21 Aug 2011

Serving the Gun

In some armies, the weapon of artillery is the projectile, not the piece that fires it. The process of delivering fire onto the target is called gunnery. The actions involved in operating the piece are collectively called "serving the gun" or "detachment" by the gun crew, constituting either direct or indirect artillery fire.

The Thrasher bolted away from the field, its bullet riddled hull almost buckling under the stress of initiating warp, moments earlier the Destroyer class vessel had landed smack on top of an Ishkur Assault Frigate. Quickly trying to pull range before the scram was landed the old Minmatar vessel's microwarpdrive sprung into life for a brief moment before spluttering to a stop.

Projectiles streaked across the sky slamming into the Gallente hull, bombardment after bombardment between the long pauses as the artillery recoiled and reloaded with a loud clunk. A race to the death was on as drone fire and blaster slugs reduced the Thrasher deep into hull, but then one last wrecking blow from the artillery and the fight was over, at 17% hull points remaining it couldn't have been any closer could it?


Later that evening in the same solar system and after some much needed repair work another fight was stirring. An Enyo and a Taranis were lurking around the asteroid belts, the Thrasher slammed into the asteroid field and landed right on top of the Interceptor and Assault Frigate, which wasn't part of the master plan, nor was it an ideal place to be in an artillery fitted Thrasher. The incoming damage was heavy, aligning for the sun and concentrating first on the Taranis it was another one of those races again, although this time with more of that sinking feeling sprinkled into the equation. Then with a blinding flash the Taranis was no more, fully expecting the Enyo to continue the onslaught it was a huge relief when the Thrasher's warpdrive engines sparked into life and the Destroyer was spat out of the belt towards the sun. . . . with 6% structure hitpoints remaining.



18 Aug 2011

Meet the Rebels - Jack Dancer

The story so far .....

We've been jumping into the mind of New Eden's criminal combat pilots. The Black Rebel Rifter Club decided to distribute into the public domain a series of standardised press interviews that were conducted at various locations across the cluster. The following short transcripts are in the words of the journalist who conducted the meetings and their identities have been hidden by request.



Jack Dancer is your stereotypical Black Rebel, Brutor origin, greased up hair, social outcast and eyeballs that look like they could cut shapes out of lead - and of course wearing the trademark Black Jacket.

Jack Dancer

How did you become a Black Rebel?

I was mining to scrabble together some ISK for a six pack of Quafe (I had a seriously unhealthy Quafe habit back then) when my ore container was tipped by a Rifter. He grabbed my veldspar and just sat there. Smug. Disgusting. Arrogant. I took a shot at him with my mining laser just to let him know I didn’t appreciate his attitude. Next thing I knew I woke up in a clone bath. But there was a message for me saying that if I had the guts to shoot a rifter with a mining laser then I might like to join the Black Rebels. It sounded like a better life than mining veldspar to pay for Quafe – so I joined. It was a good decision.

What were you doing before you joined the Black Rebels?

Barely surviving. Waking up hoping that I had a cold Quafe (or any Quafe) next to wherever I woke up. Scrounging for ISK to keep my cheap ships together. It wasn’t a good time in my life.

What is a Black Rebel?

Black Rebels are free from rules or expectations. Friends when you need them, absent when you don’t. Noise, dirt, suffering (not us – our enemies), and chicks. Lotsa chicks – they dig the black leather and fast Rifters.

Is it true you need a tattoo to be considered for entry?

Nobody tells a Black Rebel what to wear, how to look, or what to do. Nobody. Next question.

The Rifter, tell me more?

A dream ship – fast, maneuverable, cheaper than any enemy. Nobody wants to see a Rifter on their d-scan. Nobody. Even when we lose we make ISK on the insurance. It’s a beautiful setup. Imagine screaming in from 12k with afterburners overheating, warp scrambler reaching out to it’s limit to grab at some petrified victim, the scream of the projectiles slamming into the barrels on their way to death and mayhem. Sweet Mother of Destruction! It’s the best! I hope to never fly any other ship. What’s the point when you’ve flown the best?

Are all Black Rebels unwashed scumbags whose only goal in life is to terrorize those they tag as 'the enemy'?

Most are, but some aren’t so sophisticated – they can be an ugly bunch.

Tell me about your corpmates?

A famous man once called one of our local hangouts “a wretched hive of scum and villany.” That seems pretty close to the mark – but with some very nice moustaches too.

Describe a typical day in the life of a Rebel.

Hours of ennui followed by seconds of heart stopping adrenalin rush. It’s not as glamorous as the 3D’s might make you think – finding a target is hard work, but well worth the payoff. And for me there’s the weekly QA meetings. I’ve been clean for 4 months and 3 days now.

End of transcript ////

15 Aug 2011

Electus Matari Pirates?

Electus Matari Standings
From: Mikkel Lybecker
Sent: 2011.08.03 02:57
To: Miura Bull,

Dear Mr. Bull,

My name is Mikkel Lybecker. I'm a diplomat for Electus Matari. We are an alliance supporting the Minmatar Republic, and operate under NRDS (not red, don't shoot) rules of engagement.

This mail is to inform you that your corporation has been set to negative standings to Electus Matari, due to piracy.

As we are NRDS, this simply means that our pilots are allowed to open fire on your pilots. It does not mean that we intend to hunt you specifically. You can see our full list of standings here:


If you feel that this standing was set in error, please do not hesitate to contact me to correct this.


Mikkel Lybecker
Diplomat, Electus Matari

_ _ _ _

Re: Electus Matari Standings
From: Miura Bull
Sent: 2011.08.15 16:14
To: Mikkel Lybecker,

Dear Electus Matari,

My name is Miura Bull. On paper I am the CEO of the Black Rebel Rifter Club. In reality, the Black Rebel Rifter Club is not run on paper or influenced by diplomacy of any kind and our corporate program (read - gang culture) does not hold sway for outside influenced ramblings of a diplomatic nature on any front. I am the Chief, the leading grease mechanic and father figure to my band of cavalier cutthroats and trigger-pullers - together our 'diplomacy' is decided by the way of the autocannon and smoking Rifter hulls, more often than not in a low-security asteroid belt or spacelane.

Being the sly dog that I am, I have reason to believe these standings were enforced after 'an unfortunate incident' in Lulm solar system out in the cesspit backwaters of the Huvilma constellation. A bunch of Rebel pilots were alerted to a suspicious vessel 'actively seeking to reduce the Rebel pilots of their vessels and assets' - This in the eyes of many is classed as an act of piracy and defending themselves in the manner that they know best, the Rebels reduced the EM Cruiser class vessel to dust.

Open discussions on a local communication platform were logged with our data control and are available on request. The EM pilot clearly stating his intentions. Identities will remain hidden out of respect for the pilot and your ensuing investigations.

We hope you resolve this matter swiftly.

More information and our very own twist on 'standings' can be found here:



Miura Bull.
Black Rebel Rifter Club.

13 Aug 2011

Meet the Rebels - Sorn Nordvind

The story so far .....

We've been jumping into the mind of New Eden's criminal combat pilots. The Black Rebel Rifter Club decided to distribute into the public domain a series of standardised press interviews that were conducted at various locations across the cluster. The following short transcripts are in the words of the journalist who conducted the meetings and their identities have been hidden by request.



The next instalment takes us once again to The Ingot over in Hek solar system, my subject for today is a pilot called Sorn Nordvind, an Amarrian capsuleer. He is a strong man with a cold steely look about him and I get the impression that Sorn sure knows how to look after himself, which is probably a good thing being one of only a handful of Amarrians who have donned the Black Jacket most often favoured by predominantly Minmatar criminals.

 Sorn signals over to the bartender and we're soon sat at a rusty old table with chained to the floor seats drinking a brew and talking the talk.

Sorn Nordvind

Tell us a little bit about your background in New Eden.

Well, I was adopted into an Amarr familiy, don't know where I came from before that and I'm not in a hurry to find out either. What I sure as hell remember though, is how much I hated them all. Self-righteous bastards.
Anyway, I ran away as soon as I could and left life planet-side behind me as well. I travelled between stations along with a band of space gypsies in a beaten down industrial ship, we did some jobs in a station then moved on to the next one - and to be honest that's how I have spent the greater part of my life.
It was only a few years ago when I first got my pod-pilots license. I tried to get into the industrial business, but soon got bored out of my mind. I went back to working at a restaurant in a station in Wirdalen for a while until - for reasons I'm not even gonna try to understand - I got in bar fight. I got beaten to a pulp, of course. Luckily, the doctors found one of my old clones and activated that on the promise that I would fight for their militia. I lied.

How did you become a Black Rebel?

I saw one of the Rebels while I was out roaming, checked out the corp. By the description it looked like the kind of corp (or rather a band of pilots of questionable moral standing and reputation) I had been looking for. After spending a short while in The Autocannon, I decided to sign up.

What were you doing before you joined the Black Rebels?

I was a space-gypsy and a wannabe pirate. For all intents and purposes, I still am.

What is a Black Rebel?

A highly dangerous and unstable pilot, usually behind the controls of an equally dangerous and unstable spacecraft. Need I say more?

Is it true you need a tattoo to be considered for entry?

Yes, my skin is impervious to sharp objects though, so a tattoo wont stick on me. I paint Saftsuze`s face on the exhaust pipe of my Rifter instead.

Are all Black Rebels unwashed scumbags whose only goal in life is to terrorize those they tag as 'the enemy'?

Let me summarize: All Black Rebels are highly dangerous and unstable unwashed scumbags of questionable moral standing and reputation whose only goal in life is to terrorize those they tag as "the enemy" (everyone else) while fielding a fine selection of the most dangerous and unstable spacecraft known to man.

Tell me about your corpmates?

They are the kind of people you not only wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley - they are the kind of people you never ever would want to meet in your space stations shopping mall or in the queue at the pharmacist. Especially not there, they tend to get worse around drugs.

Describe a typical day in the life of a Rebel.

Reducing flashy ships to space dust while fighting impossible odds? Terrorizing pilots fresh out of the academy with a Gallentean exotic dancer on your lap? Something like that. My typical days lately has however consisted of dying horribly in a great ball of flame while trying to make it out of a gate camp.

End of transcript////

12 Aug 2011

The Viewing Room

Tiat Constellation.
Metropolis Region.

Littered amongst the old station's many bars and clubs down in the civilian quarter lies the establishment known as The Viewing Room, its main feature being a vast window to the outside soup of murky blackness. An upmarket venue but not exclusive to members, by day it is a restaurant and bar area, by night the mainly blue velvet interior is transformed into a vibrant nightclub and casino.

The patrons of the club vary wildly, from those of a criminal nature who have been turned away from nearby Hek's busy club scene, to loners, station-side workers, spaceship crews, gamblers, drop-outs, high-ranking corporate elite, starship captains and your basic every day civilians, all attracted to the blue lights of The Viewing Room.

The management turns a blind eye to the black market dealings that are rumoured to be brokered within the walls of the club. Narcotics, boosters, firearms and weapons of any kind are strictly not permitted inside the venue but that does not deter the smugglers, arms dealers and contraband specialists from drumming up business with the clients. Away from the main seating area and dancefloor, fourteen curtained off private rooms, each one with a security officer stood guard under a single deep-blue spotlight give away a tell-tale sign that business is good for those with access to the 14 Club.


Behind the black curtain Duke Thunderhorse takes a deep drag of his cigar, leaning back in his chair he blows the smoke up towards the ceiling fans seemingly oblivious to those around him, lost in his own moment he stares at the rising smog as it is chopped effortlessly by the silver blades of the whirring fan. A crisp blue-white hanging lamp casts the centre of the room in glorious light, the borders of the room untouched and masked in their own mystical darkness. It is not yet noon but Judge Sarn clutches a bottle of Old Number 47 Tribal Whiskey, his hands shaking from the last session.

"The fuck are we doing up at this hour in some swanky disco?" Duke was now standing, he stubbed out his cigar and grabbed the bottle from Judge. The rest of the Rebels were sat watching a blinking neocom screen in the far corner. Before Judge had chance to make some sense of the situation Duke had took one hard pull from the bottle of brown liquor, he grimaced slightly as the fiery liquid attacked his throat.

"Urghh, that's some strong poison right there Judge, good stuff man."

Judge nodded and then grabbed his bottle back before taking a swig for himself.

Grernandez entered the room with an unlit cigarette pursed in his lips, without hesitation Duke flipped open his lighter, the scintillant orange flame glowing in front of the Brutor's tattooed face and momentarily lighting him up like a beacon. A sharp drag later and the Rebel was also questioning his surroundings.

"Pfff, this ain't no Ingot."

At that exact moment Miura entered via the black curtain and the Rebels all turned to face.

"Indeed this is not The Ingot, but I hear the party is good around here and have you seen those poker tables?" Miura began to laugh, the rest of the Rebels coming to the realisation that maybe they'd be spending a little more time in the area and in The Viewing Room.

"Welcome to your new headquarters Rebels."


10 Aug 2011

Dancing in the Darkness

Isenan Solar System.
Planet VI.
Essence Region.
Gallente Federation.

It was a cold and moonless night planet-side, the cities dark and desolate, only the glow of the dimly lit street lights and a passing searchlight strafing through the skies and piercing the dark, offering the only beacon of resistance to the black.
The Rebels were in town, their spaceships littered the outpost that surrounded the city as crews loaded up their gear, in the distance a small squadron of security drones patrolled the docking ring menacingly.

The noise of the ships as they blasted off from the outpost and into the skies was tremendous, loud and brash, engines rattled and thrusters whistled. Three Rifters bolted at speed in formation, closely followed by a Hawk and then a stealth bomber. A Myrmidon then listed slightly above the platform as its engines reached peak power before it awkwardly blasted into space. Lastly, a Tengu followed the gang into orbit, the quietness of this craft much more obvious from its noisy gangmates.

Some cold nights are translucent by reason of their coldness, as the outpost fell silent again a lone worker on the platform gazed into the skies, the trails of the ships still visible to the naked eye. He could see the empty spaces between the stars, the lights of the craft getting smaller and smaller until his gaze falls farther and farther into the blue-black deadness of the beyond, and the stars themselves begin to sink away into the void.

But then, like some kind of ancient firework display the night sky is alive, the calm is pierced by the light show and a crackle of noise booms loudly. Distant spaceships in dogfight, tiny dots brawling for superiority, trails of missiles, rockets and lasers blitz the sky. The show is amazing but the city sleeps. The platform worker, now joined by the rest of his crew watch in awe.

The workers look on and the gut wrenching realisation of what is above them hits them hard as one by one, explosion after explosion, crews and craft are lost as spaceships burn and tumble in the sky like winter's first snowflakes landing on the surface of some black pond which has not yet frozen, and the spaceships spin down, like snowflakes, down into the water, so murky up there that no one can tell whether they will simply melt away or drift to the rotten edge of the galaxies.

Moments later the night is restored and the show is no more.

Isenan VI


9 Aug 2011

Meet the Rebels - Taranfel

Taranfel was a mean looking man, the kind of man who was spat out of the system and left to fend for himself. His evil glare hidden behind reflective black shades, he was snappy in the sentence and I got that gut feeling that I'd rather be somewhere a little more public than this sleazy ransacked excuse for a room, empty liquor bottles rolled around the floor and a grease and engine oil stench mixed with the recycled air.

Taranfel picked up a half-filled dark-brown bottle off the side and took a long glug before settling down in his chair, the bottle still clasped in his dirty unwashed hands.


Tell us a little bit about your background in New Eden.

My background? Who the hell cares about the past? Look to the future. Ain't nothing back there but used up clone whores and space dust.

How did you become a Black Rebel?

I fly Rifters for a living. I'm damn good at it, and I ain't a pansy.

What were you doing before you joined the Black Rebels?

Roaming mostly. Vandalizing, blowing stuff up, an' generally bein' as much of a pain in the ass as I could be.

What is a Black Rebel?

A pilot. In a Rifter preferably. Bad ass. That's a Black Rebel. Cross one an' best kiss yer ass goodbye.

How did you hear about the Black Rebels?

Me? I hacked an interstellar transmission by Concord. Heard a bunch of whiny nonsense about some fella's up to know good and makin' life hard for the fly-straight-or-die types. Soundin' like my kinda' people.

Is it true you need a tattoo to be considered for entry?

It damn sure helps. We ain't a bunch of pretty boys. We already got one of them. You want to be a pretty boy go be a lackey mongrel fer the damned Caldari State lugheads.

The Rifter, tell me more?

Heh, the Rifter? No ship faster or more fearsome. Ain't nothing like the scream of the comms when yer flying thousands of kilometers straight at yer target. Guns blazin', modules jammin', an' prayin' you ain't wakin' up in a clone vat any time soon. You show me a better ship an' I'll shove my boot in yer ass for lyin'.

Are all Black Rebels unwashed scumbags whose only goal in life is to terrorize those they tag as 'the enemy'?

Nah, we ain't all unwashed. We got that one pretty boy I told ya, always hangs out in the hot tub. Scumbags? Some say it. Who the hell are you though, eh? Got our pride. Soon as turn you to spacedust as blink at you, but we offer ransom an' we mean it. Them pirates ain't honorin' ransoms? Might as well be good fer nothin' brainless drones.

Tell me about your corpmates?

What the hell you want me to say that ain't been said? Scumbags and n'er-do-wells. Tell you straight though, ain't never a dull moment. Ain't no two Black Rebels exactly alike. We ain't yer average group of glory hounds. We just don't give a damn. We want to kill you? We will.

Describe a typical day in the life of a Rebel.

Wake up. Scratch the lice from yer hair. Spit the mornin' scuz from yer mouth. Hop on board an' undock. Maybe you kill a few ships, maybe you wake up in the clone vat. Don't matter. I'm free, an' you ain't.

End of transcript////

2 Aug 2011

Amamake Weekend Rebel Run and the Legion

The call was given for a weekend of debauchery in and around the infamous Amamake solar system and its connecting neighbourhood of low-sec arenas. Rebels were spotted from all over the cluster loading up their Rifters and other craft with various essentials for the party; ammunition, missiles, rockets, chainwhips, smokes, narcotics, illegal combat boosters, beer, spirits and girls - quite a cocktail.

Whilst some of the Rebels were still on their way to the bash and some were sampling the insides of the fetid space station bars in one of Amamake's many, many stations, things were starting to hot up out in space. Starwalker had engaged a Taranis, the result was an Interceptor killmail to the loss of Starwalker's Rifter. The party had begun.

More Rebels were now out in space and next up on the killmail score sheet was a Thrasher that had been patrolling the belts and the kill-hungry Rebels needed no second invitation once a point was called. This actually avenged my Merlin loss from earlier in the evening. After warping to a military waypoint giving chase to an Imperial Navy Slicer which was reported inside, a Hurricane piloted by the Thrasher pilot landed about the same time as my frigate's on-board warp systems became entangled in the small field that was surrounding the gate, not being able to warp out or activate the acceleration gate meant an untimely death for my Merlin.

A little while later we pretty much suicided a whole fleet of frigates against a hostile Hurricane that was baiting in the notorious top belt. The battlecruiser easily picked us off one by one, but the Rebels don't turn a blind eye to bait and had great fun trying to score the kill and take her down. The battle report sprinkled with a few other assorted trinket kills for the Rebels.

Numbers were now swelling and with Amamake filling up with some potential trouble causers in fancy ships and gangs with numbers we had no chance of taking down we decided to take a twelve man gang down on a run towards the Gallente-Caldari border regions to see what we could find.

The journey down was actually uneventful but for some close calls and near misses. Lhorenzho scouted the first leg of the roam and then I took over proceedings as we edged closer to Old Man Star. A few jumps out from our target destination I spotted an outlaw stealth bomber landing on the gate, behind the gate the rest of the gang waited. I gave the word that the Hound was inbound to them, and whilst it had every chance of getting away, we should at least try to lock the bastard before he cloaked up. What followed was a bit crazy but provided the Rebels with a moment of humour - the exact details remain somewhat blurred but the Federal Sentry Gun Operator in charge of the stargate took exception to something Lhorenzho did and promptly relieved him of his ship. Ahem, and the Hound got away.

After a short regroup we had a little play in and around Adirain and Aeschee but for the most part it was generally quiet, much was the theme with the roam so far. Moving on towards Old Man Star I spotted Tusker pilot Kishin Hattori landing on the gate in towards Ladistier, unfortunately the skilled pilot that he is he managed to quickly warp his Interceptor away from our waiting gang. Tressin Khiyne was also prowling around and other Tuskers were in the area too.

In Old Man Star itself we came across a Hookbill which Ninyn Taq despatched with ease before any help was required and we generally chased multiple targets around with little success as we were in turn chased around by the Tusker fleet, which was now growing in size. It was like some kind of erotic spaceship gang food-chain cycle in full motion. I then gave the call that we were not going to get much luck out of this situation and would almost certainly end up on the wrong side of a beating with no spare ships nearby and we weren't ready to end the night just yet against a pirate t3 boosted gang of thirsty slayers, so we ran. Like the wind we ran, our warp drives overheating under the constant demand we were putting on them. It was an adrenaline rush and it is always good to know when turning your back on a fight is a good thing.

And what a good thing it turned out to be.

Reforming in Atlulle solar system the night was now dark and the system moon-washed, pale stars leapt out of the sky like lions from a crouch and all was quiet with the world. As I scouted out the neighbouring system of Isenan and Judge Sarn reported that he had hit the whiskey all hell then broke loose.

Overnauta had found a stealth bomber and he swiftly sent it to its grave. Right about the same time as the bomber exploded the backup arrived on scene as well as Black Rebel pilot Lhorenzho ......

Lhorenzho> Got a legion here xxxx and a Rapier too, hurry.

The Rebels kicked into action and warp drives whistled as they made their way to the asteroid field where all the action was taking place. Locking up and pointing the Legion I quickly sent out the order that the Rapier was primary and should be removed from the field, which it duly was in quick time - although it did take some of our gang away from the field in the process, it did not stop Drago Issier coming back to the scene in a Velator he stole from the station hangar. We then began working our way through the Legion's armour, the pack of frigates biting away slowly at the strategic cruiser, it seemed to be repelling our advances but was slowly losing the fight. Hearts were racing as we continued piling on the damage, fully expecting more backup to arrive to ruin our day or the pilot to self destruct or eject from his ship. Eventually the Legion succumbed and exploded with a mighty flash, the asteroid field now its final resting place. We locked up the pod and although the plan was to offer a ransom for a safe release and the chance of a payday we got a little trigger happy and the pilot was no more.

Excellent stuff and a job well done. We scooped up the loot and ended the night on a high. We also brought home our buddy's frozen corpse as the Black Rebels never leave one of their own behind.



Saturday was spent back up in and around Amamake, mainly in the bars and red light filled private quarters as the Rebels kicked back and relaxed after an epic Friday night of fun. We then ended the weekend with another action packed period in Amamake on the Sunday night.

Class of '11 - Amamake Pator Tech School Bar

The battle report painting a picture of how things went down.

Needless to say, all the Black Rebel pilots who went on the weekend run had a fantastic time, may there be more of the same to come and more stories to tell in the near future.