Blog banter 8: mentorship

Welcome to the eighth 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 topic comes to us from Ga'len at The Wandering Druid of Tranquility. He asks: "What new game mechanic or mechanics would you like to see created and brought into the EVE Online universe and how would this be incorporated into the current game universe? Be specific and give details, this is not meant to be a 'nerf this, boost my game play' post like we see on the EVE forums."



Cha did her utmost best to understand and execute what everyone was saying, in fleet channel, corp channel, alliance channel, Hellcats Pub channel, and kitten rookie channel, meanwhile also keeping an eye on the local channel and an ear to the audio channel. The fleet commander's voice was measured, firm and professional - each word carefully chosen but with a strong underlying tension that seemed to grow when she tried to keep track on every of Cha's actions, which were plentiful.

For starters, Cha warped to the wrong gate - everybody warped to Arnstur, and she went to Arnher. Then she warped to the right gate, only she should have stayed put. Determined to do better next time, she warped to the next gate and jumped - when she should have held her position at the gate. So she warped to the next gate and held, while the fleet jumped, and it only dawned to her that she should have jumped too when the entire fleet already was 3 systems further. She finally arrived at the killing spot only to discover she had forgotten her ammo - but that wasn't nearly as bad as that time when she arrived at the killing site to discover she hadn't fit anything at all. She forgot to untick the own fleet members option in her settings, which made her overview so cluttered that she couldn't find the enemy targets in it, tackling her own fleet members as a consequence and even once almost shooting one. She apologized abundantly, and when she finally did target an enemy ship it already was a pod and being ransomed, or killed.

She decided it maybe was better to learn some things on her own first.

She made warping spots all over Gultratren, only to realize afterwards that the nearest belt or moon was already beyond the reach of her onboard system scanner. So she decided to teach herself probe scanning, muddling and fumbling with the probe launcher that probably was family of her first hobgoblin drone, since it clearly showed signs of mutiny. She lost probes all over the place, without finding anything. She scanned for hours, only to find that when she finally had nailed someone's location down, her fuel, her time or her ammo was out.
She then decided she would skip all the scanning and just warp from belt to belt, smack right in the middle, so that a possible victim there wouldn't be able to escape. She herself almost didn't escape from some Angel bullies, without getting any decent kill. She vowed she would be more careful, and didn't jump the belts at zero anymore, but at a safe 30 km. Of course, the unexpected happened: she dropped on a possible victim when she warped into a belt. Although - it wasn't exactly dropping on, because she couldn't close the 30 km gap fast enough - he cheerfully warped out from under her nose. She found her victim had fled into the next belt, only right after those pesky Angels had gotten him.

On the way back she jumped through a gate, got tackled and shot to pieces by pirate hunters, was podded, and woke up in a clone bay with a light migraine and a lot less implants.

Still, she had a blast. Once out in space, somehow it just didn't seem to matter any more. The universe seemed full of possibilities; unexplained, undecided and only just around the corner. The pod goo felt fresh in her lungs, the many suns beamed down on her rifter and her whole body tingled with anticipation. She had not felt so good for years. She flew effortlessly, up and away, light as thistledown on a summer breeze. Soaring in an instant over rolling fields of asteroids, she plunged into dark and mysterious systems, then swooped up to dally in the sunlight of the next system. She would just warp from spot to spot and sat cloaked, enjoying the view.
But she sucked at the magnificent skill of piracy - and her flying hours didn't seem to coincide well with when most Hellcats and Bastards were ganging up.

There was only one solution: finding a one-on-one coach, a partner to teach her a thing or two.
Alas, there wasn't such a thing as a personal mentor search board or channel in the entire universe. She decided to put up a plain job ad instead.

"Seeking flexible candidates with a wide variety of experience, casual work atmosphere, duties will vary."
She thought of the perpetual chaos that seemed to surround her flights, and added "Upbeat personality: must neither threaten with any kind of lawsuit nor use drug & alcohol benefits." She hesitated a while, then wrote "Prior conviction of a felony or two no problem."
Okay, that sounded more like it. Although, maybe the job description needed more detail.
"Responsibilities include:"... she thought, and then thought some more, and then some. She eventually thought it best to be as clear as possible, so there wouldn't be any surprises from either side.
"Active, proactive, reactive, interactive knowledge of piracy business practices. Organizational talent for self-directed work team, to provide strategic, ballistic, and/or malicious leadership and bicoordinate fleet-wide planning and activities, including personnel management, both corporeal and incorporeal, along with pan-solar operations and information resources. Play a key role in the aforementioned spiritual guidance; continual management of the integrated coaching system. Instigate investigations into the new and unknown means and manners of exchanging acquisitions and ultra-graphic information between coach and pupil. Actively involved in national, international, interracial, universal, introverted as well as extraordinary piracy initiatives. Requires a demonstrated understanding of pupil's willingness along with knowledge of current trends in schemes, scams and operations. Participates in region-wide planning, policy-making activities, and fleet governance. Must deny vinegar wine. Be forgiving of equivocated and perfunctory communication skills; demonstrated experience as deus ex machina with senior level experience in modern clairvoyance; with progress-organic responsibility in technical services as well as humbuggery and miserly deceiving experience; ability to grasp and assimilate chaotic information on a dime; possess a commitment to serving the needs of an information seeking young woman, even when it's that time of the month.
Excellent planning, interpersonal as well as ultra-personal transcendence, with oral, written, and digital communication skills; the ability to please greatly and work with aggressive acquiescence in a dual team environment.
Instill a sense of piracy pride and fair play; behaviorally modify disruptive behavior, willing to tackle every possible ship without excluding any race, faction, corporation or size, except in cases of possibly suicidal outcomes, teach ransoming and raise self-esteem. Provide a safe learning environment, recognize signs of potential reckless behavior, offer advice, write letters of recommendation, encourage a respect for the cultural diversity of ships and their fittings.
Technical and services assistance for all aspects related to the acquisition of ships and ship fittings and materials in all possible, sizes, formats and amounts, including budget management, with the ability to communicate on a micro/macrocosmic level while providing guidance in the use of the technologies and skills yet to be realized. Teach the use of supplies, boosters, room decorations, duct tape, repair paste, glue, paperclips, note book paper, ship scanners, fluo markers and star maps. Knowledge of daily universal currency exchange rates and trends in fitting acquisitions, skill collection development; experience with the macabre nature of the market environment."

She pondered on what she had to offer in return - health insurance surely wasn't one of them. She concluded with what seemed reasonable:
"Apart from gaining an interesting experience, salary will be based on the whimsical nature of the universe’s sense of fairness."

Hmm. Maybe she had expanded a bit too much. She deleted the superfluous and kept to the essential.

"Looking for experienced pirate who loves getting booty and wouldn't mind showing his prowess while escorting a young fresh female pilot into unexplored territories."

She pressed the "submit" button, opened a bottle of wine and leaned back with great expectations.

More blog banters:

1. CrazyKinux's Musing, EVE Blog Banter #8: Care for a little game of SecWars?
2. The Wandering Druid of Tranquility, Wow, that new thing is so shiny!!!
3. I am Keith Nielson, EVE Blog Banter #8 - Return of the Top Gun
4. Once More from the Beginning, 8th EVE Blog Banter May 2009 Edition
5. A merry life and a short one, EVE Blog Banter #8: In the Year of Our Awesome
6. Inner Sanctum of the Ninveah, Planets
7. Helicity Boson, Bantering the blog
8. Achernar, Unique adventures
9. Ecliptic Rift, OOC: EVE Blog Banter 8: Standings and secondary factions
10. The New Edener, EVE Blog Banter #8
11. Journey to New Eden, Eve Blog Banter #8: What new mechanic should be added to Eve?
12. Life, The Universe and Everything, Blog banter 8: mentorship
13. EVE Guru, EBB 8: Yarr! Prepare to be boarded!
14. The Ralpha Dogs, Greed Is Good, Greed Works
15. Rifter Drifter, Blog Banter 8: Strategic Gunnery
16. More to come...

Atrocities

More than anything else (someone on Youtube posted a very amusing comment) this is about self relativation - it's not meant to be "good".

Equanimities

All good things arrive unto them that can wait - and don't die in the meantime, and so Cha sat eagerly upright and started learning the noble arts of piracy.

The piracy manual spoke of qualities like "good awareness, the ability to make snap decisions and being able to gauge your opponent and the risk he presents to you", and although most of her previous time was given to reading chivalric novels, singing forlorn love ditties, and coping with drone subordination and defying fedos, she knew it was time to gather information in order to detect any anomalies. Caution and secrecy being of the upmost importance, she proceeded to do the bravest thing that can be imagined, a thing to make one shiver when one remembers how the piracy world is given to resenting shams and affectations: she started to look around the room. She took great caution in acting casual, glancing only occasionally - as if she had nothing more important to attend to (which, as we know, was the case anyway, but that's besides the point). In fact, it was a source of fascination to glimpse into the private lives of those in power.
And so Cha observed discretely the public in the Hellcat's Pub, and that public was of great variety. Trim built, handsome, graceful, neat, bright, educated. Experienced, industrious, ambitious. Or of slow and sluggish bearings, but with a soft heart. There: one homesick and crying. Next: huge and good natured. A dopey headed, lazy, sentimental fellow, full of harmless brag. A grumbler by nature at the back. And an extremely unwilling bartender.
From all this merry diversity Cha drew her first conclusions. In her notebook she wrote first: "There aren't many Hellcats in the Hellcats' Pub". Secondly: "There are plentiful gentlemen waiting for a Hellcat to show up in the Hellcats' Pub." And third: "When a Hellcat shows up, it causes a good deal of unsettledness in men's minds."

Cha's knowledge on piracy grew exponentially those days, for yes, the minutes grew into hours, and the hours into days. Patiently Cha waited amidst the idle nonsense and laughter, the holiday frolic and horse play. It was a pain to get a Quafe; kafak stayed non-existant. She hadn't been prepared for these difficulties, yet she wore the burden of neglect brave, and in silence.
How she longed for that first kill! Occasionally she tried to catch the look of a rare Hellcat, the way one does an Interbus flight attendant in turbulence: her smile was all Cha had. Invariably the Hellcat in question - all impeccable garmentry, flair and devastating elegance - would hurry by, nod friendly, and brightly say: "Soon."

She discovered waiting was an art that takes great skill. She learned why pirates sometimes don't do anything and also the process by which they don't do anything. They would be waiting "just a couple more minutes" regardless of how much time had actually passed already; those monotonous minutes were just a fact of piracy life.

Time ticking away, as she gazed idly into space turned out to be some of life's most quintessentially human moments. To wait is to stop reacting to the external world, and to explore the internal one. It is in these times of reflection that people often discover something new, whether it is an epiphany about a relationship (she came to realize that it wasn't going anywhere, but who cared? She was free, he was free, and inbetween his bedmanners were of extreme quality) or a new theory about the way the universe works (what if all of this was merely an illusion, a grand web of random data she was caught in; where she was no more than a digital toy, randomly exploited by some bored superentity with universal power and an aptitude for wasting time?).
Yes, many people emerge from boredom feeling that they have accomplished nothing. But is accomplishment really the point of life? Those were the days she was content with growing old here, withering away in the grip of her own thoughts, stuck like the oatmeal to the bottom of her daily bowl, the only minor setback being the absence of kafak. How time flies when one has fun!
"Soon" became a word of lesser relevance. One day soon she would be dead. People would look back at her life, and they would tell each other how her path to greatness had laid in total sacrifice for the greater good. So sure of victory at last is the courage that can wait.

Occasionally, she would jump out of her glassy-eyed drooling state of nothingness. Then she wanted to saturate these empty moments either with kafak (which always was impossible), or with productivity, communication, and the digital distractions offered by her less than slick mobile device. She then found herself amazed of the advantages that waiting actually could offer - so many practical benefits that she couldn't even begin to list them all.
She cleaned out her bag. She unearthed an array of peculiar things she didn't even remember what they were for, why she had kept them, or how they had gotten into her bag in the first place.
She made plans to relieve the murky economic climate of her wallet. Saving money on food by growing her own! She drew extensive plans for her very own greenhouse, right here at the bar. She was sure she could find plenty of sod around here, although she would have to collect it at night.
She polished her table so shiny she could see her face in it, and installed a daily tour of emptying all ashtrays, fruitlessly hoping an indebted bartender would bring real kafak.
She unsuccessfully explored all possible means of attaching the orphanaged heel back to her boot; duct tape of course proved to be withstanding the longest to the extensive tests she consequently subjected the boot to.
She made lists of Advanced Pirating Techniques (for instance: "during a fight, fighting insults are required. In the event both participants are still alive at the end of the fight, the participant with the superior insults shall be declared the victor." Or "no pirate shall attend a movie with less than an Arrrr rating", and "a pirate may tell any tale of swashbuckling without being called on the details, as long as at least 51% of the story is true".)
She practiced incorporating pirate terminology into her everyday speech. She learned that a pirate does not use the word "Fabulous". Ever. Furthermore, pirates do not say "please" or "thank you" - no sir, the phrase "yarrr, i'll probably kill you tomorrow" is an acceptable alternative for "thank you". Hmm. She scratched that, and clarified: "yarrr" seemed to be a perfectly acceptable answer to any question.
Finally, she learned to knit.

Waiting can have devastating effects on good people, causing them to go astray morally. Cha too fell victim to this truth.
One time, she jerked awake. She sat for a moment, and then realized that a/ before her was placed a mug of real kafak and b/ she had found, totally unexpected, a suitable victim for her first kill.
The coldness of the kafak slowly drifted to her dulled synapses. This was truely unforgiveable. The adrenalin began to rush through her veins. She grasped the rubber grip of her pistol (she always carried this with her, from ever since her childhood days when her grandma had taught her how to make apt use of it), and creeped slowly and singlebooted around the room. Nobody paid even the slightest attention. She jumped up behind her seated target and screamed: "Heat it, or i'll shoot!" The bartender indeed stood up, slowly turned around, hands in his pockets, and as Cha squirted the water at his chest, she knew from how he towered over her she had made a grave mistake. "Forgive me! Forgive me!" she cried, her hands clasped in an attitude of prayer. "I swear, i swear by everything holyl I'll drink it any way it is served!".
It was the only incident that she caused there, blinded momentarily by arrogance. The bartender never made any allusion to her error after that. She didn't dare to move away from her table anymore regardless, and never objected to the various states her drinks and meals were delivered in. Her politeness derived not from a recognition of the bartender's cooking qualities or serving virtues but from the fear he instilled in her. If so inclined, he could, and would probably kill her. Luckily he has not abused his power. In the exercise of his sway over Cha he was moderate, not the least bit capricious, and, one might even say, constitutional. He might have dismissed the idea of doing away with Cha - so long as she gives him no cause, which she up until this day doesn't plan to.
Cha lapsed into a slightly petulant silence as she pondered the implications. Waiting in great humbleness - such is the fate of Hellcat applicants. Soon.

Then, one day, the unthinkable happened.
Mynxee walked in, and said "Let's go." Yes, she simply said "Let's go", just like that.

Cha took a deep breath, shook off the giddy whirl of contemplation and, with detached countenance, stepped out of the bar, and into piracy.

Parleys

The barroom Cha entered was huge and lavishly furnished with sofas, couches and all manner of soft furnishing, with some tables rearmost. The plush pile on the carpet deadened the sound of her bare feet. It was very crowded.
Cha caught an escaped hairtress back into her ponytail, settled herself down tidily at a table - and started getting extremely nervous.
Perhaps a casual trouser suit would have been more suitable for the interview. Less fussy and constraining than the slim line knee length skirt and white blouse she now wore. She crossed her bare feet back under her chair, in hopes noone would notice. Ahh - she should have just been sticking to her pilot suit, just like most of the visitors here did - more appropriate for an action lady. She put on the serious professional smile she had been practising in front of the mirror and waited.

Clearly the Hellcat's pub was one of them fancy, newfangled social networking sites. She sat in a cacophony of conversation, with her future colleagues immersing themselves in subjects as wide-ranging as the prospects for the total annihilation of a rifter to the pending eradication of an aeon. Nope, she definitely wasn't surrounded by a flock of mildminded sheep.

She smiled at the person next to her. When he asked what was wrong, she told him she was glad he was her new friend. He smiled so happily back to her, that Cha wondered whether she had worded that in the best possible way.
There was another gentleman all over her, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet. "Ahoy me hearty!", he grinned. She thought of an appropriate answer, like "Avast, young brigand, is that a yardarm in your dungarees, or are you just glad to see me?" or "You are giving me the desire to haul some keel in vacuum space", but she refrained. She smiled sweetly.
Another person, clad in a somewhat disorganized uniform, walked up to her table and pointed to her in unsteady manner. "Real pirates have chest hair. If you cannot grow chest hair, you are either a cabin boy, or a Hellcat." Dousing oneself in beer obviously was a perfectly acceptable replacement for a shower. If the stout fellow's breathing would increase even more, then Cha would run screaming for the exit. She informed him that he was a scurvy dog.
When the bartender told her that he was out of kafak, she felt a terrible rage build up inside her, spreading through her limbs; and when it would get to her fingertips she was going to jump out of her chair and start hitting him again and again and again. She told him a Quafe would do.

After some time and varying entertainment like described above, she started wondering where the Hellcats were. Or rather, that was not the question. "Why am i here, that is the question," she asked herself. But she was blessed in this, that she happened to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone was clear. She was waiting for Mynxee to come.*

And as if those musings were a heavenly sign, the pub bar doors slid automatically open and she swept in, nodding queenly greetings about when being met with various forms of adulation.
Cha raised half from her chair, trying to decide if she would have to curtsey or not. With a swanlike assurance, effortlessly and swiftly covering the distance from the entrance to her table, Mynxee glided towards her as if being carried along on a magic carpet, rounded the table and graciously shook Cha's hand.
Cha was truely dazzled.
Mynxee was in a very good mood, full of energy and smiling expansively when she turned to Cha. Her grey eyes focussed like a bellicose on hers. "I am nothing more than a little heap of bones in the presence of a legend", Cha knew in all modesty. Mynxee cocked her head and scratched her chin. She was of undefineable age, and had an accent straight out of Evati. Her voice soothed like a lullaby, but Cha sensed that she could beat one silly if she had to. She interrogated Cha briefly, questioning her about her capacities and many other things, and at the end she told her she could not let her in yet.
"Just because the job's a bit unusual doesn't mean we shouldn't observe proper procedure", she said, and Cha completely understood.
"You will be picked up in due time, and you will get some proper educations", she said, and Cha nodded.
"We will know soon if you're a true pirate", she said, and Cha agreed - indeed: you arrr, or you arrr not.
Mynxee abruptly rose from the table: "And now, i go shopping!"
Cha knew she just had learned her first code. For it is clear that a pirate does not "go shopping". Unless by "shopping", you mean remorseless bloodshedding.

Soon, Cha would go shopping too. Soon.


* paragraph and boot problems shamelessly stolen

Braveries

A pirate does not ask for directions. He relies only on his gut feeling, a compass, or a treasure map. Cha packed all of her possessions, leaving her Gerek quarters utterly bare, and set course to Evati, sneakingly relying on her ship comp instead. It wasn't that far off in distance, but it would turn out to be a travel of epic dimensions, culturewise at least.

You can't spell pirate, without "irate". There's a reason for that, so Cha thought it wise to not anger the steadily growing amount of vessels flagged with white skulls on red fields when one after the other targetted her. She felt like a toy being picked up, tossed along and caught by the next one, waiting at the following gate. Twice an angry cloud of hornetslike ammunition rained on her armor, but she made it alive and well, and crashed rather than docked into the first station after the Evati gate.

She hummed contentedly as she made the short journey down from the docks to the Hellcats' pub, happy with the sound of her booted heels clicking on the floor. She didn't know if it was really important to wear boots - in fact she knew not much about pirates, except from the stories her grandma had told her, but there always seemed to be boots involved. And swearing. "Pirates shall always wear boots. Flip-flops are right out", her grandma had said, and so Cha wore boots.
The station turned out to be a gordian knot of endless corridors, stretching ahead in a perplexing amount of directions, with one common factor: pirates of the male kind criss-crossing her path. An abundancy of them, and all she could do was hope that they wouldn't physically act on the whims of the flesh, expressed in the most vivid wordings. On her polite inquiry a tall blonde ponytailed Gallente, his eyes remaining fixed on everything below her face, made the gesture of sweeping his hand in the direction she was supposed to go, and Cha complied hurryingly.
She tried to make her moves swiftt and elegant like a cat that knew her alleyways, but she tripped regardless. No pirate shall discuss his feelings, unless his feelings include gutting a man from stem to stern and spilling his entrails, and thus she did her best to ignore the rise of shameless comments. "Bastards!" she seethed.
She scrambled back on her feet and tried to act breezy and casual, wiped a rebellious dreadlock out of her face and looked down in shock. Her left heel had given out. She grunted, zipped both her boots down and off, and pushed them in her sack with most needed belongings. Barefooted, but in control, determination welling up inside her, she went ahead. Pirates do not cry, except in the case of the loss of a shipload of rum.

Blog banter 7: Just three?

Cha leaned back in her chair, her feet on the desk, the solo combat manual in her lap and a glass of wine within reach. She had sent in her application letter 5 minutes earlier, and now was very pleased with herself. "To new endeavors", she said, and raised her glass to herself.
She thought of all the things that were to come, new things she had never done before. There were the obvious ones of course.
She had never tried making a fortune in trading. Or that wasn't entirely true: her trading insights probably made someone else's fortune.
She had never been in a fleet war. She could be useful though - being bait or such. A quick certain death ensuing and a slower dizzying clonesome recovery after that. Hmmm. Better wait some more time.
And she had never flown a titan - hell, never even seen one.

Still, those three weren't really why she had chosen (and worked hard) to become a pod pilot, rather than settle for a seat on the Interbus. There were many other things she hadn't done or seen yet, and yes sir, she would do and see them all. It wasn't enough to just read about all those marvels out there, or see them 3D on the holoreels. Nothing ever satisfied Cha but actual demonstration; until she would have seen the wonders of the universe with her own eyes they would remain but untested theories.

For starters, she hadn't indulged enough yet in extravagant decadencies.
Like, for instance, the seemingly simple prodigy of wine. She frowned at the glass in her hand, turning its sparkling reds and oranges in the dim light of the room. She had once overheard someone going on in lengths about "muscular," "tight" and "rakish," and she thought the man was talking about Chribba . Turned out he was merely talking about some spicey Amarr wine. Not that she actually knew how Chribba looked - for all she knew he could be a bald fiftysomethingsomething with a more than generous beer belly. Anyway, "opulent" was the only legitimate wine descriptor Cha could come up with when she thought of Amarr wine. Only it referred to the price.
Speaking of price, despite having ventured into different gustatory perceptions of several off-world condiments of varying legality she had never experienced the presumably noble and splendrous taste of Hanging Long-limb roe. Being capaciously expensive, the happy few who actually could afford it were determined to abundantly emphasize the oomphness of slime.
Which reminded her of the serious kewlness - and plushness - of a real Egone. Sure, tuning into the regular streaming music channels wasn't bad. But it wasn't like the straight-to-the-brain awesomeness the Egone waves provided. Someone had showed her 'Crazy Disco' on his Egone the other day, and it had blown her away. And as if that wasn't enough yet, he then had shown her the Wooo Button. She instantly had felt like she had lost for the day. She comforted herself with the idea that at least this company didn't trace her merry whereabouts. Yet.

She hadn't become famous yet.
She wasn't named yet on The Scope, the galactic news network. Sure, it was supposed to be the most far-reaching, depth delving public news agency there is. But still, they clearly hadn't discovered her dormant potential for glory yet. Every time as she closed the distance on a jumpgate, she couldn't withhold from eagerly soliciting the billboard near it, being slightly disappointed every time. Hitherto no illustriousness. The DED wasn't on the lookout for her. She hadn't found the cure for the Kyonoke Infection either, let alone curtailed the Jovian Disease. She hadn't defeated Joelyn Donalokos in the Mind Clash Intergalactic Championships. She hadn't climbed the stairs of society stardom like playgirl Liberienne Houlliente had - or down, depending on your viewpoint. Which thought made her look down and compare features. Nope, it was not that she didn't have both the capacities. She just didn't want to transgress horizontally into the stammering illuminations of fame.

And she hadn't traveled real distances yet. There were so many places out there that weren't just there for the scenery, places that were made for something. She had never been to the City of God yet - the ruins of someone's dream into godhood that ended with sheer painful mortalness instead. The Amarr hadn't liked that guy - all the more reason to go see.
Oh and those other ruins - the underwater Gallentenean cities at Caldari Prime. Nouvelle Rouvenor, and especially Paix Azur because that sounded so extremely exotic - she didn't know what they used it for now; it had been in the news some time ago but she couldn't remember what it was about. She did hope there would be some guided tours there - she wasn't entirely fond of the idea to just be boldly plunging in the ice cold water and holding her breath until she'd find something.
As for the more creepy stuff: she wasn't sure she would ever dare go jump the gate between Dom-Aphis and Iderion, even when nobody was looking. Normally she considered that a sufficient justification for chancing any dangerous thing, but in this case... She might end up like that ship that went into the jump, but never got out. Who knows what those people were doing in it now. Maybe doomed to play chess eternally.

And of course, there were other threesomes she had never tried. But that, she mused, wasn't of anyone else's business.

Realities

Woaaaaa. I have just been put on CrazyKinux's Eve blogroll. I feel like i'm for real now!

What's more, i dived into the blog banter adventure too. Not that i lack inspiration - Eve is full of random sillyness. I see the blog banter as a challenge: can i come up with something Cha-ish within the boundaries of a set topic and time limit?

Welcome to the seventh 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 topic comes to us from CrazyKinux himself, and he asks: "What 3 things haven't you done in EVE and why? Would you be willing to try one day? Why so? Why not?"

List of participants:

• CrazyKinux's Musing, EVE Blog Banter #7: Eh, nobody told me you could do this in EVE!
• One Man and His Spaceship, Blog Banter 7 - Expanding My Horizon
  
• I am Keith Neilson, EVE Blog Banter #7 - What do you want to do today?
  
• Rifter Drifter, Blog Banter 7: Trinity
  
• Roc's Ramblings, Blog Banter #7 - The me I am not
  
• Morphisat's Blog, Eve Blog banter #7 - Treading waters unknown
  
• Sweet Little Bad Girl, Blog Banter 7 - Roads Not Followed
  
• A Mule in EvE, DD, defend against a gank & POS gunning
  
• Inner Sanctum of the Ninveah, Choices
  
• The Wandering Druid of Tranquility, "One, Two, Three...three things....hahahahaha"
  
• The Ralpha Dogs, Road Not Taken... Or Not
• Melindhra's Universe, EVE Blog Banter #7 - Where no one has gone before
• Life in Low Sec, Blog Banter #7: Possibilities
• EVE Guru, EVE Blog Banter 7
• Diary of a Pod Pilot, [OOC] EVE Blog Banter #7: Stones left unturned
• Flashfresh - The Pirate, EVE Blog Banter #7: This isn't me...
• Nefchast’s Gaming Blog, CrazyKinux’s EVE Blog Banter #7
• A Merry Life and a Short One, EVE Blog Banter #7: Syphilis Doesn't Count
• Rip Lacunae, Past & Future (Eve Blog Banter 7)
• Broadside, EVE Blag Banter #7: aspiration
• Into the Unknown, Eve Blog Banter #7: What haven’t I done?
• Diary of a Space Jokey, Blog Banter #7: So much to do, so little time
  
• Life, the Universe and everything, Blog Banter#7: Just Three?
• More coming as they are posted!!!

Enjoy!