Welcome to the eleventh 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 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 banter comes to us from Joe Brusati a long time reader of CrazyKinux’s Musing, who asks the following: CCP states that T3 Strategic Cruisers are just the start for the T3 line-up. In future Eve expansions what would you like to see as the next T3 ship type. Please be specific on details about what role this ship would play, cost of manufacturing, and the different modules that would be available for it, and of course you must give your T3 ship a name!
The dream was so vivid, so real, that I honestly believed it to be just that.
I had awoken from my slumber to the sound of my neocom buzzing. I haphazardly reached around my nightstand for it, until my club-like hand rested on it, thumbing it to life.
“What?” I asked groggily, one eye squinting, my sinuses full, having been pulled from a deep sleep.
I threw the blankets off of myself quickly, suddenly brought to full alertness by the news I had received on the other end of the line.
“I’ll be right there.” I said, disconnecting the call, my feet almost immediately finding their places in my boots.
Four minutes later, I had raced to my hangar bay.
There she sat, though I wasn’t quite sure what she was. She was sleek and beautiful like my Firetail, but held that muscular look of a Rifter.
My chief mechanic was grinning from ear to ear standing beside her.
“What have you done?” I asked in shock, my jaw hanging open in awe.
“Well ye been moanin’ fer months bout wantin’ somethin’ a lil more. So ere ya be lad. Ya gots more.”
Running my hand along the seams of the hull, I could tell that the ship was modular by design, but still it was a work of art.
“What’s it do?” I asked.
“She be whateer ya wants her ta be; the perfect woman.” My chief mechanic replied. “Right now, she’s setup for the Dusters, and she’s mighty good at it I might add. But she can be stripped and refit in under an hour for whateer ya needs at the drop of a hat.”
He handed the spec sheets for it.
Configurable high, medium and low slots. Adjustable weapon mounting points. This ship was a technological marvel.
I flipped through the schematics until I laid my eyes on its current dropship configuration. Inertial compensators, atmospheric aerodynamics, ground and air assault turrets, able to hold a full squad of marines… and the entire fit was under 20 million isk. I liked it very much.
“In and out in under two minutes.” My chief mechanic hollered, his toothy grin growing even wider.
“I don’t know you keep doing stuff like this, but damn.” I replied.
I had recently volunteered to aid the ground troops in my downtime, my own personal penance for the loss of Daul Halwick, but had immediately noticed several inadequacies with the infantry ships.
This ship would solve all those problems. She was … Salvation.
I awoke the next morning, melancholic over the loss of Daul versus the exhilaration I had felt over that ship.
What the hell was a “Duster” anyway?