beam into his warp coil, drones and railguns firing wildly at his ship.

He starts to run, leaving my point range then finally warping out with heavy structure damage. I turn and survey the battlefield, sighing softly to myself as the last vestiges of adrenalin burn itself out of my my blood stream, the power plant of my vessel purring in simpatico, I return to my original plan, and finish moving my freshly re-acquired assets.


Posted in OOC Rampancy on April 20, 2011 by DosTuMai

Cycling along happily, I’d just covered 16km by the time I got to my favourite part of the home stretch – a tall and steep hill.

At the crest, I take a sip from my now tepid camel pack and adjust my helmet. You never know what could happen on two wheels. English drivers act like they have to get everywhere in a hurry.

Kind of like NYC traffic – only more space to move.

With a quick glance at the speedo, I start to pick up speed, pushing myself faster, the few cars behind slowly overtaking me.

It was a fun ride, but I needed a shower. Not just need; screw you very much, Sir, get out of my way needed a shower.

Faster, about a quarter of the way down the hill, just touching 30km/h after a glance at the handlebar-mounted computer, when suddenly this little pocket-sized rat-dog-thing suddenly dives out and attacks me. “Shit,” I say, lifting the front then rear wheels off the ground, bunny hopping like a madwoman. As I lift off, I look back to make sure I cleared the beastly little creature.

My head snaps around, just in time to see a car skidding to a halt, heading straight towards me. As I force gravity to take effect and whip the tail around, I realise I’m tilting too far sideways. The front and rear suspension compress then rebound, throwing me off and over the handlebars. I scream as I do a close approximation of Supergirl flailing ineffectually in the air and feel a sudden dull pain as my right shin connects with the hood of the rusting, aged Renault PoS.

I land heavily on my shoulder, rolling out of the fall. Adrenalin coursing through my veins making me heedless of my injury, I threw my helmet at the dog then pick up my bicycle, punching the offending vehicle as I go by, muttering about the damage to my front wheel. Then proceed to limp home.

Later I found that I’d snapped my shin right through, so now I’m stuck in a cast for six weeks.

Fucking stupid little yappy thing.