Just the title makes me giggle every time I see Jester’s Quote of the Week: “Teat down everything you own.” But then again, I can get fifteen minutes of amusement reading the misplaced modifiers section of a grammar book, so I’m probably just weird.
Rotating EVE’s 3-D ship models is one of the visceral pleasures of the game. How else do you know the other side of the ship is still there?
Player-owned structures require periodic refueling, as all sorts of things go on in there. But hang a sock on the control tower, or something, for crying out loud.
“Captain’s log. We’ve been wrapping up initial scans of Krilmokenur Three’s surface, and I have to say, I’m not really impressed. Despite the resources being constantly churned from the core of the planet, readings are consistently…much lower than Ned indicated when he ordered us out here. Maybe something’s wrong with the scanning equipment, but it checked out a-okay before we left. I’d say that Al’s gone over the system with a fine tooth comb, but he’s not really a ‘fine tooth comb’ kinda guy. He’s about ready to put a fist through the console, so I’ve asked our Eric to look at it…maybe if he’s not drunk he’ll actually find something.
“In the meantime, we’ll keep scanning. I tried to contact Ned about our initial findings over 48 hours ago, but he hasn’t responded. The continued silence pisses me off.”
Freighters: not optimal for missioning in EVE.
Can be found here.
Static, then sounds of tapping.
“–mit, I thought I had fixed this thing. Yep, that got it.
“Captain’s log. We’re on final approach to Krilmokenur III, and we’re currently…”, A brief pause while sounds of tapping on a console can be heard, “…about 7AU from the only civilization in this solar system. Ned needs me to check into this planet for a suitable location for material extraction, processing…and so on. Apparently the planet is in upheaval, with buckets of little lava colored ISK spewing everywhere. Interestingly enough, Ned’s favorite color is now suddenly red. It’s all terribly exciting. I just hope that when we hit the Military School after we’re done, the plumbing works.
“Tantrum’s still running with a skeleton crew, but we have enough to make do while we scare up some more crew members. Most of the crew are like me, “owned” by Ned in some way. My 1st Lieutenant’s real name is a mouthful, so we just call him Al. He’s about six foot…five or so, and built like a destroyer. Apparently Ned got him out of a murder charge back in Rens and hired him. Glad he’s on my side. He also runs the scanning station until Ned can find a scientist that actually owes him. Most of them are too smart to deal with his kind, heh.
“Most of the rest of the crew seems pretty solid. I’ve seen better, but for the kind of work we’ll be doing right now, they don’t have to be remarkable. In nullsec, unremarkable usually means you better have a really good clone set up somewhere. In zero-point-nine, not so much.”
A beeping sound begins.
“Eh..ah, we’re here. Lava sweet lava. Captain McNeil out.”
The capsuleer’s pod provides life support, taking care of the pilot’s every need. Every need. I hear this one in Aura’s voice, and wince.
'Twas a week since the patch, and my mates were all cloaked
The better to gank some carebears, we had joked.
With my main in his covops, and an alt docked nearby
I hoped Tech II hulls would soon be espied.
As Local was quiet; we were barely awake
And our battleship pilot was on bio-break.
When what should appear in the latest intel
But a cruiser with blasters and shield tank from hell!
Our bait frig on d-scan was taking a gander
At a fit with nine reindeer and cargo expander.
It was rigged with extenders against our rail guns
And his hardeners, frankly? A bit overdone.
To my mates an unknown and a bit of a mystery,
But I'd just checked out his employment history
And I stared with surprise which his portrait engendered
At a well-known old face that was beautifully rendered.
He was dressed all in robes that hung straight to the floor
While his killboard was longer–this dude was hardcore!
The curl of his lip was a fright to behold
And his eyes were as black as the ore in his hold.
Word had it, he showed up this late in December,
And left behind wrecks in his wake, we remembered.
Klaus Siinter's the pirate all eggers despise
Wherever the crafty, white-haired bastard flies.
He was quick, and I saw that he'd surely escape
If no tactically sound battle plan would take shape.
No time! He was here and then suddenly gone,
Having fitted for speed and stealth rather than brawn.
We knew how it was he'd so quickly arrived:
That was no faction 'burner, but microwarpdrive!
Evading our webs, he flew straight for the gate;
Our battleship locked, but by then 'twas too late!
Our fleet felt the smartbomb he'd timely ejected,
And awoke in our clones, which was most unexpected.
But we'd heard him on comms as he vanished and sneered,
"Happy Yuletide, you n00bs, and I'll kill you next year!"