The Bandits

The haunting space lanes of Syndicate, where many a traveller has fallen to the raiding bandits that prowl and hunt the lonely and ill-prepared - murder and bloodshed, robbery and torture. The trapped souls of a thousand crewmen scream out but nobody hears them, cursed for eternity, no escape, locked into the silence that entombs them.

A scene of destruction at a now quiet stargate. Littered with corpses, floating. Wrecks strewn across the dark skies, the twisted metal once hot, now cooling. Redundant drones, smashed to pieces, their last streams of power slowly draining as they buzz across the field with no direction.

The bandits have gone, into the night, nobody knows where. They've disappeared like a flash, in and out, swift and brutal. Somewhere down the pipe, inside their den, perhaps a bar or a brothel for ten, they count their coin, their ill-gotten gain and they make good their plans for robbery again.

MB.

This Drake Won't Break!

After having to power down and leave the fleet that I spoke of in my previous blog post - I returned to begin my journey back to our home system. The first few systems were quiet, I even passed an alliance member stalking around in his Dramiel. However, upon entering X-BV98 system I noticed a Drake on scan near a cluster of belts and decided to poke around for a closer inspection. Landing at 0 in the belt I just saw the Drake warp off, I soon slammed the thrusters into warp drive and off I went in hot pursuit . . . . And there he was again! This time he was some 50km off of me, as I burnt towards him at full speed he disappeared, he had cloaked up but to make matters worse I had become entangled on a rogue asteroid and had lost my true path towards him. Not to be outdone I stayed in the belt and after announcing the Drake was in the belts on our intel channels, I was pleased to see my alliance buddy in his Dramiel land in the belt as backup.

Now all we had to do was uncloak the battlecruiser. Easier said than done. We tried for a good ten to fifteen minutes but we couldn't find him. Marqui decided the task at hand was too much and he set a path for home. As he slammed his Dramiel into the dark skies, its engines leaving a trail of fiery blue vapour behind it a swarm of belt rats landed and began to lock me up. Now I don't usually hunt rats, kind of ruins my perfect -10 sec status but I decided to teach these punks a lesson - and just as the last rat went pop I decloaked the Drake!

I landed a scram on him and spooled up the autocannons as I began my orbit of him at close range. I called Marqui over the intel channels and he announced that he would return if I could keep hold of him, he was some 7 or 8 jumps out. By the time he got back to the field I had used up all of my EMP ammunition stocks and my gunnery crews were loading up Phased Plasma into the hot cannons. My gut feeling was that I didn't have enough ammo to finish the job as I called for more backup over comms. An alliance mate in his Thrasher was inbound as a corpmate of the Drake pilot entered the belt.

"Stealth bomber is on the field, he is launching bombs".

A bomb flew off in the opposite direction, maybe this guy should work on his bomb runs, however, surely if the bomb was somewhere near its intended target it would have also caused some bother to his mate, in the Drake, hmm. Anyway, we locked up the bomber without losing point on the Drake and smashed it into a thousand pieces of broken hot metal.

Back to work on the Drake. The Thrasher was now on the field and we began pouring on fire to the stricken battlecruiser, its shield recharging faster than we had hoped it would. Damn. The pilot of the Drake began mocking us in local, we carried on our task with zeal as a Vagabond pilot announced he was a few jumps out and would come in to our aid. Just what the doctor ordered.

And then . . .

The Drake went into self destruct mode!

Where was our Vagabond? Oh man. I was now shooting Barrage at the Drake and it was seemingly not going to die, albeit to its own sword. The pilot got cocky.


[23:15:03] sksshooter244 > yall arnt getting kill mail :)


Then our Vagabond landed. We had less than two minutes, a race against the clock, would we do it? Could we break the recharge rate of the shield tanked beast? Of course we could! The Vagabond danced around the Drake with purpose, spitting venom from its fangs like an angry snake.



[23:15:50] sksshooter244 > maybe u r


The Drake exploded in a glorious fireball.


A job well done. Looking back on the mail, I had spewed out some 65,745 damage points on the Drake and it had taken a total damage count of 114,369. I was also out of ammo.


:)

MB.

Slaughter Fleet and the Gate of Death

And so the roam began with the first drops of blood spilling into the black emptiness of space as the Helios covert ops vessel was de-cloaked in the disruption bubble and smashed apart by the Cynabal, Jaguar, Harbinbger and Sabre. The pilot unable to save himself from the inevitable vacuum of space, a head-exploding pod death quickly followed.

The gang was beginning to swell in numbers, the fleet was forming ready for infiltration of enemy lines over in Cloud Ring region, a smash and grab raid, destruction of every single ship that would come into contact with our fleet was planned - the murder of every single pilot to be expected, no mercy. We would not disappoint. . . . .

Still waiting for fleet members to assemble over in 8-JYPM the fleet scouts reported an Industrial craft approaching the stargate in the neighbouring system, the call for bubbles was heeded and once the defenceless craft revealed himself to the waiting fleet, a swift explosion soon followed as the Iteron burst into a glorious ball of fiery light. As we sifted through the burning cargohold we were alerted by gate activation and began to re-approach the stargate. The communications network crackled into life and the scout began broadcasting. "Fleet standby - you've got a Federation Navy Comet incoming". The Comet was bubbled, tackled and swiftly despatched to the newly formed stargate scrapyard.

Our scouts had 'eyes' in a number of systems close by and reported the movements of an Apocalypse battleship - it was soon narrowed down, tackled and bludgeoned into a hot-liquid-metal blubbering wreck in next to no time as projectile fire, lasers and streams of anti-matter turned the devilishly dark sky into a hue of reds, blues and greens. Delightful. We moved back to our staging system and formed up with the rest of the fleet that was assembling.

______


Our fleet had now rumbled through a good chunk of Syndicate with little to no resistance, the few systems with stations were either empty or its residents decided to shelter in the safety of their homes as opposed to becoming another statistic for the night. A short stop over for equipment in Orvolle resulted in some of the fleet destroying an unlucky Bestower that had become entangled in a drag bubble, so close to the safety of high-sec the pilot and crew struggled to free the hulking vessel from the sticky disruption fields and its demise was guaranteed as members of our fleet set upon it with no remorse.

Then the fun began . . . . .

As we rumbled into Cloud Ring we were now the enemy fleet, baying for blood, hungry for kills and in no mood for peace talks. This was about to be the rape of all mankind as we knew it. Little did we know what eyes were upon us as we moved closer to our target system, in the course of the night it would seem that in fact there were no eyes on us at all - but for now we didn't know it, we were on the edge of a razor, the fleet had a swagger to it, we broke out of warp and settled on the MJYW-3 stargate in QXW-PV system. Our scout jumped through into the next system . . . . .

The communications network buzzed for a moment and then fell silent.

The silence was broken. "Incoming Drake - bubble up".

The pride of the Caldari Navy, for all we knew this Drake might have travelled a thousand systems before now and traversed many light-years, a romanticized vessel taking on the lawless lands of zero-security space, its destination and movements unknown to the many billions it had left behind from its Mother Lands - whatever, it was soon beaten into a ball of scrap and dust. Speaking of dust, it hardly had time to settle as an Interceptor of the Raptor variety jumped into our bubble and was then added to the pile of twisted metal with ease.

What followed over the following few hours was a bloodbath - nothing short of mass murder, death in the spacelanes, call it what you wish, ship after ship came to an end to the Slaughter Fleet's lust for destruction. Kill after kill is logged below.

This data has been released for public viewing only. Access restricted. File 7784. Access granted///



Drake

Harbinger

Hawk

Hurricane

Cerberus

Manticore

Taranis
 
Vexor 

Executioner

Malediction

Drake

Bellicose

Manticore

Retribution

Navitas

Rifter

Crow

Hurricane

Vagabond

Dramiel

Rapier

Vengeance

Ares

Myrmidon

Sabre

Drake

Purifier


Even though I had to break away from the fleet halfway through the roam and ended up missing the fight with the Huzzah Federation, which was the bulk of the latter kills listed, I was still happy and can't complain with my quota for the evening. It was a great roam and I hope for more of the same in the near future.

Coming soon! On the way home from the Slaughter Fleet, Miura encounters a lone Drake - read what unfolds here. Watch this space!


MB.

Seven Days of Bloodshed

This is just a quick update on where I am right now and how things are moving on nicely since I moved into Syndicate region and became a member of The Hull Miners Union, which is part of the Random-Violence alliance. All in all I am highly impressed with the structure of the alliance, six corporations, five dedicated pvp corporations and a holding corp.

The Hull Miners Union - Executor corporation of well known former alliance Gentlemen's Club. The corp has some excellent pilots and fleet commanders and from what I've seen so far - are a good bunch of guys. 39 members.

Blackwater USA Inc. - Also former members of Gentlemen's Club and more recently Atlas Alliance. The corp has 161 members and is well known throughout New Eden for its excellent pvp pilots.

Advocates of Sin - Again, a former Gentlemens' Club corporation. More recently members of BANE. I remember these guys from in and around Amamake and membership has a strong leaning towards piracy. 48 members.

The Perfect Storm - 75 member strong former Gentlemen's Club pvp corporation. Has some great pilots within its ranks.

Black Talon Mercs - 31 member strong pure pvp corporation. The only member corp of Random-Violence not previously linked with Gentlemen's Club.



The alliance is mainly US time-zone but there is a European corporation in talks with regards joining up. I have noticed that gangs do seem to roll out at pretty much any time of the day and when there isn't a fleet up it is easy enough to jump into a Rifter or Jaguar and go out solo roaming.

I've spent the last seven days doing a variety of activities. I have roamed around Syndicate solo in my Jaguar, I've camped a well set up bubble that snagged me numerous frigate, shuttle and pod kills. I've rolled out with some pretty medium-heavy looking battlecruiser fleets of which on a couple of occasions I found myself being designated as scout, which I found to be a neat experience and I've also been part of home defence fleets. Oh, I have also roamed a low-sec route as I plan to visit low-sec at least once a week.


It has been a great week statistics wise also. 46 kills and 1 solitary loss.



Things are looking good right now. Here's to more of the same!

Watch this space!

MB.

A Brief Moment Frozen In Time

An icy-cold blast of snow and swirling winds greets the Jaguar as it enters the stratosphere of the planet on its way down to the landing zone below. The skies are dark and a deep shade of velvet blue, visibility is close to zero and the air is crisp. Searchlights rip through the murky skies with random movements.

The planet-side outpost is a haunt for capsuleers of all walks; pirates, drug smugglers, mercenaries, haulers, salvage teams and explorers all rubbing shoulders with ordinary citizens, petty thieves and workers. A stopping off point for those seeking some form of recuperation from inter-system space travel.

The reverse thrusters blaze through the soft snow that has settled on the landing pad. The snow that is now falling on the craft sizzles and melts in an instant as the powerful and loud hum of the engines slows to a gentle rumble and then a short period of silence falls upon the outpost. A pod transfer drone approaches the frigate hull and the pilot is removed from the ship to the warmth and sanctity of the inner chambers.

The Jaguar soon to be covered in a blanket of the falling snow as it cools under the darkness above is visible from the observation platform. A lone, old and battered Badger industrial workhorse, possibly loaded with illicit goods and supplies approaches the adjacent pad ready for landing as a small gang of workers and bots prepare to unload the goods onto waiting planetary vehicles.

Just a brief moment, now frozen in time.

MB.

Welcome to Bar Central

An angry looking old man of Sebiestor blood drunkenly props up the bar with his next glass of toxic spirits next to him, the deep yellowy-green liquid bubbling away like some kind of lab experiment. His night is not far from being over it seems. Head in his hands, subdued.

Two guards, decked out in black, strong build and mean looking stand rigid at the entrance, weapon systems at hand, ready for trouble. The race of the men is not clear to me. The gleam of the bright-white interior lighting reflects vividly off of their highly-polished black military issue boots. One could be fooled into thinking they are about to enter active service as opposed to guarding a space-station food hall by day and bar and dance hall by night.

The night is vibrant, a steady beat pumps into the air via the sound system and bodies move on the half-empty dance floor, the bright lights have now dimmed and beams of colour dart across the hall. Euphoria now replaces the downbeat existence for the many workers who are here this evening. Normal beings mingling with the god-like elite, the capsuleers.

In the far corner, away from the tangled bodies on the dance floor, a deal is struck between a shady looking narcotics dealer and an addicted crash user. Within seconds the dealer has left with his next pay packet and the junkie has his fix, soon to be wasted.

The music goes on and on, the beat quickening and the light show moving faster, the hall is filled with artificial smoke, reds and greys and blues making for a mesmerizing spectacle. The hall is now full to capacity and people wait outside for a pass, the guards are in for a busy evening, a drunken lout is removed amicably, the guard dusts himself down with his glove-clad hand, possibly pleased he didn't have to use any real force this time around.

Hired dancers move enthusiastically high above the floor, sending the masses below them into trance like states, the revellers are fuelled with energy that doesn't seem to have no end. Again, the beat quickens, arms point to the ceiling. A young looking man of the Gallente race is moving to the beat, in an absolute state of ecstasy, he is dressed in pink and has hair that defies gravity. Strange.

I finish my tour of the hall and wander down the corridors away from the hive of activity, the noise gently fading away behind me. I wonder to myself just who was watching me tonight as I watched all those others. That tough looking Brutor guy wandering around the hall like some kind of lost soul. I wonder.

MB.

Oops I Accidentally the Autocannons!

This little engagement with a Thorax was taking me a little longer than I expected and as I noticed more and more ships on scan (which subsequently paid no interest to the fight) I began to assign some serious overheating to the gun rooms.

Dramiel on scan! He best not warp in on me here! Come on heat, Thorax in deep armour, work it, come on.


85% Heat damage to autocannons, Thorax is going down, no more ships on scan, turn on the intercoolers!



PUKOOOOOO! 

(Jets of cold liquid quickly cool the guns)


Or that was the plan.

TSSSFUZZZLEEPOPBANG!

DANGER! Autocannons dis-engaged. BURN OUT IMMINENT!


The Thorax exploded with literally the last volley of angry projectile fire.


EVE System > Channel changed to Egghelende Local Channel

YrruC > dude ransom?
Miura Bull > sure, sec

EVE System > Channel MOTD: Hello pilot!
Studies at several medical facilities in the Heimatar region have revealed that the first instance of pain during pod death is the extreme burning sensation you will experience as the wires in your head melt. The pain released through your teeth is not pleasant and will transfer to your new clone for 30 minutes after your death..
However, the good news is you may now pay a 'denture tax' and your pod will be released. Turn off all your guns and modules. Follow the instructions below and you will be set free upon payment. Have a nice day!



Miura Bull > 20 million ?

YrruC > fu*k it blast me, im poor

YrruC > lol

Miura Bull > actually do you mind self destructing instead?

YrruC > no

Miura Bull > no you don't mind or no you won't? :)

YrruC > pop me

Miura Bull > ok, here's the deal . . . you may go, good fight

YrruC > Cheers man, you smoked me




Fun times.
MB.