Welcome to the November 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 great fun to read! Any questions about the EVE Blog Banter should be directed here. Check out other EVE Blog Banter articles at the bottom of this post!

This month’s EVE Blog Banter comes to us from Brinelan over at The Shard (http://www.theshard.org). He asks: What drew us into EVE, what keeps us playing the game and what brought us back if we’ve ever left?

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Everyone has a story to tell. 

I remember my humble beginnings. My life began in a simple city, of no more than one hundred and thirty five citizens. We weren’t the biggest clan by any means, but we were very close knit. War raged around us, eventually destroying what was our home. We tried to rebuild, but it was never the same. I was a tribal leader then, a valued member of the clan, but I made my mistakes. I hurt a lot of people unintentionally, trapped in an ever growing web of my own lies. It is something I truly regret to this day, and have vowed to never get caught up in such a situation again.

Despite the fame, despite the community I failed, my destiny was to be elsewhere. 

I was enslaved at ten years old, forced into a life of servitude by the Amarr. There was a point when the only escape my mind had was to fantasize about crazy things. I remember one nightmarish fantasy I had, where I was undead, some kind of mystical warlock, able to cast about magic, like the bedtime stories I remembered when I was an infant. Once I was a superhero, able to jump over buildings in a single bound. There was even a time I lived among small human like creatures, seeking some all powerful and unifying ring. But I grew up; I no longer had a desire for such childish things.

Eventually, I snatched my freedom. It was no easy task. I fled from Amarr space, knowing nothing of the New Eden before me, unskilled, untried, unprepared. A lot had changed in twenty years.

I made my way to Hrober, where I lived for months, etching out a precarious living, never sure if each day would be my last. I was eventually taken under the wing of some local mercenaries there. It was they whom shaped the future I enjoy now. They trained me as a pilot. They recommended me as a capsuleer. They taught me to do more than survive; they taught me how to thrive.

Since leaving them, I’ve made my own little dent in the universe. Sure, I am not as well known as thousands of capsuleers, but my goal was never to acquire fame or fortune. I simply want to make a difference. I want to free our people from the tyranny of the Amarr. 

When the Republic started recruiting capsuleers for the war effort, it was a no brainer. I signed up immediately, leading engagements into both Amarr and Caldari space. There are some who enjoy my style of fleet command; and a few who don’t. Through much effort, aptitude, diligence, and patience, I am now a Matar Colonel of the Tribal Liberation Force.

And yet, war cannot last forever. 

There is still so much of this universe for me to explore. In reality, I’ve seen very little of it, not even much of my birth planet. But then again, who has really? Even to master all the cultural intricacies on one planet could take several lifetimes, let alone fully embracing the entirety of New Eden?

Fortunately, I have several lifetimes to explore; to learn; to embrace. 

What keeps me here? My story has only just begun.

—

Participants:

Something I have never understood about people is what I have termed “Woeful Ignorance”. “Head in the sand”, “Oblivious”, “Self-centered” are all similar terms, but they just don’t completely embrace the message I am trying to convey when I say “Woeful Ignorance”.

It’s more than just being a selfish jerk. It’s more than being ignorant of politics and news. It’s about allowing your own ignorances to detract from others, taking away from their enjoyment of life is some way, big or small. To be so completely out of touch with reality, microcosm or macrocosm, to the point where you are impacting strangers, friends and family alike, is one of my greatest pet peeves. 

I have no patience for stupid people.

—

It was a hot and humid summer. I was on the magtrain. I know, you probably still wonder why I spend so much time among my own people if I just become infuriated. I wonder that myself sometimes too. These are the people I fight for, but there are days I question why. I think that might be my reasoning really. My own internal conflicts are often brought to self-illumination while riding the magtrain, and I force myself to somehow work through them to resolution. Doubt in a pilot’s mind can be lethal, and I couldn’t afford to have doubts.

So, I was on the magtrain, observing, listening, remembering what it was like to be anonymous. It was my usual routine; one which I enjoyed. I am a people watcher. I find for me, it’s the best way to gain understanding of a situation; observation. I am detail oriented. I take in sights, sounds, smells, body language; everything I can.

I’ve had some tell me I’m too judgemental. Isn’t that, in and of itself, a judgement?

One particular male had my attention. He was talking on a handheld communications device. Not everyone had aural implants, even though they had come down in price drastically over the last two years. Anyway, I gathered from his vocal volume that he was having trouble hearing the person on the other end. I find that ironic. If you can’t hear them, why must you speak louder? Does it help you hear them better? Do you assume that because you can’t hear them, they must not be able to hear you? I hadn’t been on this particular magtrain before, but had a particular destination in mind. The magtrain was quite crowded, and I was near the back, which made it difficult to see the “Next Stop” sign at the front of the magtrain. There was an Aura-like voice that broadcast the next stop, but with that guy talking so loudly I couldn’t hear it clearly. I was getting to know all about the person he was talking to though, as were most everyone else in his vicinity.

I really didn’t want to miss my stop.

I politely said “Excuse me.” to get his attention. He put his hand over the mouthpiece of his device, throwing me a dirty look. “I’m in the middle of a call.” he said, in case I wasn’t already painfully aware. “Would you mind keeping it down a little? I can’t hear the stops, and don’t know the area. It would be appreciated.”

“Move to the front of the train then. Not my problem.” he replied.

“Look, the train’s full. I’m just asking you to keep it down a little so I can hear. It’s not a difficult request.” I was standing directly in front of his seat now, my volume normal and steady, non threatening, so as not to raise even more of a disruption than his excessive volume. 

I guess he didn’t like that because he asked the person on the other end of his phone to hold on, then stood up in front of me, inches from my chest, looking up at my face, his bravado evident. Good for him. He felt brave.

I didn’t back up. “Why don’t you find somewhere else to stand, Brutor?” he said at me with disdain. “This is an important call.”

“Yes, I realize Kelly’s cousin isn’t feeling well, and now Kelly has to do all of her grocery shopping, and with all the hours she’s been putting in at work recently, she’s so tired that she doesn’t even want to get out of bed. It’s quite the dilemma.”

I pay attention to details. His eyes narrowed with furious intent. I had violated his privacy. The irony of course, is that he had violated his own privacy, but I have often found it’s difficult to explain these subtle truths to people when they become angry. His body posture changed slightly, becoming more aggressive. His hip turned. I knew he was going to throw a punch.

Having said that, to the witnesses there, it would like I started the fight. I did not. I simply knew the punch was coming before them, and diffused the situation before it became embarassing for this guy.

With my left hand, I grabbed his handheld. With my right palm, I forcefully angled downwards a firm push where his neck and clavicle met. Simple biomechanics. It doesn’t matter how big you are, how strong you are, your body will respond as it was designed to, no matter how hard you try to resist it.

He plopped down ungracefully on his seat, murderous rage and confusion on his face.

As I mentioned, it was a hot summer. The magtrain had a few windows open. One happened to be right behind him. I threw his handheld out of the window.

He went to stand again, his aggression apparent. I stiff armed him back into his seat, quietly warning him “Don’t”.

Just then, I heard the next stop being announced. It was mine. I backed away, keeping my eye on him lest he not realize this was already over.

He just sat in his seat, glaring bloody murder towards me. I was used to that look. It said to me, “I am now impotent, and know it. I hate you for making me feel that way.” It was a common rationalization. It made the other party to blame, instead of having to look at your own woeful ignorance.

The magtrain slowed to a stop. I left the train, and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of my day.

I had nothing left to give. There is always more to give, my mind told me. I grunted and exhaled, straining beyond my limits, pushing for that last rep. The clanging of the bar against its holder was a sound of triumph to me, as I finished what proved to be a fantastic workout.

I was drenched with sweat, my arms shaking, my chest quivering. I had some stress to work out and felt all the better for it. I headed for the treadmill to start my ten minute cooldown. I noticed a Krusual corp mate had finished his workout, and was heading to the change room. I didn’t know his name, as he was a rookie to Freeform Industries. There was only one shower in our corporate gym, so I figured by the time I was done my cooldown, he would be finished up. Perfect; just enough time for me to shower and report for duty. I enjoyed being punctual. It was something I demanded of my pilots. It was something I demanded of myself.

Ten minutes later I discovered I was very wrong about my timing estimate.

I entered the change room, still dripping sweat, to hear the only shower still going. No worries; he was probably just finishing up. I stripped down, wrapped my towel around my waist, and waited. I could hear the soap dispenser. I waited. I could hear it again. I could see through the translucent shower panel that he was rewashing himself, twice, three times. Sweet Lord. 

I harumphed as best I could, trying to be polite. I heard the shampoo dispenser going. For the little bit of hair that Krusual had, you would think he wouldn’t need to wash it five times. I cleared my throat; loudly. Still no response. I sighed outwardly. Nothing.

I looked at the chrono on the wall. I was running out of time, and couldn’t very well report for duty soaked through with sweat. Again, what I demand from my pilots I demand from myself. It had been 18 minutes. Including the ten I was on the treadmill, that’s 28 minutes in the shower. Sure, he was a little chubby, but seriously?

Another five minutes passed, with me huffing and hawing to no avail. Then the showerhead stopped. He was finished. A wash of relief flowed through me; prematurely as it turned out. 

He towelled himself off; once, twice, three times. Another four minutes had passed. That was all I could take. 

I walked to the shower door, threw my towel over it, opened it up, and walked in. The look of shock and modesty on his face was very satisfying, as he shrank beneath my impressive form. “Sorry, I don’t have all day to wait for you to dry the crack of your ass.” I said. He frowned at me, but said nothing, quickly scurrying from the shower.

Ah, a nice hot shower. Exactly what I needed after a good workout. I turned the showerhead on, and felt the searing heat… for about twenty seconds. Then the water went ice cold. You chubby little shit, I thought to myself.

Just the same, I enjoyed a five minute shower, quickly towelled myself off, and opened the door. Much to my surprise and mirth, the Krusual was still in the changeroom. He had a complete line of toiletries lined up on the counter, and was currently applying baby powder to himself. I couldn’t help but smile. There was deodorant, cologne, a comb, hair product, a tooth brush, toothpaste, mouthwash, tweezers, a freshly rolled pair of underwear, socks, dog tags, and the baby powder in hand. The way they were methodically laid out made it easy to see where he was in his slightly obsessive routine.

I ignored him, as he ignored me, and quickly dressed, stuffing my soiled workout clothing into my duffle bag. I had to take one more look. I simply couldn’t help myself.

He was currently holding his towel under the hair dryer, making sure it was good and dry. Unfrickinbelievable. I watched for another moment as he folded each of his clothing items, ensuring they were in their allocated spot within this gym bag. Then he went back to applying more baby powder.

I understand we all have our own quirks. I get that we all have our own perceptions of ourselves. What I also know is that I do my very best to not allow my personal habits to interfere with the lives of others. Case in point, I took a five minute shower because I know it’s the only shower there. It drives me mad when people are just woefully ignorant. How hard is it to be conscious of those around you? Why do so many simply go about their lives robotically, completely engrossed in their routines, incapable of responding to unexpected stimuli into their ritural? It’s a pet peeve. One of many.

I snorted condescendingly to myself, and made a parting comment. “You look pretty; hope he appreciates it.” Then I left the gym to report for duty. 

I vowed if I ever had to fly with that Krusual, I would shoot whomever made the duty roster.

Four miles through the most treacherous terrain you could imagine. The first mile was through a narrow rocky path, surrounded on all sides by thorny underbrush, and the rain was pouring down hard, slicking the route, making the mounts a little more hesitant to follow commands, and a little more likely to turn on their rider.

“C’mon girl, you can do it!” I yelled at my mount. There were only six of the eight riders left; one having been taken out just after the race’s start, the second being dislodged from his mount less than a minute ago due to a misstep near the underbrush. I was currently in third position, most of the remaining pack behind me. The downpour was treacherous to both my mount and I. Her fur was matted flat, difficult to hold onto, and her footing unsure. My clothing was soaked through, easily adding twenty pounds to its weight, my shield and flail that much more difficult to lift. The shield had an obvious purpose. I chose the flail for it’s reach. This one was a four foot pole with a six inch chain attached. At the other end of that length of chain sat a one foot iron rod, covered in four inch reverse hook spikes. It was efficient for tearing riders off of their mounts, or were I a dirtier player, slowing down the mount itself.

Taking out the mount was frowned upon between most riders. There was an inherent respect for the mount; the care and training it took to rear such a beast, the respect given to its role in this sacred race. Pounding the snot out of each other was one thing, but respect the mount. There were, occasionally, those who would play dirty, but they quickly found themselves facing “early retirement” as most honourable racers would sacrifice positioning in a race to maim or kill a known dirty rider. Still, it happened.

“C’mon girl, we’re almost through the first mile. Stay strong.” She didn’t really need my coaxing. We had slowed pace to her comfort level. I learned long ago that your mount is very aware of its own limitations; it doesn’t need you telling it to give more. Fatiguing your animal, or pushing past its ability to perform, inevitably leads to disaster. My mount was still moving quickly, only having slowed slightly to allow herself better traction in these slippery conditions.

Thankfully, aside from the torrentous rain, the race itself had been uneventful for me thus far. I was riding alone, but the race was still early. The camera drones hadn’t spent much time on me, so I knew I wasn’t in any immediate danger. Generally, the bloodier the show, the more the audience enjoyed it, and the more the drones hovered around you.

I looked ahead to the next mile of the race in the distance, the steep and narrow mountain climb to a snow covered summit. Between the rain, soon to be sleet, snow and hail, and the subzero temperatures, I couldn’t even see the mountain top. Lovely.