They were, with one exception, not original but picked up, raw, from the churning maelstrom of the life of piracy and the first years of his awkward life amongst the pirates. The old ways were dying of indigestion and it was time to tap into something new. For years the old breed had ruled with an iron fist and with the black flag raised high above the storm. They had stamped their unique language and their romantic culture on it. But the grip was slipping, weakening. The minorities, the outcasts could not be digested.
Piracy and in particular, solo pvp, was a melting pot. It was also bubbling and spewing out its contents to a wider audience. Ready to explode onto the scene.
Now, as the new era began, the various new school started to sprout like a beautiful wild flower. The various Brutor, Sebiestor and Vherok cool kids. Cast away from the chains, the boundaries removed, hungry for a share of the spoils and a slice of the pie. But it didn't stop at the Minmatar race. Gallentean punks more accustomed to the pop scene and fizzy drink dispensers. Caldari capitalist pig-dogs and even the Slavers from as far away as Amarr Prime were negotiating a route down the well-trodden path.
It was this new ideology that would shine like a fiery beacon on the new generation. Crazy and outlandish fits and tactics that were berated on paper but when put out on the field would reap the token killmails that these new kids chased. And chased they did. Meteoric rises up killboard ladders and ever more daring and outlandish attempts at gaining the kills that they craved like a drug.
But this was not all.
There was social revolt too and this often transcended into a downward struggle. The ever more unpopular lower classes of New Eden (in the eyes of the pirate) were demanding the ballot, a change for good, a cry of angst for more protection and the introduction of mind-boggling rules and stipulation. The workers and industrialist sector were insisting on the right to organize safe havens and no-fly-zones away from the grasps of the pirates and their bloodstained morals. Away from their guns and fearsome looking spaceships and modified weapon systems.
To these developments Miura, the fanatical young Brutor nationalist from Ammold, was bitterly opposed. To him New Eden was sinking into a foul swamp of bias and ignorance. It could be saved only if the master profession, piracy, reasserted its absolute authority. To Miura, those who followed the other professions were an inferior people. It was up to the pirates and to some extent the general pvp combat capsuleer community to rule them with an iron hand. Coalitions must be abolished and an end put to all the democratic 'nonsense'.
Though he took no part in the general politics of New Eden, Miura followed avidly the activities and killboards of some of the major players in the pvp world. He studied them like a hawk would study his next possible meal. And there now began to sprout in the mind of this wannabe leader, in the locker rooms of some Roden Shipyard hangar, a sense of clarity of a future goal and a vision. He could see his vision with amazing clarity. It was sharp and focused albeit quite barbaric by some standards. This vision burned down on him from above like the morning light bursting through the top of a dark cave on a Summer's morning. He wanted to mature and become a Master Leader and he knew exactly how he could do it.
At first contact he developed a furious hatred towards those that hunted his profession, actively engaging in trying to put down the piracy movement.
"What most repelled me," he says, "was its hostile attitude towards the piracy movement and in particular the way that these do-gooders would hide behind their shiny security status and strength in numbers approach."
In the first few months out in the spacelanes Miura had obtained what might have otherwise required decades: an understanding of a pestilential machine, cloaking itself as some kind of social virtue to the good community and spreading the righteous word of brotherly love amongst its followers and any other ear that was listening.
And yet he was already intelligent enough to quench his feelings of rage against these coalitions that were springing out of the ground at alarming rates. He was able to examine carefully the reason for their apparent success and championing. He concluded that there were several reasons, and years later he was to remember them and utilize them in building up the Black Rebel Rifter Club.
One day, he recounts in his journal, he witnessed an organized gate camp, a mass bundle of ships and crew, ducking and diving from the safety net of high-sec into the jungle of low-sec to commit sin against his pirate brethren.
"For nearly two hours I sat there cloaked watching with bated breath and an itchy trigger finger. This gigantic ball of slime slowly going about their 'work' like some kind of heroic super-machine. In oppressed anxiety I finally left the place and cruised homeward."
During downtimes he began to read the workings of veterans and those who were already mastering the art of which he craved. Kane Rizzel, Ka Jolo, Wensley, Sard Caid, Skira Ranos and many, many others. He studied their writings, looked deeply into their organizations and reflected on their psychology and techniques and he pondered the results that had churned in his wicked mind. He came to three conclusions: They all knew how to create a mass movement, without which any corporation and idea would be useless; they had learned the art of propaganda among the masses; and, finally, they knew the value of using what he calls "spiritual and physical terror."
This lesson, although it was based on his own observations and a sort of narrow-minded blinkered view, certainly intrigued the young Miura. Within six months he would put it to good use for his own ends.