Well, we all thought we be duking it out with the Mercenary Coalition for the forseeable future... turns out, methinks they found tangling with the Namtz'aar K'in and Co. a mite bit more expensive than they anticipated, eh? They decided not to renew their war contract/payoff with Concord (what a racket those Concord bastards have, eh?).
Now it's back to making ISK and training new recruits. I have to say, it's a great feeling actually being one of the Good Guys™. Took some of our newer Zhou Mu on patrol in Half system during a lull in the fighting, and I think we scared the crap out of some guys mining the belts there... four warships all gang-warped at once practically right on top of 'em. My comm beeped, and the convo went something like this:
(miner): Um... greetings?
Kuan: Greetings. Sorry to intrude, but one of my mates left his drones here. He wasn't supposed to have taken out that Angel you were fighting, eh? But he still needs to learn to follow orders...
(miner): (nervous laugh) Thanks for the help anyways. We didn't touch his drones, though I think a few were destroyed by that pirate... um... we're just mining here...
Kuan: Be at ease. We are the Namtz'aar K'in. If you are peaceable, rest easy. We keep this system and others nearby free of pirate scum, so that you folk such as you can conduct your business without threat of attack.
(miner): Hey, so you're those guys! My corpmate mentioned something about you. Thanks!
Kuan: That's us--we're the good guys, bane of brigands belt rats. I'll keep my comm open if you need assistance.
(miner): Will do, and thank you!
Kuan: Roger. Kuan out.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
Death and Rebirth
Finally happened. Those scum the "Whips and Chains" gang (what kind of effete name is that for a bunch of brigands, I say?) hired that corp of cold-blooded bad asses, the Mercenary Coalition, to try and put the smackdown on Namtz'aar K'in. Fighting these guys ain't at all like fighting pirates. First of all, these guys are good. Damn good. Secondly, they are smart. They aren't as brave as us (hey, they are business men. Hardened killers in elite warships, but still businessmen), not warriors with a cause to die for, like NMTZ. Still, they gave us some trouble, at least initially...
Anyways, me and Ma, I'm flying as escort to his Tempest-class battlewagon (got some Old Vhek name I can't recall... it and its crew are space dust now anyways... gonna get some hard respect from some Mordus killer in their bivouak, when a call comes in from an ally in-system. Some MC jobs in Crows have him pinned in a station. Ma sighs, and we warp in and quickly scare off the inties... but something doesn't smell right. We hang by the station, when BAM, a big Ishtar-class HAC warps on top of me, followed by those crow-jobs. I start firing, but in an instant I'm nossed, webbed, and hosed. My board lights up red, there's a roaring sound as my pod ejects, then another louder one as it pops open, throwing me into cold, cold vacuum...
...and I wake up back at Isto, coughing up goo, pushing open the lid of my creche. In my wet-wired com, I can hear Ma still fighting, but he's going down... Actually, felt almost exactly the same as climbing out of my pod... no pain. I feel my face... my implants are gone. I look at myself reflected in the hardplas of the creche lid.. damn, forgot what a good looking bastard I was before the implants and plasma burn scars.
I look down at my new body. Good as new--no beer belly, no scars. My tattoo isn't faded--in fact, it's burning bright crimson. Right. My cruiser and crew and in this station. I just grab a robe from the startled technician who's just walked in to check on me, and I sprint down to my hanger, shouting for my people to prep for battle. My XO takes one look at me... "gee boss, you look wierd all un-borged..." before we're all aboard, I'm back in a pod and plugged in, and my crew gives the all clear check.
We launch and warp back to Hedelfarber. The parties really begun now... MC is in system in full force, but we've got friends docked and prepped. We do a dosie-do around the system, we camp them, they camp us, until finally we get them to jump lonely little Commander Smeggy in his little old Cyclone-class battlecruiser. Before they know it, we're jumping back on top of them. It's crazy--the systems start to overload from all the combat data screaming in--I'm just yelling "lock lock lock!" Then it's over, and we've given them a pasting they're not likely to forget. Huuu-yeah... honor and glory to the corp!
Once I got back at the station, it hits me. I died. But it feels liberating, somehow. I was hooked on all the borg crap... and forgot how damn uncomfortable all that shit sticking in your head really was. I think I'm gonna go au-natural from now on... I still have all the results of those skill-chips (wet-wiring seems to survive rebirth, apparently). I'm born-again, and I feel more a warrior than ever before.
Anyways, me and Ma, I'm flying as escort to his Tempest-class battlewagon (got some Old Vhek name I can't recall... it and its crew are space dust now anyways... gonna get some hard respect from some Mordus killer in their bivouak, when a call comes in from an ally in-system. Some MC jobs in Crows have him pinned in a station. Ma sighs, and we warp in and quickly scare off the inties... but something doesn't smell right. We hang by the station, when BAM, a big Ishtar-class HAC warps on top of me, followed by those crow-jobs. I start firing, but in an instant I'm nossed, webbed, and hosed. My board lights up red, there's a roaring sound as my pod ejects, then another louder one as it pops open, throwing me into cold, cold vacuum...
...and I wake up back at Isto, coughing up goo, pushing open the lid of my creche. In my wet-wired com, I can hear Ma still fighting, but he's going down... Actually, felt almost exactly the same as climbing out of my pod... no pain. I feel my face... my implants are gone. I look at myself reflected in the hardplas of the creche lid.. damn, forgot what a good looking bastard I was before the implants and plasma burn scars.
I look down at my new body. Good as new--no beer belly, no scars. My tattoo isn't faded--in fact, it's burning bright crimson. Right. My cruiser and crew and in this station. I just grab a robe from the startled technician who's just walked in to check on me, and I sprint down to my hanger, shouting for my people to prep for battle. My XO takes one look at me... "gee boss, you look wierd all un-borged..." before we're all aboard, I'm back in a pod and plugged in, and my crew gives the all clear check.
We launch and warp back to Hedelfarber. The parties really begun now... MC is in system in full force, but we've got friends docked and prepped. We do a dosie-do around the system, we camp them, they camp us, until finally we get them to jump lonely little Commander Smeggy in his little old Cyclone-class battlecruiser. Before they know it, we're jumping back on top of them. It's crazy--the systems start to overload from all the combat data screaming in--I'm just yelling "lock lock lock!" Then it's over, and we've given them a pasting they're not likely to forget. Huuu-yeah... honor and glory to the corp!
Once I got back at the station, it hits me. I died. But it feels liberating, somehow. I was hooked on all the borg crap... and forgot how damn uncomfortable all that shit sticking in your head really was. I think I'm gonna go au-natural from now on... I still have all the results of those skill-chips (wet-wiring seems to survive rebirth, apparently). I'm born-again, and I feel more a warrior than ever before.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Belt Patrol
One of more onerous duties of house Jin Hu is the regular patrol of the asteroid belts in Istodard and the surrounding systems. These are a veritable breeding ground for Angel Cartel goons, as well as pirates foolish enough to tempt fate in Namtz'ar K'in patrolled space (honour and glory to our pilots).
Normally I take one of the rookies with me, but today the hanger was empty, so I hopped in the pod and keyed in (well, using the pod interface, it still feels like keying) the insta to Half gate. A few minutes later I was cruising the belts... all quiet, when HELLO. What's this? An Angel task force--three Primus-class battlecruisers and their frigate escorts. Glad I didn't bring a rookie, who would have soiled his pod. But Double Trouble is all speed and guns, and with the customized hardeners I've got on top of that first rate Thukker shield, I knew these poor schmucks didn't stand a chance... One glance at Concord's bounty readout, and my decision's made.
Four volleys of that too-damned-expensive barrage ammo, and the frigate escorts are nothing but floating (yet valuable) debris. The Angel battlecruisers have got me locked, but the idiots don't have webbers or assault launchers--when are they gonna learn? My jaggie zigs and zags among the 'roids, heavy missles from the battlewagons barely rockin' my boat.
Sure, their shields and armor are good, but somehow my guns find every weakspot and chink in their shields, and soon their armor is vaporizing, their atmosphere starts to vent as giant holes are blown in the superstructure, then BOOM! as their reactor goes critical.
Idiots... I don't even bother to scram them. Their commanders are either too stupid or stubborn to run, unlike that rookie pirate 'ceptor that tried to jump me the other day. Go on, web me, scram me... you'll find out that this jag has teeth, claws, and a thick hide to boot. Flew off with barely a ship left, as I shoved one more rocket up his ass...
Normally I take one of the rookies with me, but today the hanger was empty, so I hopped in the pod and keyed in (well, using the pod interface, it still feels like keying) the insta to Half gate. A few minutes later I was cruising the belts... all quiet, when HELLO. What's this? An Angel task force--three Primus-class battlecruisers and their frigate escorts. Glad I didn't bring a rookie, who would have soiled his pod. But Double Trouble is all speed and guns, and with the customized hardeners I've got on top of that first rate Thukker shield, I knew these poor schmucks didn't stand a chance... One glance at Concord's bounty readout, and my decision's made.
Four volleys of that too-damned-expensive barrage ammo, and the frigate escorts are nothing but floating (yet valuable) debris. The Angel battlecruisers have got me locked, but the idiots don't have webbers or assault launchers--when are they gonna learn? My jaggie zigs and zags among the 'roids, heavy missles from the battlewagons barely rockin' my boat.
Sure, their shields and armor are good, but somehow my guns find every weakspot and chink in their shields, and soon their armor is vaporizing, their atmosphere starts to vent as giant holes are blown in the superstructure, then BOOM! as their reactor goes critical.
Idiots... I don't even bother to scram them. Their commanders are either too stupid or stubborn to run, unlike that rookie pirate 'ceptor that tried to jump me the other day. Go on, web me, scram me... you'll find out that this jag has teeth, claws, and a thick hide to boot. Flew off with barely a ship left, as I shoved one more rocket up his ass...
Jin Xing* to the end
Feh... I broke down today and finally bought myself a chip for flying battlecruisers. Just in case, y'know. Prolly never fly one, even if I can find a crew for it.
Thing is, the same reason I don't want to be an officer in the corp is the same reason I don't want to command a crew. Maybe one of those Vagabond-class ships someday, they have style and speed, but for now, it's just me in the pod, and I only have to talk to other pod pilots if I frackin' feel like it.
The crew of my cruiser, the 'Big Stick,' a Stabber-class sleek old job, has been cooling their heels on undefinate R&R for awhile now... luckily, I've plenty of liberated "entertainers" and even clean up crews from various JazzMatazz flophouses bunked with 'em, so they don't complain. And they still get paid--Republic Fleet here on the fringes always seems to have plenty of work, and some of the more la-ti-da agents have sent their sniffing around our launch bay and bivoucs lately, asking about me. So, I'm guessin' I have a rep of some sort, or at least Huang Yinglong does.
Lots of new Vherokior faces, newly minted grads from Republic Fleet military schools, or even some guys with enough plasma burns on their current clone to show they've seen action, keep showin' up here. Gettin' darned crowded, but Ma's happy, so I'm happy.
*Jing Xing: the light fighter arm of the Jin Hu combat house of Huang Yinglong
Thing is, the same reason I don't want to be an officer in the corp is the same reason I don't want to command a crew. Maybe one of those Vagabond-class ships someday, they have style and speed, but for now, it's just me in the pod, and I only have to talk to other pod pilots if I frackin' feel like it.
The crew of my cruiser, the 'Big Stick,' a Stabber-class sleek old job, has been cooling their heels on undefinate R&R for awhile now... luckily, I've plenty of liberated "entertainers" and even clean up crews from various JazzMatazz flophouses bunked with 'em, so they don't complain. And they still get paid--Republic Fleet here on the fringes always seems to have plenty of work, and some of the more la-ti-da agents have sent their sniffing around our launch bay and bivoucs lately, asking about me. So, I'm guessin' I have a rep of some sort, or at least Huang Yinglong does.
Lots of new Vherokior faces, newly minted grads from Republic Fleet military schools, or even some guys with enough plasma burns on their current clone to show they've seen action, keep showin' up here. Gettin' darned crowded, but Ma's happy, so I'm happy.
*Jing Xing: the light fighter arm of the Jin Hu combat house of Huang Yinglong
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Freedom Fighter?
Heh... guess you'd have to call me a freedom fighter, what with all the action that's been going on against those Amarr slavers. What I really enjoy is spacing all those Amarr scum and their Caldari allies. Bastards never know what hit 'em when old Double Trouble II, my lean and mean Jaggy, comes barreling out of a warp tube on top of 'em, barrage ammo hammering their shields to static and turning their armor into vapor.
Took a potential Zhou Mou cadet with me one of the many anti-slaver raids that Republic Fleet keeps posting. Guess things must really be heating up. Lucky for me that bounties for Caldari and Ammar fleet officer tags are still decent in Istodard. Lucky for Zhou Mou Salem (what sort of Vhek name is that, I tell you? Too many clans are using Standard names and words now, I say!) the Amarr and their allies were too busy trying to just get a lock on me to bother with him in his 'lil ole Rifter.
Still, you gotta love the Riffy. Cheap, fast, and hard hitting. Properly fitted, I had Salem take down a Moa cruiser all on his lonesome... the fools depended too much on their frigate cover to carry their own assault launcher; once those were dust and plasma, Salem just peppered them with his 150's, and they literally couldn't track him to save themselves. It's a lesson that Caldari commodore didn't live to learn.
Took a potential Zhou Mou cadet with me one of the many anti-slaver raids that Republic Fleet keeps posting. Guess things must really be heating up. Lucky for me that bounties for Caldari and Ammar fleet officer tags are still decent in Istodard. Lucky for Zhou Mou Salem (what sort of Vhek name is that, I tell you? Too many clans are using Standard names and words now, I say!) the Amarr and their allies were too busy trying to just get a lock on me to bother with him in his 'lil ole Rifter.
Still, you gotta love the Riffy. Cheap, fast, and hard hitting. Properly fitted, I had Salem take down a Moa cruiser all on his lonesome... the fools depended too much on their frigate cover to carry their own assault launcher; once those were dust and plasma, Salem just peppered them with his 150's, and they literally couldn't track him to save themselves. It's a lesson that Caldari commodore didn't live to learn.
Who am I?
Yeah, that's me... Yida of the Kuan clan. Third son of that unheard-of merchant house, operating in Heimatar constellation, Rens system. Nothing special... as the third son, the soldier son, it was expected I attend the Republic Military school; that, and the Warrior mark I gained at my Voluval ritual rite.
I guess spending my childhood at the turret of an autocannon blasting angel cartel pirates to debris clouds gave me some aptitude in gunnery. Always loved to fly fast and blow things up. Seems you can make a career out of that.
Once I graduated (solidly in the middle of cadet class), I just wandered about, taking odd delivery jobs and capping bad guys, until Ma found me. Yeah, that Ma. Ma ZhiQiang, a man with a vision. So I joined Huang Yinglong. I've always been a sucker for the old Vherokior names--when you grow up speaking the melodies of Old Vhek, Standard just sounds flat to your ear.
Things are good in the Victorious Golden Dragons. I'm a Jin Xing, which means I get to sit in my pod and fly my Jag (what a beauty she is, too) killing bad guys all day long, for the honor and glory of the corp. Turned down his offer as a commissioned officer, though--those guys don't have any fun.
Heh... who would have thought I would end up here, in a proper warrior's corp, allied with a bunch of mystical do-gooders? Yeah, those Namtz'aar K'in, they know how to fight, alright. But Pacal gives me the creeps... Still, anyone who can cover your six like those pilots gets a place in my book.
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