PROVIDENCE
KBP7-G SYSTEM
BATTLE STATION

The Sansha Nation had increased its activity in the region. Entire civilian colonies were erased from history, absorbed into the living terror that was existence as a True Slave of the Sansha Nation.

Damu’Khonde Command had responded to my pleas for aid, and I had now had daily patrols assisting me in scouring the XV7L-S constellation. It was a welcome start.

I watched the Scope News Network, who was still active in the propaganda war on piracy I had initiated over a year ago; seemed piracy was always going to be a sticky topic for people. Nobody liked pirates.

My neocom flashed. I had an incoming message from Djiana Lenar.

Roc,
I just thought I would let you know that the Sansha are down one of their top officers. Chelm Soran was sighted and taken down at 05:17 in the Mb40-4 solar system. He had a four Battleship escort and all our ewar technology was ineffectual against him. All ships destroyed.

I hope this helps you with your war against the evil Sansha cult. With one less senior officer they are sure to be disrupted for the time being.

Good day Roc.

Good luck against the uprising of all evils.

I smiled with pride. Djiana had included a scan of Soran’s dogtags, ripped from his corpse. It seemed other capsuleers were taking up the mantle of justice, and increasing their collective efforts against all forms of piracy.

I had also recently heard reports that the Black Thorne Alliance had also been quite active in anti-pirate activities against the Angel Cartel. Though they might never know of my appreciation for their efforts, I felt great pride in knowing I was not alone in this battle.

The thought occured to me that perhaps an official call to arms was needed in nullsec against all forms of piracy; that maybe even the larger alliances, waging war against each other over territories, could come to an accord and unite against piracy and slavery.

Then again, maybe my political ambition was getting the best of me, and I just needed to get the hang of surviving in nullsec first.

Time would tell, as always.

Thanks for all the entries. Choosing today’s winner was actually a toss up.

Today’s winner is Max Ursa. Congrats Max! Please email me the character you would like your story about, as well as the 50 million isk you have won.

I received a comm from PyjamaSam. It always brought a smirk to face to hear from him; the crazy adventures that seemed to populate his life unwittingly were an eternal well of mirth to me. As he began to speak, I realized the well was nowhere near running dry.

“So I bought a farm.” is how Sam began, to give you a small indication of how the conversation went.

It seemed Sam was on a quest for internal peace and quiet; his brilliant mind never able to shut itself off completely and enjoy the same relaxation many of us take for granted. There was always some scheme, some issue that needed solving, and he realized he was starting to go a little crazy. Of course, if one realizes one is going crazy, does that mean they aren’t? Or is the fact one is talking about one’s self a further indication of how far one has really gone around the bend? He went on like this for a good fifteen minutes before I managed to interject, wanting to know the reason for his call.

“Well, the farm needs work. I got 14 acres; grape vineyards, pear groves, peach trees, plum trees, a chicken coop, though a weasel got in last night and tore the heads off of all the chickens, a pigeon barn with about two tonnes of crap on the barn floor, a greenhouse in disarray, though it does have some lovely red onions in it, need to build me a fire pit, and a sixty year old tractor that somehow still functions, but barely. I’m going to automate the tractor eventually to tend the fields itself of course. You wouldn’t believe how tall the weeds are here, and then there’s the…” He had lost himself already in his incessant banter. His mouth was functioning on autopilot, his mind probably already re-analyzing each listed item for the thousandth time as he spoke, completely oblivious at this point that he hadn’t answered my question.

“Sam, for the love of crap!” I interjected, cutting him off.

“What?” he asked with the pure innocence of a child.

“What do you want from me?” I said, chuckling. With anyone else, I would’ve been far more impatient, but Sam was one of the few true friends I had during that stage of my lives, and I valued that greatly.

“Oh.” Sam said, somewhat embarrassed. “You’re the only guy I know that would find manual labour on a farm all day to be fun.” he said.

With that, we both laughed, and began making arrangements. A capsuleer had to be careful when traveling publicly; there were always those that could profit from knowing the locations of unpodded immortals. There had been a growing tension in the attitudes of the Empires’ populaces towards us pod pilots as of late. There had even been rumours of civilians managing to sneak aboard the “capsuleer only” levels of space stations; something nobody would ever have thought possible.

A public transport to the orbital station; a shuttle to the surface, a commuter train to the nearest rural station, then some old fashioned hitchhiking on the back of a dairy truck, and I made it inconspicuously to Sam’s farm.

One look around and I knew that for once he hadn’t been exaggerating about the state of things. The land was as wild as a jungle. What had I gotten myself into this time?

—

As an item of side-interest, I had sat across from a young local on the commuter train; one that seemed to be a fan of the Brutor tribe; one that refused to look at me directly, which I found amusing being a member of the Brutor tribe. I took a quick snapshot with my sunglasses, just to treasure the moment.

THE CONTEST

The contest is simple. Create a caption for the image above. It can be funny, witty, serious; anything you like. Post your caption in the comments below.

THE PRIZE

The winner of the Roc that Caption #2 contest will have their EVE Online character featured in a story here on Roc’s Ramblings, written by yours truly, as well as:

• 50 million of my ISK
• be a featured co-host on the Missions Collide podcast

THE RULES

Entrants may only submit one caption. All entries must be received by 11:59 PM EST, Friday August 13, 2010 to qualify. The entries will be judged by me alone. I will choose the winner based on what I personally find to be the best fitting caption.

Good luck!

Life is full of irony.

KBP7 BATTLE STATION
KBP7-G SYSTEM
XV7L-S CONSTELLATION
PROVIDENCE REGION

“I’d advise you move your assets sooner rather than later.” Emrys Ap’Morgravaine said.

Emrys was the on duty diplomat for the newly christened Damu’Khonde alliance (formerly known as Ushra’Khan). Instinctively, I pulled his bio. It was a mental habit I had developed, learning it was always good to understand the type of person I was dealing with. Concord kept very detailed records of Capsuleers, though to be fair, pod pilots had figured out ways to abuse even this system, maintaining their privacy.

“Humanity are a filthy, wretched, misbegotten, misguided, bigoted and morally failed species. I hate them. I really do.”

His bio was anything but encouraging. I assessed my situation.

Since moving to nullsec and joining Ushra’Khan, I had acquired assets in only two systems, the primary being KBP7-G. The two jump gates insystem were consistently camped by allies, and it was only one jump from Dital, leading to Empire, which was less than ten jumps to Rens, still one of my primary supply depots. KBP7-G was also advantageous as it was one jump away from the beginning of the now defunct Ushra’Khan jump bridge network.

Of course now it was sixteen jumps through the heart of Providence/Catch to retrieve my alliance assets. A part of me was willing to sacrifice what was there, mostly ammunition and T1 ships. Yet there on my screen, one of my Cynabal cruisers taunted me. It was too expensive a ship, with far too pricey a fitting to leave behind.

“Anyone able to help me get my assets out of N 8?” I said into our corporation channel. Given the lack of success I had experienced thus far with corpmates or alliance allies lending a hand, I wasn’t hopeful. I was already envisioning myself pod tanking back and forth through nullsec, pulling my ships out one at a time. That was going to be a very slow and painful process, I was sure.

“Sure hon, what’s up?” Neridah Tanz replied cheerfully. Neridah was one of the few corpmates I had gotten to know during my tenure. It didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes as well. I knew from the moment we first spoke that she had a thing for me, but then again, what woman didn’t? I mean, c’mon, short, bald, pale, I got it all going on over here.

Neridah was currently very popular with the alliance, as she was juggling freighter runs to aid in the evacuation of Providence, while her business partner had volunteered to open cynos for others to egress from the region.

I quickly contracted my N 8 assets to her, and thankfully, she had room in her next freighter run for everything except my Cynabal cruiser. I could’ve been negative about it, but hell, she was saving me a lot of effort already.

Playfully, I expressed my appreciation to her, letting her know that when this was all said and done, drinks were on me, and that I sincerely was thankful for her assistance.

“Anything for you, hon.” was all she replied. I was sure she would’ve been more conversational was she not in such high demand at the time.

In the meantime, I checked in with Emrys. I had finally sorted through sixty-three alliance emails, each one providing more details on the situation in Providence over the previous 72 hours. Seems we were NBSI (Not blue, shoot it), and standings between alliance corporations were still in the works, so basically, treat everything as hostile. There was also a warning about not undocking from your current station, as you wouldn’t be granted permissions to re-dock. That could obviously be problematic.

“Emrys, sorry to bother you.” I said in private conversation, “but as the on duty diplomat, I figured you’d be most in the know.”

“What do you need? I’m kinda busy here.” he replied curtly.

“Understood, sir. Just want to know if the station lockdown is still in effect in KBP7?” I asked.

“What lockdown are you talking about?” he replied a little too abruptly.

“As in, is it safe for me to undock? I will be able to dock again at the battle station?” I asked, trying to keep my temper cool. There were many capsuleers who were very detached from their emotions, who made decisions solely based on the logic of a situation. Their experience and training having taught them that regardless of emotional response, the situation, and the appropriate response, will not be influenced by your feelings. I wholeheartedly disagreed. I was ruled by passion. It fueled me, gave me strength. There had been many times in my life where had I not allowed emotion to rule me, I would’ve failed, given up, admitted defeat. That simply wasn’t my way.

Still, as the only liaison I was aware of at the time, it was best to keep my temper under control.

“Yes, yes of course.” he replied, before cutting the comm. I was going to attribute it to another case of being too busy, as he stated; nothing more.

Hesitantly, I undocked my pod, and started slowboating to N 8. I was cautious. In my years I had learned that exercising caution was one of the most effective means of preserving my life. I jumped off gate, to planets and moons, no straight warps between gates. Adrenaline surged through my veins between every jump. Pod tanking through nullsec; what the hell was wrong with me?

I arrived in N 8 unscathed. I arrived in N 8 better than unscathed. There hadn’t been a single registered pod pilot in local scan in any system along the entire route. I had never seen Providence so deserted, but was going to enjoy my good fortune while it lasted.

Within half an hour, I had my pod inserted into my Cynabal, had crammed my cargo hold full of the remaining ammo in my bay, and made my way slowly back to KBP7, once again, exercising extreme caution.

Alliance comms had a scout running a parallel route, that merged only a few jumps before KBP7. The scout was reporting the same system emptiness I had experienced. It was eerie, which only made things more nerve wracking.

Sard Caid popped up on my screen. “Yo.”

“Hey, you old pirate. How goes it?” I replied. I hadn’t spoken with Sard in quite some time, and honestly didn’t mind the company at this particular juncture in time. We engaged in the usual small talk, laughing at a bit at each other’s expense, really just two friends getting caught up on things.

I was three jumps from KBP7-G.

“How much you wanna bet I get ganked 1 jump from home?” I challenged Sard.

“You’re on, Roc.” Sard replied.

As soon as the words had left my mouth, I regretted them. I had never been superstitious, but had noticed in my career that when I joked about certain situations, they inevitably became very costly truths.

I focused while Sard rambled on.

I jumped into KBP7-G. There were 192 ships registered in local; all friendly. I breathed a mental sigh of relief. I had made it.

I wished Sard a good evening, and docked up.

The entire system was full of Damu’Khonde and its allies. I chuckled.

Maybe now I could get some help dealing with the Sansha Nation that had been infesting this constellation.

KPB7-G SYSTEM
SANSHA REGIONAL OUTPOST

“It’s a capsuleer, commander!” the Sansha comms officer screamed through his mental connection to the Overseer. “Forward scout shows a single Cynabal cruiser waiting at the acceleration gate.”

The Sansha Nation was one of the more powerful pirate factions, in so much that they ‘absorbed’ others into their collective. They called it liberation; naming their recruits ‘True Slaves’, sedated with drugs, cybernetically fused with all horrors of machinery, all under the control of one man, Sansha Kuvakei; despot, madman, genius. An entire nation of people, single minded in following the will of Sansha.

The Overseer knew that their culling would not succeed with a capsuleer inbound. He also knew how desperately they needed the boon of recruits they had found in this system. They would not retreat from the capsuleer this time.

Within moments, the Overseer had commanded his forces to scramble, bringing online several web stasis towers, as well as over a dozen battleships, cruisers and frigates to defend against the immortal capsuleer.

The Overseer received the report that the capsuleer had used the acceleration gate, and was now hurtling through warp towards them.

They would be waiting.

—

I was engaged as soon as I exited warp; the Sansha Nation had known I was coming. I launched my entire complement of drones, five Valkyrie II models, and steeled myself for battle.

Within seconds three separate stasis towers had locked onto me, and even with my micro warp drive at optimal output, my ship was slowed to 30 m/s. With no transverse velocity, I was a sitting duck. I hoped my shields held.

The Valkyries swarmed the nearest frigate, and I concentrated my fire on the same ship. It exploded quickly, and I was keen on taking victories where I could. Each loss to my enemy lessened the damage to my ship and potentially eroded their will to continue the fight.

My shields dropped to 20%, four separate salvos of heavy missiles hitting with full impact. I boosted my shields, overheating them to squeeze every last second I could out of them.

A second frigate went down. I redirected the drones to the nearest stasis tower, well out of reach of my autocannons. This fight wouldn’t last much longer if I couldn’t destroy those towers.

It was almost as though the enemy fleet had read my thoughts. Another salvo from the battleships and my shields were depleted, my armour evaporated. It was almost surreal how quickly it happened.

ALLIANCE CHANNEL: ” Emergency CTA. All pilots report for combat. Rally system is N 8.”

Lovely.

I willed the drones to return as I aligned for the nearest star. I needed out before my Cynabal was torn from me. It was going to be close. 3.8 seconds to align, drones were enroute. I wasn’t waiting if they didn’t make it.

The warp drive hummed, spinning up to speed. The drones entered their bay moments before the stars elongated and I was away, my ship in tatters around me.

—

The Overseer smiled, even though they had lost a welcome addition to the Nation. Still, repelling a capsuleer was no small feat. Knowing the capsuleers to be a tenacious lot, the Overseer accelerated his plans. The culling needed to be completed, and quickly.

—

I docked up for emergency repairs. I had obviously underestimated the strength of the Sansha base I had scanned down earlier. I had heard rumours about the Sansha Nation; some said they were a zombie army, others said they were cyborgs, others still said they were a human drone collective. In my experience, their ships blew up just like anyone else’s, and Concord paid well for that.

The money wasn’t my primary motivation of course. The Sansha Nation was a well known pirate operation, and I was most definitely anti-pirate. And if any of the rumours were true, then they were also slavers. I hated slavers.

I scanned the Alliance Channel. Large fleet activity forming up.

“Roc Wieler, reporting in.”

“Are you enroute to the rendezvous system, pilot?” the fleet commander replied.

“Negative, sir. Need to get myself a decent ship together out here. Shouldn’t take longer than … 30 minutes.”

“Christ pilot, how can you live out here and not have a stockpile of ships? Get to it. Every ship counts.”

“Wieler out.”

—

Two hours later I had nearly given up. Two hours later I had traveled to multiple alliance systems, using our jump bridge network, under the direction of various pilots as to where I could equip my ship sufficiently. Two hours later I still hadn’t managed to find a single component worth buying.

I should’ve just made the trip to Rens and back.

The most enlightening part of that two hours was listening to our alliance fleet move from system to system, falling under attack from an allied gatecamp, more than once, and our fleet commander demanding reimbursement for lost ships. Tempers were flaring, morale was down, and the real enemy had yet to surface.

Two hours of effort, and the best I could do was an ill-fitted Stabber. It would be a waste of a ship to take it into battle; a waste of my time. The fleet was in disarray, and if experience was any teacher, it was bound to disband soon. By the time I got to the rendezvous system, I would more than likely just be turning around to head back towards the Sansha Regional HQ I had discovered.

I assessed the strength of the HQ in my mind, having Aura do up a squad configuration for what I might need. Looked like I would need a strong tank, maybe a drake, a remote repper of some sort, and additional DPS in order to make short work of the Sansha Nation.

My gut told me time was of the essence.

I received no response in my corporation channel when asking for assistance with the Sansha, so switched over to Alliance chat. That was a mistake.

“You’re asking for carebear help during a CTA? Are you stupid? Kick this idiot.”

“We’re in a CTA. WTF are you doing?”

These types of comments flooded my screen. I sighed heavily.

“They were attacking a civilian colony. Our help is needed.”

This received much laughter, further derision, and finally my removal from the fleet by the fleet commander.

Well, that settled that.

In my short time serving with Ushra’Khan, it had been my first request for assistance. My belief, my entire reason for joining U’K, was the impression that we both stood for freedom and the liberation of innocents no matter where we found them.

Apparently, not everyone got that memo.

I returned to KBP7-G to recon the Sansha HQ. The familiar hum of the acceleration gate greeted me. I did a quick scan through to the other side. No results. Hmmm.

I warped through, my mind ready to respond in a heartbeat. If they had reinforced their position, this would be even more impossible than before, but I had to at least try.

A drape of darkness, pierced with pinholes of light, was all that greeted me. The colony was abandoned. The Sansha Nation had moved on.

I did a quick scan of the site. No life signs. I had been too late.

I put in a quick call to the Sisters of EVE, letting them know what had happened at this location, and asked them to send one of their teams. They were more adept at this sort of rescue operation than I was.

Thousands of innocent lives destroyed, beings lost as ‘True Slaves’ to Sansha. Ushra’Khan unable and unwilling to help. I mumbled a silent curse under my lips, not knowing that only days later Ushra’Khan would be betrayed and disbanded.

I docked my ship in KBP7-G Battle station. There is no happy ending to this entry, only regret.

Looking back at my youth, I realize I was both naive, ignorant and chauvinistic. As a slave I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to attend any fancy schools, or garner a formal education. I learned by doing, or hearing how to do from my friends. Later in life, of course, I realized most of my friends had told me was complete garbage, and had to unlearn so many things, but that’s another story.

There are countless tales to be told on the horrors of slavery, and not one of them will do justice to the actual reality of this abhorrent practice. The real testament to the strength and spirit of the Minmatar people, to any people that have ever experienced the brutal and unforgiving cruelty that is enslavement, is their ability to find happiness in the midst of the greatest inhumanity any being could suffer.

All that is to say that when we did party, we partied well.

At the time, Mihan and I were still inexperienced with each other sexually. We had messed around, as all teenagers do, but when it came to “doing the deed”, we found ourselves a little shy and apprehensive. She was my soul mate, the most true love of my life, and the only woman I had ever truly cherished above everything else. It was probably for the best that we didn’t rush into things. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

I will never forget one particular celebration we shared, in recognition of one of our Brutor traditions. Really, as teenagers, we used any excuse we could to get together, drink, make out, smoke, and feel like adults. I was never a drinker as a young man, but I comforted many friends that spent hours puking their guts out from drinking too much. Adults had nothing on us.

Mihan and I had isolated ourselves from the main party, desperately wanting a little alone time together. My friend Tiny and his conquest had secreted into the room beside ours. We discovered quickly just how thin the walls were in that dwelling!

It seemed every time Mihan and I drew closer in our intimacy, there would be loud, sometimes awkward sounds from the room beside. We would simply smile, do our best to ignore it, and try not to ruin our own moods. Even thinking about her now is intoxicating; there was nothing about her that wasn’t divinely perfect. This next statement is probably too much information, even for my personal memoirs, but if ever there was a woman to be craved, to be wanted and desired more than breath itself, it was Mihan. I’m aching now just dwelling on other memories we shared later in our teenaged lives.

I pulled her close, devouring her lips in mine, breathing in her essence deeply, losing each other in our passion. That night could’ve been the night we finally went all the way.

Then there was laughter, followed by a girl’s yelling, then more laughing, crying, the sound of bare feet running, and a door slamming. Mihan and I both looked at each other stupidly, neither of us having any idea what was going on.

Suddenly the door to our room burst open, and there stood Tiny in all his naked glory, an ear to ear smirk on his face, laughing, tears streaming down his face.

“Roc! Man! You’re never going to believe this!” he said, storming into the room, completely oblivious to the moment he was ruining.

“Hi Mihan.” he said as an afterthought, plopping himself down on the bed between us.

“So there we are, getting it on, and I knew I was gonna get some, right?” he started, ignoring my imploring look for him to get the hell out so I could get some myself.

“Nice tits and such, so things were getting hot and heavy.” He still had that stupid smile plastered to his face. Mihan rolled her eyes, making it apparent our moment for hot and heavy had passed by. Dammit Tiny.

“Anyway, I take my pants off and ask her to give me a blow job. She gets all nervous and shit, so I encourage her with my hand on the back of her head. I mean, that’s cool, right?”

Why he was telling me any of this, I really did not know. I had less than zero interest in visually picturing the story he was describing, especially because the graphical reference was dangling less than a foot away from me, hanging off the bed.

“She kept backing off, so I asked her ‘You do know how to give a blow job, right?’ and she said ‘Of course I do’. So then she grabs it in her hands, puts her lips around the end of it, and starts making a ‘huff huff’ sound. She was actually blowing it!!!”

With that, he fell over backwards onto the bed into hysterics.

There are moments when we all make horrible, unthinking choices. The next few moments slowed down painfully, forever etched into my memory.

I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. It was a hilarious story. Blow jobs, I thought to myself. During my growing fit of laughter, my eyes slowly fell across Mihan, but not fully understanding the disgusted, horrified look she was giving back to me. Dumbfoundedly, I watched, the smile falling off my face far too slowly, as she stood from the bed and raced out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Moments later I could hear her muffled voice next door, and renewed crying from the other female at the realization that Tiny was spreading the details of her naivety. I could hear Mihan comforting her, and knew I was now an accomplice.

Even though I hadn’t been drinking, I had never been more sober than at the moment.

I punched Tiny in the gut. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” I said.

“Wha?” Tiny said, looking up at me stupidly from the bed.

Welcome to the nineteenth installment of the EVE Blog Banter, the monthly EVE Online blogging extravaganza created by CrazyKinux. The EVE Blog Banter involves an enthusiastic group of gaming bloggers, a common topic within the realm of EVE Online, and a week to post articles pertaining to the said topic. The resulting articles can either be short or quite extensive, either funny or dead serious, but are always a great fun read! Any questions about the EVE Blog Banter should be directed to crazykinux@gmail.com. Check out other EVE Blog Banter articles at the bottom of this post!

This months topic comes to us from @evepress, and he asks: The CSM: CCP’s Meta Game? – The CSM, an eve player’s voice to CCP.Right? In the grand scheme of things yes, the players bring up issues and the CSM presents them to CCP. But in its current iteration the CSM was supposed to be given small authority to assign CCP assets to projects that the CSM thought needed work on. As it has come out, this was not the case. So fellow bloggers, is the CSM worth it, has the CSM improved the game in any way, or is it just a well thought out scamby CCP to give us players a false sense of input in the game? What’s your take?

Everybody has an opinion on how to do things better; it’s a fact as old as mankind itself. There are several quips & quotes that paraphrase this sentiment: walk a mile in another man’s shoes being one of the more famous.

Opinion is based on perception and experience. We all have our own views and individual histories that have shaped our lives thus far; no two are identical, so therefore, coming to an accord on any topic is a grand undertaking to say the least. The more people you introduce into this mix, the more unique perspectives there will be, and the exponential growth of conflict is unstoppable.

I am sure this particular blog banter is going to generate a lot of interest from players of EVE Online, as well as from CCP itself. I am personally looking forward to reading as many as possible, seeing how things pan out, giving my opinion here and there.

I believe the topic of CSM falls into a few generalized opinions:

• Players that love the CSM
• Players that want to believe in the CSM but are disheartened by CCP’s treatment of it
• Players that think the CSM is a waste
• CCP staff that love the CSM
• CCP staff that like the concept of the CSM as long as it doesn’t involve any effort on their end
• CCP staff that think the CSM is a waste

I am sure other EVE bloggers will pick one of these views and go into their own personal support of it, or debate it.

My dilemma is I can see all points of view, based on my own experiences with CCP, with MMO players as a whole, past and present, and from other game developers I have interacted with on similar endeavours.

Through all of it I have learned two things:

1. The player base is never satisfied, no matter what you do.
2. Ultimately, if the company continues to profit, everything else falls to the wayside.

That is the way of things, the way of the Force. Out of sight, out of mind. Hurts us it can, hmmm?

I am willing to respect and debate my opinions with others, provided it is done so in an intelligent and logical manner. I bring passion to the table, and admire that in others. It’s only when a discussion deteriorates to ignorance and an unwillingness to listen that I become frustrated and will simply walk away, or punch someone in the throat (as is the habit of my newest corp mate. She’s pretty awesome).

I have ideas on how the CSM could be better. I have ideas on how CCP could run things better. I have ideas on how EVE could be better. Like I started off saying, we all have our own ideas.

I choose to be thankful for CCP’s willingness to even have a CSM. Many games do not. They simply do what they will, and when things start going poorly, then they try a “too little, too late” approach, listening to everything their users say, making drastic swings in direction, usually taking a year or two to continually refine and refine until they either get it right or have committed themselves so far down the wrong path that there is no coming back! (Do you hear me Sony Online Entertainment?!? I will never forgive you for f*cking up my Star Wars Galaxies!)

Ok, Roc, take a breath. *breathes deep calming breaths*

So does CCP have it all figured out when it comes to the CSM? Hell no.

Could it be better? Hell yes.

Could it be worse? In many ways … CCP could abolish the CSM altogether … CCP could listen to everything players say (Jebus help us!) … CCP could just do what I tell them in every regard … wait, that should be in the make things better category.

So bottom line for me, having met and developed relationships with quite a few people at CCP, is that they believe they are doing the right thing, for the most part. They are divided, just like any growing company, and not everything runs smoothly, just like any growing company.

Players should always be careful what they ask from a gaming company; they might just get what they ask for (F*cking Sony Online Entertainment! The greatest franchise of ALL time and you monkeys STILL managed to F*ck it up! Oh sure, blame Lucasarts; it was their creative control that destroyed the game. Whatthefuckever! How’s the Matrix Online doing for you, and other big name properties you destroyed that didn’t involve Lucasarts?!? You have so put me off the idea of an online Star Wars MMO that I’m not even willing to try The Old Republic because of the hurt you’ve caused me, and I believe in Bioware as a company a helluva lot more than I do you!!! Dammit, why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone!)

On a more rational note, if any of you reading this know a SOE employee, punch them right now … hard … in the throat, and tell them Roc says hi.

“No, leave him the way God intended. It will teach him humility, if he survives.”

That was my father’s decision when I was born blind, the doctors recommending a minor procedure to repair my sight with the use of cybernetics. It was a common corrective measure for such a rare defect.

My father was a devout religious man, stern, a strong disciplinarian. He always pushed me harder than my siblings; always chastised me if I fell to self-pity. To him, I was just as good, if not better, than anyone else that had vision. He always used to tell me how blessed I was. “God saved you from having to see the shit of this universe.” he would say. Looking back, he was right.

My mother was a quiet woman, submissively obedient to my father in most things. When push came to shove, she would dig in her heels and stand her ground, mostly for her children’s sake. That isn’t to say my father was unloving or abusive; quite the opposite in fact. Together, my parents were a good balance, a healthy blend of couple whom I am thankful to call mom and dad.

Growing up, I was teased for my blindness. Some kids would make fun of the disability itself, while others made fun of my family, assuming low financial standing and social status is why my eyes weren’t fixed. I had no problem ignoring the first group; they spoke from ignorance. The second group, well, they spoke with maliciousness about my family; I had less patience with them. It wasn’t uncommon for my mother to lecture me on how unbecoming it was for me to be suspended from school again for fighting. Out of earshot of my mother, my father would secretly congratulate me for being a man, standing up for myself, and my family.

As I began maturing into my early twenties I had developed my other senses and perceptions to the level where many people, meeting me for the first time, were surprised and skeptical of my blindness. I worked diligently learning how to read people’s voices, the tempo and pitch of their tone, the strength they projected or lack thereof, and much more. I could feel the slightest sensation of movement across my skin, whether from someone breathing or simply passing by. I could tell the rough height and weight of a person simply from the sound and timing of their footsteps.

What my father had predicted for me at birth had indeed come true. I wasn’t vain, full of arrogance and misplaced pride. I was thankful to God for teaching me how to appreciate everything in life, and for granting me the patience and dedication to excel.

I graduated university at the top of my class on a full scholarship. My parents had never been more proud, which was a huge statement in and of itself.

“So, what now?” my father had asked after my graduation ceremony. “Are you going to join the priesthood? The planetary research department? Or maybe you fancy yourself being one of those capsuleers?” He laughed at his own joke.

I didn’t.

Within four months I applied for the capsuleer program. Much to the surprise of my father, and myself, I scored the highest aptitude ever seen in the program within our entire region. Within days I was to be shipped to an orbital space station to begin the program.

The capsuleer program was known to be harsh. Many candidates didn’t survive the surgical processes involved in transforming a man into a god. My mother cried, refusing to let me go, but at the same time, full of so much pride that she threatened to burst at the seams. My siblings were a mixed bag of jealousy and congratulations, and I loved each one of them for their enduring sincerity.

My father wasn’t one to show much emotion outwardly. He shook my hand, patted me on the back, and said, “Never forget who you are. I brought you into this world and I’ll always be able to take you out of it.” He pushed passed me then, to hold my mother, and as I turned my head towards my family, perhaps for the last time, I swear I could hear my father sobbing.

—

“No, leave me the way God intended. It will teach me humility, if I survive.”

I smiled at the doctor’s reaction, I could hear he was flustered. I had just refused his request to correct my eyesight. Apparently nobody had refused free medical miracles before.

A part of me was thankful for the darkness that was a constant in my life; it prevented me from becoming terrified at the sight of the surgical equipment surrounding me. Had I been able to see the instruments used to create the melody of eternal life, I would’ve run away, screaming in terror.

A mask was fitted over my face, and I was told to count backwards from ten. I don’t remember making it passed seven.

—

That was over one year ago.

Since becoming a pod pilot, I have never ceased to marvel at the extended sight interfacing with my ships brings me. I marvel daily at the endless beauty New Eden has to offer.

I have gained wealth beyond my father’s wildest imaginings, and tended to my family, that they may never go without again.

I am a Director in a capsuleer corporation, a position of prestige even among immortals.

I have come to favour stealth bombers and Caldari ECM vessels, both of these allowing me to employ the same “disability” on others as I was born with. It is a poetic irony, taking away the sight of my enemies, and a sound strategy.

Even capsuleers need to learn humility sometimes.

My name is Philip. And I see you.