No matter how tough you think you are, yanking a nostril hair out unsuccessfully still brings a tear to the eye.
Planetary Interaction? HA!
By: Jack Carrigan
“A year ago when you asked me what I thought about legally being able to work on the planets for resources I would have told you it was brilliant. Today, not so much.”The holoreel would have depicted a carbon-scored Proteus-class Strategic Cruiser sitting at an awkward angle, nose pointing at almost a forty-five degree angle into the lush canopy of the jungle. It was obvious the entry was less than planned, but a lot softer than it could have been. The Comms antenna appeared to have been welded back onto the hull with much effort after being sheered off by the trees. Splintered wood surrounded the disabled war machine, and green foliage served as a natural camouflage. The plating over the cargo bay doors was retracted, revealing a ladder hanging down into the jungle below, with a rope-ladder tied at the bottom of it to facilitate access to the ground. A disheveled appearing man turned the camera to face him, “This is Commander Jack Carrigan. I am documenting the fate of a stranded capsuleer. It has been two months since I crashed on this rock while pursuing pirates. I was interceding on behalf of a mining corp. This has made me realize something. If you can’t help yourself, you deserve whatever fate befalls you.” The camera turned and swung wildly as it was pulled up the ladder. Upon arrival at the top, it could be seen that the Proteus had been turned into a survival outpost. A rack of small arms was sitting along side the door recently marked “COLD STORES.”A voice could be heard as the door opened, revealing a large quantity of spilled blood, and several containers filled with various meats of unknown origin. “The animals on this planet have a lot of meat on them, but taste very bland, and there are a lot of venomous creatures that take to the hunt long after dark. Numerous encounters have been made, but to be perfectly honest, they’re not all that tough when facing rifle fire.” The camera panned around, showing hides hanging to cure on hooks in great sheets, one appearing to be that of a large feline animal which bore a resemblance to the mythological “Tiger”.
“The predatory animals on this planet are strong-willed animals, and even when wounded, continue to fight to their last breath. Capsuleers could learn a lot from them.”
The camera moved forward as the hiss of the cold stores door closed behind the holder, showing the rest of the cargo bay. Camouflage made from cargo netting and localized foliage could be seen hanging over the large opening where the bay doors were. A small coiled heater was resting on the deck plating, beside a pile of blankets, and a stuffed flight suit which appeared to be utilized as a pillow. “You think you know what Hell is? Well allow me to re-educate you on Hell.” Laughter escaped the speaker as the camera was placed onto a crate and the speaker took a seat, the emblazoned seal of the Order of the Shadow and a Jolly Roger visible hanging from the camouflaged netting in the bay in the background. “Hell is being trapped on some terrestrial rock, with a ship that you know is capable of getting you out, but not being able to free it from a fucking tree, because said tree constricts around it like a predatory snake. Hell is looking at the sky at night, and watching flashes in the sky which you know are some poor miner getting slagged, or some pirate getting his just reward, and knowing that you could have altered the outcome of the battle, but simply have to watch it from below. Hell is knowing that freedom is only outside of an expanse of gasses surrounding the rock your sitting on, but you still haven’t figured out how to get clear.”
Reaching out and turning the camera, Jack smirked before shutting down the recording, “Hey Roc, if you get this, try not to laugh too hard. Doing time planet-side is like being in prison. Now that I’ve got the Comms antenna reattached, expect to hear more from me. So to you I say, Planetary Interaction… …HA!”
The recording device shut off, and the recording was uploaded via NeoCom.
—
When I had finished laughing I gave serious thought as to why Jack felt compelled to send me these tales of woe. Then it dawned on me, like attracts like, and Jack and I had swapped several stories of our misadventures. It helped to keep the spirits up. To that end, I deleted the trace route Aura had setup. Let Jack figure out how to get off of his own damn planet.
It was good for building character. I laughed some more.
CONTINUED IN: The Continuing Adventures of Captain Jack
Blog Banter #26 – Beauty
Welcome to the twenty-sixth 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 or so 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 to read! Any questions about the EVE Blog Banter should be directed to crazykinux@gmail.com. Check for other EVE Blog Banter articles at the bottom of this post!
This month’s topic was proposed by @KatiaSae of the much praised “To Boldly Go” blog. Katia asks: “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. As an astrophotographer, I’ve found it in the stars and planets of New Eden. Where have you found it? Perhaps you’ve found beauty in the ships we fly? Maybe it’s the sight of profits being added to your bottom line? Or maybe it’s the pilot portraits you see in the comm channels? Where ever you’ve found it, write about it and post an image.” Don’t be afraid go beyond the simple visual aspects of EVE as well. Is the EVE Community in itself a thing of beauty? What makes EVE the game, the world, the Community, so appealing to you?
It is said “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” To me, that’s just a piss poor rationalization to explain away some neurotic fool’s outlook towards our bleak universe. No offense.
An elderly couple holding hands as they walk along the promenade without a care in the world; a group of friends sharing conversation and drinks over dinner; a local star slowly crawling over the horizon of a planet with your ship aligned to enjoy this unique sunrise; glorious and mysterious nebulae, twisting and folding in and out on themselves, casting light and colour across the blackness of space; the sleek lines of a Firetail; the satisfaction of conquering a sweet piece of ass; the list could go on ad nauseum, but what’s the point?
It’s all bunk; a naive and idealistic point of view. It reveals immaturity, a lack of understanding of what truly drives our societies forward. Governments are reactive, never proactive. Things start to go wrong, a blind eye is cast until it reaches a boiling point where it can no longer be ignored; then, and only then, is swift and decisive action taken, and often the act of rebalancing swings things too far in the opposite direction until it all starts to go wrong again and the cycle is repeated ad infinitum.
I took another sip from my scotch and scowled. This universe doesn’t cater to the weak.
The elderly couple? So caught up in their ignorant bliss, they failed to see the young gangbanger marking them, following them until that moment when he could earn some reputation for himself amongst his peers by looting the couple. If they put up a struggle, they would die. Not much beauty in death.
The group of friends? They were so self-absorbed in their own fun that they didn’t realize just how loud and obnoxious they were, deterring from those around them at the restaurant also trying to find a moment of “beauty”. This universe is about taking for yourself and screwing those around you.
That pilot enjoying the sunrise over a planet? That moment of distraction, that single breath enjoyed at the awesomeness of the event was enough to sign his death warrant as an Interceptor locked on and snared the unsuspecting ship with a web. To the pirate captain, that was beauty. Another ransom; another kill.
The Republic Fleet Firetail was one of the most beautiful ships the Minmatar could boast, and yet for all its appearances, it lacked substance and punch. Few pilots flew them anymore since Concord changed their specifications. It didn’t surprise me really; governments swinging the pendulum of balance once again and ruining what was good in the name of making things better. The poor Firetail had become like so many other things of “beauty”; shallow, sexy appearance with no heart, no soul.
And women … it used to be that scoring a nice, young hottie was enough to give a man a sense of accomplishment, but wake up once with your id and bank account information gone, and you realize you were a foolish old man that got played.
I felt the scotch on my lips. I could smell its sweet aroma wafting into my nostrils as I finish drinking, the ice cubes clinking together as I set the glass down on the bar.
There is no beauty in this universe, only moments of ignorance.
I paid my bill with money I borrowed from a corp mate, hoping the Republic Security Service had succeeded in tracking down the bitch that stole from me.
I walked over to the rowdy group of twenty somethings and told them to shut the hell up, to think of someone other than themselves for once. It’ was a damned public restaurant. If they wanted to carry on like imbeciles, at least do it in private where nobody had to suffer through their blatant stupidity.
I glanced out the space side viewport and saw in the distance the telltale signs of ship battle; it would be the last sunrise that pilot every enjoyed.
I turned away from the viewport and forced myself to stop listening to the news on the vidscreen; the Republic still apologizing for the riot that resulted in several Starkmanir religious leaders being killed. Now Shakor had personally promised his full attention to the situation. Translation? Things would get worse than need be for the opposing point of view. There would never be any balance.
I sighed deeply as I left the restaurant and walked along the promenade in the direction of the elderly couple. They were so completely lost in each other’s company that they didn’t even realize they had turned down a dark and deserted alley way. The young hooligan was new; he had already pulled out his blade. He was too anxious, too green.
I turned down the alley after them, realizing the only beauty I could think of at that moment was my boot lodged up this punk kid’s ass. The thought caused me to grin like an idiot as I felt the adrenaline start to surge.
The couple was in shock, filled with terror, the man having been knocked to the ground, the woman crouched by his side, holding him. They both stared directly at me. The young thug turned to see what they were looking at, and seeing me, nearly dropped his knife.
His expression changed to open mouthed fear, and I smiled as I watched the front of his pants darken with his own urine.
Maybe there was beauty in this universe after all.
Other participants:
- CrazyKinux’s Musing: Beyond nebulas and shiny ships
- Freedom: the beauty in EvE » A Mule In EvE
- Achernar: The bike and the barbecue
- where the frack is my ship?: Blog Banter 26: Love at first sight
- BlogBanter 26: EVE … beautiful … « One capsuleer against all
- Blog Banter 26 « Mad Haberdashers
- » Blog Banter 26: Beauty of EVE – To Boldly Go To Boldly Go
- Down By Law: Blog Banter #26: “The Beauty of EVE” (OOC)
- Blog Banter #26 – Beauty « Roc’s Ramblings
- Banter #26: Beauty is in the eye of the markets | Diary of a Garbageman
- Progression’s Horizon: Blog Banter 26- Carry It With Us, Or We Find It Not
- Blog Banter 26: The Beauty of Eve « A Scientist’s Life in Eve
- Freebooted: BB26: The Beauty Between the Lines
- Eve Opportunist: EBB #26 : Beauty is destruction.
- Blog banter #26: EVE shines, and not just visually « Diary of a Pod Pilot
- Learning to Fly – Spinning ships since 2003
- BB26: Beauty, in certain conditions | A Missioneer in Eve
- Dying in Lowsec (One Hauler at a time)
- EVE Blog Banter #26 – Beauty « Evehermit’s Blog
- Anymore…?
Roc’s Rule #337
Gay marriage is important to me. It’s right up there with gay parking and gay lunch.
Roc’s Rule #336
Bullets make the baby.
Impotence
“So you’ve been keeping well I assume?” she asked.
“I suppose.” I mumbled in reply.
I had been out of sorts lately, somewhat detached from my own life. I felt more like an observer, an actor, going through the motions of the scenes I knew by rote, but it had no heart. It wasn’t real. None of it seemed real anymore.
“I haven’t seen you in a while. I had wondered when you would call. You pleasantly surprised me. I thought you would take longer to seek me out again.”
I just sighed.
“So, tell me what’s been going on in your life? What’s new and noteworthy?” she asked as I got comfortable in the chair sitting across from her desk.
“To be honest, doc, not much at all. I haven’t undocked in weeks. I haven’t been going to the gym consistently. I haven’t been keeping up on current events. I haven’t been making any entries in that journal you had me doing. I just feel tired all the time, disinterested, drained. Maybe I’m depressed?”
“Maybe, but let’s not rush to any rash decisions. I’m the professional here, remember?” I looked up from my hands to see her smile. Usually, a woman’s smile got a response from me. Nothing.
“So if you haven’t been flying, or exercising, what have you been doing? How’s Mynxee? Are you two still involved?” she asked, looking at her notes on screen.
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Mynxee’s gone offline. Haven’t been able to pick up a trace of her for months.” It worried me a little, but part of me knew my whole fantasy of spending eternity with Mynxee was just that, a naive fantasy. But I love her, my heart reminded me.
“So no luck with the ladies then.” she commented. “How about the men?”
I suddenly became irate, and quickly looked up at the doc, not realizing I had been staring at my hands again. As my eyes locked with hers, I saw that she was smirking, and it dawned on me that I hadn’t been giving her my full attention, and this was her way of letting me know that she had noticed.
My anger dissipated quickly. “Har har.” I replied.
“Honestly, I’ve just been spending my time station side. Walking the promenade, sitting for hours at pubs with beer in hand, people watching. Or I’m in my hangar, fiddling with my ships, passing the days.”I trailed off there.
“Sounds like you might be bored.” she said. “But why the promenade? That’s the busiest part of the station. So many people; it’s like rush hour all day. As a capsuleer, spending months at a time in an isolated cocoon, do you miss the interactions of people?”
Just on my way to see the good doctor, I had an encounter with a “norm” in the promenade. The doc was right; it was insanely crowded, and I really did hate crowds. It was too hard to keep track of all the details, all the variables; too challenging to isolate any individual threat when everyone and everything could pose sudden and immediate danger.
Case in point, as I was walking through the throng of people, I watched a wide shouldered man walking my way drive his shoulder into the woman immediately in front of me. She was small, but minding her own business as she walked with her friend. She lost her footing, stumbling, and the man had an intense glare on his face that said he didn’t care. He was looking for a fight and didn’t look back her way.
I tensed my shoulder as he passed by. He bounced off of me, landing square on his ass, and shot me a look that would’ve killed had it been able to. The lady and her friend turned around and shouted at him, “That’s what you get, asshole!”, and I shot him a look that told him it was in his best interest to stay down there a moment and think before reacting, which he did.
The doc might think she was right, but people were idiots. Nothing to miss.
“Not really.” I muttered.
“Have you tried doing something for someone other than yourself? Maybe give to charity, or volunteer your time with the Sisters of Eve?” she asked, and I knew she was reaching out to me, trying to get me to expose my feelings, my thoughts; any reaction that would help her understand what I was going through.
Truth was, I didn’t know what I was going through, so how could I communicate that to someone else? How could I ask for assistance when I didn’t know what I needed help with? It almost felt like my first session with her again. I was closed and cut off, not wanting or able to express myself openly. She would’ve called it regression.
“And honestly, for the amount of isk you pay me for these sessions, there’s no reason why I couldn’t come to your office. There must be something that keeps bringing you back to us ‘norms’. What is it that’s driving you? Do you crave a normal life? Are you suffering from some type of guilt? Talk to me, Roc. Just talk to me.” she implored.
I was a swirl of undefined feelings.
“What is normal anyway, doc?” I exhaled without enthusiasm. “For me, this eternity is my norm. It’s not going to change. I’ll either live forever, or I’ll die, same as any of you. And what would I feel guilty about? I live a moral life; I fight the good fight. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Nothing you’d admit publicly, my brain interrupted.
“Then tell me something, Colonel. Something that isn’t centered around you. Tell me something you’ve done lately that has been purely selfless. Anything, no matter how trivial it may seem. Think outside yourself, your own immortality, and talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t open up.”
It only took a moment for a thought to force its way to the surface.
“Well, there was this one time …”
CONTINUED IN: THE LONG ROAD HOME
Just between friends: NSFW
HEIMATAR REGION
HED CONSTELLATION
DAL 1 – TRIBAL LIBERATION FORCE LOGISTIC SUPPORT
I liked to think I had been a good commander during my time in the military, and that I was a good boss to my employees now that I was in the private sector once again. I tried to be stern, yet fair. To that end I had given my chief mechanic the weekend off. I’m a nice guy that way.
WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK (NSFW). THERE IS THE OCCASIONAL REASON I PUT A MATURE RATING ON THIS SITE. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.
Roc: Yeah, so I got nothing done on the Rifter this weekend.
PyjamaSam: Hahaha. Well, hello to you too.
Roc: I popped the rear starport breaker half a dozen times before I gave up. Aura was furious.
PyjamaSam: It shouldn’t have been that hard. Connect the black wires together with another wire sticking out. Connect the white wires together with another one sticking out. Connect the sticking out wires to the port. Profit. Or in your case, charge.
Roc: One would think.
PyjamaSam: So what were you doing that was making it complex?
Roc: Well I figure the hot wires need to be constant to power the starport side top inertial compensator so I was trying to figure out different ways of connecting the hots to the one side for a constant power flow, but every time I tried, the circuit popped.
PyjamaSam: Why were you trying to be creative? All you needed to do was connect it the way Aura said to. Nothing to “figure out”. Black to black, white to white. I have a feeling you were overthinking it.
Roc: Except I have two hot spots on the port, one cold, but two hot wires and two cold.
PyjamaSam: What? You have two hot wires, and one cold and two hot and two cold? That doesn’t make sense. Not refering to electrical sense, but refering to gramatical/sentence/english sense. The 2 lines are confusing.
Roc: Ok, let me try again. I have two hot screws on the port and one cold and one ground, but attached to the existing I have two hots, two cold, one ground.
PyjamaSam: Ok.
Roc: So on the existing, it’s easy, top hot, top cold, bottom hot, bottom cold. On the new one I put top hot, bottom hot, twisted the two cold together, bam, circuit blew. Aura yelled.
PyjamaSam: And was the new port actually labeled that way?
Roc: I couldn’t actually see any labels. That’s the part that bugs me. The instructions are also confusing. It covers every hull variant they have in one booklet so finding the right one wasn’t easy. I probably just overcomplicated it, like you said, and got frustrated.
PyjamaSam: The manual is 2 pages. They show you EXACTLY what to do. Are you kidding me …”Use the supplied wire nut to combine the 2 pre-existing white or neutral wires with the included 6-inch white wire to form a series connection between the thermic regulator & other receptacles down the line.” They even include the extra little bit of wire … Step 8 is what it should look like at the end and step 4 is what it looked like with the old port port before putting removing it for the thermic regulator.
Roc: Yes, I have the wire and a merette. I thought they were just extra parts. Ok let me try reading now without a berating artificial intelligence in my ear; see if I can make sense of it. Hot goes in top, hot goes out bottom.
PyjamaSam: There is nothing to make sense of … step 8. Make it look like that.
Roc: Green is ground?
PyjamaSam: Yes, green or stripped copper.
Roc: Ok so twist the whites together, hot goes in top, so cold goes in top, out bottom, twist all grounds together to ground.
PyjamaSam: No. Stop. There is no in and out for neutral (white). You just connect them all together.
Roc: Oh. White is neutral not hot.
PyjamaSam: And connect the single wire to the port.
Roc: Neutral is white? I thought hot was white.
I sighed. I was tiring to deal with, even to myself.
PyjamaSam: ok …
Roc: So I had it backwards.
PyjamaSam: Thats a simple enough mistake EXCEPT …
Roc: It says white are neutral in the manual.
PyjamaSam: STEP FUCKING 2 SHOWED YOU THAT WHITE WAS NEUTRAL!!!!!!!!!! So what that tells me is you didn’t even bother to read the instructions.
Roc: I swear to you I did. They just didn’t make sense at the time. I am Brutor after all.
PyjamaSam: The TWO PAGE, 9 STEP INSTRUCTIONS that I quote “the instructions are also confusing”. How did you manage totie your shoes on the weekend? Brutor retard is more like it.
I could hear Sam grumble something about dope slapping me. I wasn’t even sure what that was.
Roc: There’s no electric charge in my laces to kick me half way across my hangar.
PyjamaSam: hahahaha.
Roc: Ok, well, now it makes sense. Hot in top, hot out bottom. Colds tied off to other side. Grounds tied off to ground. That’s pretty easy.
PyjamaSam: ARGH!!!! YES IT IS ! You’re killing me dude. Just killing me. Hahaha. I am going to get this through your thick skull if it kills me and damn it it near well is, hahaha.
Roc: I’m good at hauling stuff around a ship. And be nice, I got shocked hard last time, so I was really nervous to get back on the saddle.
PyjamaSam: Wouldn’t that be even more incentive to read and understand the instructions before starting?
Roc: I actually did read them. I just got confused. I’d tell you exactly where, as I see what happened now, but you’ll just dope slap me again. Besides, ever think maybe I just miss you, so play stupid so you have an excuse to come visit?
PyjamaSam: I can only hope so, otherwise you’re killing me.
Roc: Ok, let’s go with that then. Or maybe I’m helping you practice mentoring patience for your soon-to-be child. Congrats on convincing the woman you nearly killed to bear you children.
PyjamaSam: Hahaha.
Roc: See? I’m a great friend.
PyjamaSam: hahahaha
Roc: You’re welcome.
Roc: This whole twist them together thing. I don’t get it … and yes, I’m kidding.
PyjamaSam: Hahahah. I sure as goddamn hope so, hahaha.
Roc: Just miss ya is all, and I honestly did confuse myself. This morning, it made sense so I’m hoping by the time I get back out to the hangar to do it, it still makes sense.
Roc: I’m so confused.
PyjamaSam: I know. That’s your schtick.
Roc: Oh.
Roc: What is?
PyjamaSam: I don’t know. Third base.
Roc: Heh. I like third base.
PyjamaSam: I don’t give a damn … oh he’s our shortstop.
Roc: I feel like an imbecile. I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about.
PyjamaSam: Hahahaha. You’re not an imbecile. You just lack focus.
Roc: Sorry, what? Got distracted thinking about third base.
PyjamaSam: Hahaha.
Roc: Damn that new mechanic girl I hired looks good today.
PyjamaSam: Squirrel.
Roc: I don’t care if tights don’t count as pants …
PyjamaSam: Pics or STFU!
Roc: When you have a nice ass and don’t cover it, it’s worth every moment. My friend, I would try to take pics but after the last corporate sexual harassment investigation …
PyjamaSam: Hahaha
Roc: She does have a nice ass. Gotta give her that, but we debate her tits daily, it’s all bra.
PyjamaSam: Switch to video mode and just walk around like your using your NeoCom.
Roc: Some days they look absolutely amazing; other days they disappear.
PyjamaSam: All bra.
Roc: Fine, I will take silent stalker video for you.
PyjamaSam: Hahaha, ya. Hahaha. Just don’t get caught.
Roc: Oh yeah, that will be easy; following her ass while looking casual.
PyjamaSam: everybody needs to be part of the complex world of tights versus pants!
Roc: Preach it brother! It’s the FUTURE!!! I just want interchangeable penis attachments. That’s the future I dream of. It’s not easy being small and narrow.
PyjamaSam: Bahahaha!
Roc: It’s like a stick of uncooked spaghetti.
PyjamaSam: Better then small and thick like a pancake.
Roc: True. What really grosses me out when masturbating is when I see a guy’s dick that looks like Gonzo’s nose. WTF is that?
PyjamaSam: Bahahaha
Roc: Seriously, some dude pointed that at me, I wouldn’t be hopping on, or shoving it down my throat; I’d be like “Dude, get that freak show the hell away from me!”
PyjamaSam: Bahaha, yeah.. you and your gay porn hangups.
Roc: Oh god, I saw a wicked hot Caldari teen girl this morning on the net.
PyjamaSam: You’d be rich otherwise.
Roc: I nearly came on the spot. I have to send you a link, but obviously not appropriate for a corporate environemnt. And I probably shouldn’t search for it here, hahaha.
PyjamaSam: Hahahaha.
Roc: But she was soooo hot, man, tribal ink down her entire right side, piercings in every opening a woman has, and yes, dude had a disturbed gonzo penis, hence why this is fresh in my mind. And I do not have gay porn hangups. If two men want to bang the living shit out of each other, I support that. Means two more women for me.
PyjamaSam: Hahaha. Well I for one can say I am in touch with my inner-female and she is a raging lesbian.
Roc: Indeed. I enjoy our conversations. They always remind me how transient life is.
PyjamaSam: Like that drifter I killed last night at the train yard.
Roc: What were you doing at the train yard?
PyjamaSam: Oh, nothing much …
Roc: Sorry, I guess I’m supposed to be more concerned about the drifter.
PyjamaSam: Your new mechanic wanted to meet me there.
Roc: Yeah, I see where this is going. Too transparent. I expected more from you.
PyjamaSam: Not transparent. Consistent.
Roc: Why do I never get the last word?
Roc’s Rule #335
It’s not just that men are idiots; it’s that women are 100% certifiably crazy.
OOC – Why scars don’t make sense
Some things I learned at Fanfest:
- players are passionate about Eve Online
- devs are even more passionate than players when provided with solutions to player issues
The Issue: Scars
Scars are cool. Scars are badass. Scars are shiny. Problem is, in the universe of the capsuleer, scars don’t make sense. Through clone technology, we are immortal; we die, and a new body awaits us.
Our bodies are still mortal. We bleed. We break. Aura clones us when our bodies are deemed unable to continue functioning in the capacity needed.
For the amount of isk we pay for the privilege of being immortal, I can’t imagine any of us not demanding a refund if we woke up in a less than perfect body; one not grown to maturity, or with deficient organs or limbs, or blind in one eye, or scarred.
It just doesn’t make sense to me from a continuity perspective. Can I be injured? Of course. Would I be scarred? Probably. But would that carry over to my new clone? I damn well hope not. A new clone is a fresh and unblemished copy; a new chapter in my immortal life.
I spoke with several devs at Fanfest about this, and the look of sudden realization and verbal response was unanimous; “You’re right, but it’s already on SiSi, and promised to players.”
The Solution
I’m not a cold hearted bastard. I’m not going to say this wouldn’t be the first time CCP has dangled the carrot, then failed to deliver. I know players want their scars. I know removing them would upset a great many people.
I also don’t want a “make work” project for the devs. There was talk of dynamically aging characters, physically showing the effects of boosters over time, etc. All great ideas for the future, but scars need to be dealt with now.
So what if they became badges of honour? What if your ship is destroyed around you, but you manage to get your pod away?
The structural value of your pod is one quick server call. The higher your pod damage, the greater percentage chance you’ve been injured in your escape. Randomly assign a scar; it’s a few lines of code, and a viable solution with quick turnaround that maintains continuity.
Imagine it, if you will. You see a player, blind in one eye, with several scars on their face and body. You just know they have stories to tell. You know they’ve barely survived some epic battles.
Could it be abused? Of course. Everything can. But were CCP to implement this minor adjustment, it would reinforce their commitment to their new slogan “Eve is real”. One more step towards immersion. One more step towards role-play and continuity.
Will all players be happy with this? When have you ever known all players to be happy?
Let the scars tell the story of just how harsh New Eden is. Let the scars serve a purpose instead of just being cosmetic fluff, “Oooooooh, I’m going to carve up my cheek today to look more badass.” Let the scars sing the anthem of “Harden the fuck up.”
My two isk.
CSM = Complete Social Mess
The Mittani won, just like he said he would. I really could end this post here as that one sentence pretty much sums up all that is wrong with this process of CSM. But if I ended this post here I wouldn’t sound sufficiently enraged and bitter that I didn’t even place as an alternate, and that wouldn’t feed the Mittani’s ego, so I must indulge.
To be fair, one thing the Mittani can’t be called is arrogant. I myself get called arrogant often, so allow me to explain. Arrogance is not having the ability to back up what you say; from the beginning, the Mittani called it: he would be CSM 6 chair, and here we are. So no, we cannot call him arrogant. Smug, pompous, jackass, and similarly apt descriptors are allowed, so please indulge.
Oh Roc, you’re just bitter because you lost and want to blame it on the Mittani, or on the process, or CCP, or the Amarr.
I don’t know the Mittani personally; not really. I don’t want to know the Mittani personally; not really. And who knows? He may do some good with the CSM and surprise us all. Honestly I doubt it, given the very clear agenda of his campaign.
And that is where I have a problem with him, and the process, and the Amarr. The Mittani did nothing but play dirty politics, bashing every other candidate at every turn, feeding his own ego and sense of superior intelligence. And that’s who we voted in.
On the one hand I would say it’s a good thing, as it reinforces the harshness that is New Eden, and to have the Mittani as CSM chair fits right in with all the underhanded, back room, dirty politics that has existed throughout all of New Eden’s history.
On the other hand, there are five fingers, and it’s not surprising, in retrospect, that this election went the way it did. Let me elaborate.
Goons = bees
That should explain it all, but I’ll expand on my point, just to be crystal clear. A typical hive of bees consists of thousands of mindless drones that simply do the bidding of their queen. Individually, they’re really not a threat at all, easy to squash, but get a swarm of them together and it’s really not something to be underestimated.
And that’s really what happened with this election. The queen bee spoke, and 5,365 mindless drones responded to the sheer force of his will alone.
Honestly, good for him. There’s an old Brutor proverb about leadership, based on our sled dog racing of old:
If you’re not the lead dog, the view always looks the same.
I really hope the Mittani reads this. I really hope he remembers that he works for, and represents us, the players. I hope he understands that it’s not a one man show, and that even if he has some diabolical intention of grinding the CSM into the ground, to prove some perverted point about real power in a virtual reality, that any love or passion he has ever had for this game gets the better of him, and that he works to his full potential, which is substantial, and helps lead a CSM that continues to improve on the legacy of CSM 5 and keeps CCP accountable when they stray off course.
As for me, I will continue to be vocal about the issues I believe in. I don’t need to be on the CSM to be heard. You reading this blog right now proves my point. And I have a few contacts at CCP that were excited about many of the ideas I shared over Fanfest, as well as a great many fans that were absolutely shocked that I didn’t get on the CSM at all.
You see, I provide solutions. I don’t just whine about the problems. I didn’t get on the CSM. Solution? Have a more solid platform, be more vocal, be truer to my Brutor heritage.
I backed down. I went with neutrality. I’ve never been good at that. I refused to play dirty.
Next time, I will speak my mind with conviction, and if anyone wants to oppose that, then I’ll be ready.
In the interim, I wish the Mittani, and the rest of the CSM the very best, and hope they do great things.
I know I won’t be the only one watching closely.
Oh, and before I forget. Why did I name this post Complete Social Mess? Well, made you look didn’t it?
EDIT: Just read a post on Reddit about this, and I quote “tl;dr Roc Wieler is pretty sore loser.”
Yeah, maybe. I don’t know many people that enjoy losing. I guess it wouldn’t bother me so much if Queen Mittens wasn’t such a sore winner.
ROC'S RAMBLINGS 