OOC - Was that the reaction? Rant, might want to skip this.

Beggining of rant


"I tried to be level headed, but I'm sorry, nothing is addressed on this blog:

MT for advantages? Yes or no?
The WiS is gorgeous? Sorry, I haven't been blown away by it, nor any of the latest expansions.
Smooth? Maybe you haven't noticed keys sticking again. Not being able to abort warps. Anoms not spawning rats... I don't call that smooth.
Hangar? Not addressed.
The bans? Maybe you are not aware of the "kill it with fire" meme. In my corp we usually kid with that, to the point of "kill it with therm/em", whatever. It has become part of the internet lingo...
The fact that you write a few words that amount to PR spin with no real concern for a situation that for the first time in all my years as a player united carebears, gankers, pirates, 0.0 vets in a "HELL NO!" position.

As for the prices - I've deliberately been avoiding that, but if you pull real life examples and use them as valid, maybe you need to look at real life goods. You have stuff there which is not particularly appealing that cost more than most of the clothes I wear (and I'm a lawyer who spends a bit on presentation. 

I'm sorry but this blog entry is insufficient and shows both lack of professionalism, concern and that you have lost touch with the player reality. As far as I'm concerned, "the tail does not wag the dog". Maybe you should think of actually answering question. History - past and present - has many pages written about politicians talking rubbish hoping the problem goes away... it doesn't.
This particular thing made it worse, it made me feel worse and disappointed me further, if that was possible.

Waiting for a real reaction and real answers.

TL:DR - this answers nothing, waiting for a real, concerned, reaction." - my comment on the forums

I'm sorry. Zulu's answer amounts to a bunch of nothing. We have all seen this kind of thing in politics (look at Greece or Portugal - my home country - at this time of crisis.

Is CCP truly expecting this to simply be deflected by using "non language"?

In my line of work this strategy is usually called (roughly translated) "jamming". Using non sequiturs to wear the other side and the person judging a given cause, down. It's what you use on a losing position to make you loose later instead of now. In legal terms it's sometimes the smart thing to do... here it just showed incompetence and clear lack of respect for everyone.

Granted, there were overeactions. But there were also level headed people voicing valid concerns, not just with the MT, but with the general direction the game is taking and the lack of novelty in EvE. We cannot be expected to wait ad eternum for new gorgeous things. We will not (I hope) sit idly by when someone treats us like moronic idiots.

I felt like an idiot.

I was hoping to see a well thought response, addressing serious issues, with at least a hint of solutions for real problems.

I did not. I saw someone who came off as having the attitude of "Do I really need to speak to the unwashed masses?! They do no understand the grand scheme of things!"

Well, I, for one, don't enjoy feeling like an idiot. I for one don't want this state of affairs. I will give CCP a chance to wake up and actually come up with a reaction. As far as I'm concerned this was not a reaction.

CCP get in touch with reality. Then speak.

OOC - My 5 cents - This is a rant, feel free to skip it

Beggining of rant.

I've been away from EVE for a while. I was slowly coming back and starting to have fun again and then this.

I consider myself a level headed person and I'm sincerely trying not to rage, but some things must be said.

First of all, if any of this money for stuff touches gameplay, I will leave. This is not an idle threat. It's not "emo rage quit" it's the fact that in eve everyone, no matter how incompetent, great, obnoxious or amazing, have clawed and waited their way to their station. For that both carebears, gankers, pirates, CEO's, deserve my respect.

CQ... I was waiting for that. I wanted that RPG element of walking around in stations. I am aware I'm a guinea pig for WoD and don't care. I actually played Vampire: the Masquerade and still love the pen and paper game, so I don't care about that part. What I care is the fact that CCP is constantly falling short. I haven't seen an expansion that blows me away in ages. I feel the game has been neglected, I feel the players aren't being listened to... and I fear this will not get better.

We need decent content. 

We need some respect and attention, other than lip service to "excellence". The mere mention of that word makes me sick.

I'm not saying CCP should catter to our every whim. I am, however, saying that a world like EVE (as any RPG Storyteller learns) is not shaped according to the creator's vision: it is a piece of collaboration art - players and creator compromise and shape the story because they have active roles in the way it unfolds. I feel that CCP lost track of that: they have one vision and they wish to enforce it. Thing is, to be absolutely honest, I don't think anyone knows what that vision is and they have never been forthcoming about it either.

A good sandbox RPG works when people cooperate, not when a bad gamemaster imposes what he thinks is a nice story to the players and right now I just feel the walls closing in on what I consider a nice sandbox.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions... and I don't even see much "good intention here".

End of rant.

Packing the bags

Than looked at the travel plans again, running the schedule for the next few days in her mind. She could hardly wait for the great capsuleer reunion which was fast approaching.

She hadn't been planetside in a while and the weather forecast (what a strange notion it seemed, real, changing, uncontrolled weather) told her it was going to be a cold few days: much more than she had grown used to in her home and much more than it was usual in her quarters. That meant the leather jacket, t-shirt and jeans weren't going to be enough.

Moira, though, had taken care of that and there was a military cut cold weather jacket waiting for her on her desk. She packed her bags for a week, charged her Integrated Personal Organization Device and loaded a few of her favorite old songs there.

She was slightly nervous. She didn't know the place and didn't really know what to expect, with some many capsuleer gathered in a single place and an event designed to cater to their needs.

Moira placed a hand on her shoulder, signaling her it was time to get on the shuttle headed planet side. She still had a trip from her home station the the transport hub planet side, before going to her final destination, on that distant island.

And that made her heart skip a beat with excitement...

P.S. - OOC: short clips of the trip to fanfest through Than's eyes! (I ripped off, I mean, took the inspiration from Roc's - credit where it is due!) I'll try to get them everyday, but no promises.

OOC - Fanfest 2011

A simple blog entry to let you know I'll be attending Fanfest this year.
Anyone there up for a coffee or a pint, let me know, I'd love to meet more capsuleers in person!

And I'll try to post some photos and reports of what happens!

OOC - New Look and other characters

Than's new look.

A lot of thought went into this because we can no longer have that cartoonish look. It may be good, it may be bad, but the old Thanagherion, with the scrawny, girly looks and a gleam of cartoonish evil genius is gone.

She ended up somewhat sweet, somewhat hot and with some striking features and a hint of a smile. Maybe not the Than people envision: somewhat lonely, controlled and bitter, but here's hoping. Tell me what you think of the new, bad-ass witty mercenary with a knack for pessimism!

This is Moira. Hard edged and heavy brow. The best assistant Than could ask and a silent friend, not that she would ever confess.

And this is Ray, the Marine commander. You'll be seeing more of him later!

Tell me what you think.

March

“[…]just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions.” - Sun Tzu

The crackle of static woke Ray up. At first he didn’t really make much of it, assuming it was a simple glitch with his radio, or interference from all the equipment surrounding him. Neither of those were unusual occurrences in the Marines living quarters.

He just turned in his bed, before discerning a voice coming through the static and garble (or was it through his sleepy, addled mind?).

'Ray?' - Than's voice crept into his head, a sweet, silky and yet strangely coarse voice he could recognize anywhere in the universe.

'Aye aye Ma'am.' - the weary marine replied.

'Were you sleeping?'

'Yes Ma'am. I posted Ian's fire team on SMA duty and decided to give a break to the rest of guys.' – he answered, his voice somewhat slurred.

'Alright. I need you to do something for me. Not Ian, not Bern: you.'

Ray crawled out of the bunk and put on his BDU, followed by a quick, but thorough check of his personal handgun. He then tucked it in his pocket before walking out his room, slowly but purposefully.

When he felt the world whirl around him, he understood he was on the brink of exhaustion: everyone was, to be honest. The whole placing was falling apart around them, collapsing under a siege of determined invading forces, which meant everyone was overworked and every post was understaffed. He couldn’t help musing the current situation was like being inside a Quaffe can being slowly but surely crushed. They weren’t on the frontline, but it was approaching at an alarming rate and that was enough to keep everyone on their guard.

The corridors were empty at that late hour, so he didn't even bother trying to be discreet and careful. He just headed straight to the express elevator he took to the top level of the tower, where his intended target was. He breathed deeply as he stepped out of the elevator and looked around, taking in the cramped corridors, riddled by pipes and cables and illuminated by red floodlights: if there was such a thing as Hell it would probably look like this. Still, Ray kept walking to the management quarters with grim determination. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

Moira opened the door, while drying her dripping hair with a towel, and smiled when she saw the burly marine.

‘Hey, what’s up?’ – she asked.

‘Moira, could you please accompany me?’

‘What’s the matter Ray?’

‘Nothing does wrong, just get your kit bag and come with me, please.’

Moira closed the door and put on her clothes, trying to understand what was happening, why Ray was here and what the hurry was. Instinctively, she grabbed her own snub nosed pistol, loaded it and tucked it on the small of her back, in such a way she could pull it fast, if it became necessary. She had heard many horror stories about traitors in corps and alliances. Moira did not intend to become the casualty of one such coup and even though she knew Ray for quite some time, she trusted no one.

She walked two steps ahead of the marine. Her eyes leaped around, out of a sheer sense of fear building deep inside her. Clearly it was unfounded, she kept telling herself. This was nothing and no one was going to hurt her. But all that thinking did no good when they turned into a dead end leading to an airlock, where she could read an ominous “pre-opening check: completed” status message on the screen.

‘What is this about Ray?’ – she asked, pulling the pistol out in single flowing motion, a hint of fear blossoming in her voice.

‘Whoa, hold on lady…’ – he replied – ‘just following orders.’

He kept his hand tight around the pistol in his pocket.

‘Yeah, hold on Moira’ – Than said through comms – ‘Hold on and get your ass in here. We are leaving this place and you are coming along with me, in…’

‘If you say first class, I will punch you in the face when I see you… with spiked brass knuckles this time.’

Past sins, present wounds

“One need not be a chamber to be haunted;

One need not be a house;

The brain has corridors surpassing

Material place.” - Emily Dickinson, "Time and Eternity"

The inside of the control tower was not a place fit to live in: it was a place where some people managed to survive in spite of the conditions they endured. Moira was not unfamiliar with this kind of life, where you survived against all odds, even though it had not been in a Control Tower in space. She had fought hard to forget her past, to, at the very least, come to grips with it, but the memories were still there and they would always be. That probably explained why lately she woke up drenched in sweat and screaming so hard her throat felt sore. Maybe that explained why the stale, recycled air felt even more oppressing and heavy than it really was.

She eyed herself in the mirror. Usually she felt proud, or just lucky, the bad times in her life had not erased her good looks. After a night filled with nightmares, though, she was hard pressed to believe they were still there. Her blonde hair hung in sweat soaked strands; her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. No smile, no sparkling green eyes, no bright skin, just a pale, tired young woman, with aching muscles and a terrible, throbbing, headache which gave her no truces or respite. She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, resting her elbows on the side of the sink and cradling her head in her hands. She just wanted the headaches to stop, though she knew they would not abate, not with less than four hours of sleep per day.

The feel of the tiny sweat drops running down her back made her skin crawl and her stomach churn. Beneath the image of a competent assistant and businesswoman she was not a frail person, she was not unfamiliar with hardship, but these conditions had brought about a persona that she kept hidden. She was beginning to wonder her own worth, she felt frail and useless. Out here if you were not on a pod, flying a battleship, you were not worth a lot.

It didn’t matter Than had given her these living quarters and decided to spend most of the time stuck inside her capsule, just floating around. She liked to say it was a relief and it felt like freedom, but Moira saw better on her face when she came over for coffee and drinks: she saw a hint of sheer exhaustion and it hurt her. She knew her boss was doing that for her, to make her feel a bit better.

The icy water from the shower felt like a thousand nails stabbing her skin, sending little shots of pain through her nerves. She winced at first and just tried to relax her mind and enjoy the feeling of all her muscles pulling taut, making her feel, once again fresh and fit. Even the air felt lighter and tastier.

She wasn’t in a gilded cage anymore, serving at someone’s whim. Yes, she was confined and going through a rough patch, but it was a path of her own choosing.

She got out of the shower and hailed Thanagherion on the comms. She had to tell her how Celeris had freaked about the purchase of the Navy Dominix Class Battleship. Actually, about how she had almost lost her voice when Moira told her to transfer about half a billion isk in funds.

Yes, she was the master of her own life and to be honest of a few other lives as well.

So why couldn’t she shake all those memories and the feeling of being trapped?