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| Author |
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Gaelbhan Wulf
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Posted - 2004.08.01 18:19:00 -
[241]
 Originally by: Hardin
When you demonstrate your credentials as terrorists and not just GalNet windbags then maybe we will consider it!
______________________
. . . a devouring fever runs in flame through every vein within me . . ."
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Gaelbhan Wulf
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Posted - 2004.08.01 18:19:00 -
[242]
Originally by: Hardin
When you demonstrate your credentials as terrorists and not just GalNet windbags then maybe we will consider it!
______________________
. . . a devouring fever runs in flame through every vein within me . . ."
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Makkar
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Posted - 2004.08.01 18:45:00 -
[243]
Edited by: Makkar on 01/08/2004 18:48:16
Originally by: Hardin
We don't declare on corps for no reason and apart from your Minmatar group hug on GalNet (sickening to witness as it is) you certainly haven't yet done anything to deserve it...
When you demonstrate your credentials as terrorists and not just GalNet windbags then maybe we will consider it!
Anyway, at the moment our war slots are taken with known terrorist corps who as far as we kow are still active anyway!
I realise you slap-head, ham-fisted altar grovellers are a little slow on the uptake, so I'll make it nice and clear for you; Oracle (Active Freedom Fighter organisation) and the People's Front (Active Freedom Figher organisation) have united under one leader to form the Masuat'aa.
Credentials?
Last night, in the space of an hour, I, personally, liberated 995 Matari from within Amarr and Ammatar space, costing the lives of what I would imagine to be several hundred Amarr and Ammatar crew.
And that's just what I was up to. It's business as usual, Hardin, and right at the moment, you defenders of the Empire aren't doing a damned thing about it.
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Makkar
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Posted - 2004.08.01 18:45:00 -
[244]
Edited by: Makkar on 01/08/2004 18:48:16
Originally by: Hardin
We don't declare on corps for no reason and apart from your Minmatar group hug on GalNet (sickening to witness as it is) you certainly haven't yet done anything to deserve it...
When you demonstrate your credentials as terrorists and not just GalNet windbags then maybe we will consider it!
Anyway, at the moment our war slots are taken with known terrorist corps who as far as we kow are still active anyway!
I realise you slap-head, ham-fisted altar grovellers are a little slow on the uptake, so I'll make it nice and clear for you; Oracle (Active Freedom Fighter organisation) and the People's Front (Active Freedom Figher organisation) have united under one leader to form the Masuat'aa.
Credentials?
Last night, in the space of an hour, I, personally, liberated 995 Matari from within Amarr and Ammatar space, costing the lives of what I would imagine to be several hundred Amarr and Ammatar crew.
And that's just what I was up to. It's business as usual, Hardin, and right at the moment, you defenders of the Empire aren't doing a damned thing about it.
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Horatio Starkiller
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Posted - 2004.08.01 19:29:00 -
[245]
Edited by: Horatio Starkiller on 01/08/2004 19:36:08
and just after your fleet left I terminated 124 slaver hounds and burnt 11 pax, it's a sight i wanted you to see, pity you all left. Now i'm returning to minmatar space and i see loads of your ships it's a pity i can't legally strike them down!
-----------
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Horatio Starkiller
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Posted - 2004.08.01 19:29:00 -
[246]
Edited by: Horatio Starkiller on 01/08/2004 19:36:08
and just after your fleet left I terminated 124 slaver hounds and burnt 11 pax, it's a sight i wanted you to see, pity you all left. Now i'm returning to minmatar space and i see loads of your ships it's a pity i can't legally strike them down!
-----------
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Makkar
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Posted - 2004.08.01 19:33:00 -
[247]
Edited by: Makkar on 01/08/2004 19:38:39
It would appear Dark Seraph have some intestinal fortitude. Congratulations, Kular. You're the first to declare war on Masuat'aa, and you're only a 16 member corporation. The baby of CVA, if you will.
You have my respect, and that of my brethren.
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Makkar
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Posted - 2004.08.01 19:33:00 -
[248]
Edited by: Makkar on 01/08/2004 19:38:39
It would appear Dark Seraph have some intestinal fortitude. Congratulations, Kular. You're the first to declare war on Masuat'aa, and you're only a 16 member corporation. The baby of CVA, if you will.
You have my respect, and that of my brethren.
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Bob Vodka
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Posted - 2004.08.01 22:09:00 -
[249]
As he returns from deep space, honoring those lost under his command when the PFS Nova Rising was destoryed, Bob logs into the ship board computer of Darkness Rising and notices the call to arms.
As he watches and listens to the transmission he feels something in his heart come to life once more, a feeling he hasnt expiranced since the lost of the Nova Rising and his friends on that ship. As soon as the transmission ends he knows what he must do, activing his link to the comms system the reply is sent...
Voshoud, I hear the call and I give my life and my ship to you for the cause.
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Bob Vodka
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Posted - 2004.08.01 22:09:00 -
[250]
As he returns from deep space, honoring those lost under his command when the PFS Nova Rising was destoryed, Bob logs into the ship board computer of Darkness Rising and notices the call to arms.
As he watches and listens to the transmission he feels something in his heart come to life once more, a feeling he hasnt expiranced since the lost of the Nova Rising and his friends on that ship. As soon as the transmission ends he knows what he must do, activing his link to the comms system the reply is sent...
Voshoud, I hear the call and I give my life and my ship to you for the cause.
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Yian
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Posted - 2004.08.01 23:34:00 -
[251]
I answer to this call, i am ready to take up arms, May the Amarr pay heavily for their sins.
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Yian
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Posted - 2004.08.01 23:34:00 -
[252]
I answer to this call, i am ready to take up arms, May the Amarr pay heavily for their sins.
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Xerxes X
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Posted - 2004.08.02 18:50:00 -
[253]
I answer this call, and so does my blade!
Xerxes X
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Xerxes X
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Posted - 2004.08.02 18:50:00 -
[254]
I answer this call, and so does my blade!
Xerxes X
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Xetro Xerion
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Posted - 2004.08.02 20:49:00 -
[255]
"Ani morid et roshi, el hasa'ara haba'a. Ani ro'e et yerivi vehu muli. Hariuo el hasa'ara hakreva. Ani nachon le'atsmi."
So the plague has come at last, as it was expected.
--
Knowledge is power, and power comes from the within |
Xetro Xerion
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Posted - 2004.08.02 20:49:00 -
[256]
"Ani morid et roshi, el hasa'ara haba'a. Ani ro'e et yerivi vehu muli. Hariuo el hasa'ara hakreva. Ani nachon le'atsmi."
So the plague has come at last, as it was expected.
--
Knowledge is power, and power comes from the within |
Bad Harlequin
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 00:08:00 -
[257]
Edited by: Bad Harlequin on 03/08/2004 00:55:10
Originally by: Elsebeth Rhiannon
What is the Minmatar people you are loyal to,
if it is not the Republic, and not the Tribes?
In his pod, Bad Harlequin menally retraced these lines, hovering ghostly in
projected ::HUD / comm / GalNet:: zone of his mind's vision, while
part of his mind noted ::decceleration / warpdrive powerdown / align
ship:: towards the approaching station, and yet another thought of
::comm / station / Query:Dock?:: at the approaching mass of the
Republic Fleet's plant. Another identical spartan, utilitarian factory, this
one concentrating on the endless supply of shells the hungry cannon of the
Minmatar demanded.
An illuminating question, he thought. The pod's innumberable neural
hookups, finding nothing demanding action, ignored it.
OSB Caliban, Tempest Class, floated with unlikely grace towards her docking
berth as the station took over. Bringing GalNet to center by thinking about
it more, he composed and transmitted a brief reply:
Elsebeth. What you say is, I think, the core of our differences - rather
than interpret your words for you, for I cannot know what they mean to you
personally, I will ask you to consider in return:
a mass of liquid flows into a vessel to acquire form. Without form it is
directionless, ineffective. But the vessel is rigid, limited in
changeability. When the mass must acquire a new form, when the form no
longer serves the purpose of the mass - do you change the vessel?
Or keep it at all costs, and force conformity on the masses?
Docking, disorienting disengagement from the senses and presence of a
battleship to that of meatsack once again, shaking it off;
First a quick stop at the docking authority terminal, and the OSB Caliban was
then known only as Caliban.
Then making his way to the small administrative office maintained here,
started not so long and a lifetime ago.
Some passes on the console, a quick electronic check to make sure nothing was
left behind or unsecured: palmprint, retinascan, dna sample, voice:
"Bad Harlequin. Acting CEO. Oracle Tribe. Tribal corporate systems to
accept the following directives:" As if lulled by his words, systems dropped
off to a sleep of an unknown duration. Security locks closed down that not
even he would be able to open unaided. In silence, across the galaxy, Oracle
assets were told to obey the commands only of one old friend, old warhorse,
first of the Tribe and of the Spirit of Oracle.
He had some small time before this very room would seal.
One final task.
Slowly, he reached across his back, the ever-present Khumaak, his first, his
token of acceptance by the man who guided him into the Tribe, as he wandered
far from the false privilege of Ammatar.
Down the shaft of the sceptre was written one word in the old tounge.
He had sharpened the end, affixed a spikemagnet used by salvage crews.
He raised it high above his head, brought it down hard, a warcry of the
Sebiestor torn from his throat as he drove the Khumaak into the tritanium
plating of the office floor where the spikemagnet bit and held. The office
reverberated with the impact.
It would wait until the station itself was dust, if necessary.
He went to the door, turning in time to see the Khumaak and its one word as
the door slid and sealed, unresponsive to all but the first one. He said it
aloud now, a whisper barely louder than the wssh of the lock, before turning
away:
"Voshoud."
Bad Harlequin left to answer the call. |
Bad Harlequin
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 00:08:00 -
[258]
Edited by: Bad Harlequin on 03/08/2004 00:55:10
Originally by: Elsebeth Rhiannon
What is the Minmatar people you are loyal to,
if it is not the Republic, and not the Tribes?
In his pod, Bad Harlequin menally retraced these lines, hovering ghostly in
projected ::HUD / comm / GalNet:: zone of his mind's vision, while
part of his mind noted ::decceleration / warpdrive powerdown / align
ship:: towards the approaching station, and yet another thought of
::comm / station / Query:Dock?:: at the approaching mass of the
Republic Fleet's plant. Another identical spartan, utilitarian factory, this
one concentrating on the endless supply of shells the hungry cannon of the
Minmatar demanded.
An illuminating question, he thought. The pod's innumberable neural
hookups, finding nothing demanding action, ignored it.
OSB Caliban, Tempest Class, floated with unlikely grace towards her docking
berth as the station took over. Bringing GalNet to center by thinking about
it more, he composed and transmitted a brief reply:
Elsebeth. What you say is, I think, the core of our differences - rather
than interpret your words for you, for I cannot know what they mean to you
personally, I will ask you to consider in return:
a mass of liquid flows into a vessel to acquire form. Without form it is
directionless, ineffective. But the vessel is rigid, limited in
changeability. When the mass must acquire a new form, when the form no
longer serves the purpose of the mass - do you change the vessel?
Or keep it at all costs, and force conformity on the masses?
Docking, disorienting disengagement from the senses and presence of a
battleship to that of meatsack once again, shaking it off;
First a quick stop at the docking authority terminal, and the OSB Caliban was
then known only as Caliban.
Then making his way to the small administrative office maintained here,
started not so long and a lifetime ago.
Some passes on the console, a quick electronic check to make sure nothing was
left behind or unsecured: palmprint, retinascan, dna sample, voice:
"Bad Harlequin. Acting CEO. Oracle Tribe. Tribal corporate systems to
accept the following directives:" As if lulled by his words, systems dropped
off to a sleep of an unknown duration. Security locks closed down that not
even he would be able to open unaided. In silence, across the galaxy, Oracle
assets were told to obey the commands only of one old friend, old warhorse,
first of the Tribe and of the Spirit of Oracle.
He had some small time before this very room would seal.
One final task.
Slowly, he reached across his back, the ever-present Khumaak, his first, his
token of acceptance by the man who guided him into the Tribe, as he wandered
far from the false privilege of Ammatar.
Down the shaft of the sceptre was written one word in the old tounge.
He had sharpened the end, affixed a spikemagnet used by salvage crews.
He raised it high above his head, brought it down hard, a warcry of the
Sebiestor torn from his throat as he drove the Khumaak into the tritanium
plating of the office floor where the spikemagnet bit and held. The office
reverberated with the impact.
It would wait until the station itself was dust, if necessary.
He went to the door, turning in time to see the Khumaak and its one word as
the door slid and sealed, unresponsive to all but the first one. He said it
aloud now, a whisper barely louder than the wssh of the lock, before turning
away:
"Voshoud."
Bad Harlequin left to answer the call. |
Wren
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 07:07:00 -
[259]
Edited by: Wren on 03/08/2004 07:08:59
The SebiestorÆs left foot slid off cool smooth leather armrest of the oversized chair and dropped to the thickly carpeted floor. This of course upset the balance of his body and the half empty glass which was already precariously held between index and middle finger fell and thudded softly, its dark red contents flung up in tiny crimson spray.
A few drops landed on WrenÆs bare chest and one impacted right above his left eye. This was enough stimulation to finally arouse him from the drug induced half dreaming state.
The moderate sized compartment which he occupied was littered with datapads and notes containing lyrics, descriptions of rituals and rites, half finished/started stories and poems, and a few loadout forecasts and requirement costs. It also had bottles and vials in various stages of fullness balanced on just about every available surface.
Wren looked down at the floor, and at how the glassÆs contents slowly stained the light grey carpet, and his already susceptible psyche made a dozen connections from cell division to a stabbing victimÆs blood, and each flashed through his vision in vivid detail.
After a few minutes, his unblinking gaze lifted from the glass and observed his foot. Then after a few more minutes he slowly raised his hands to his temples and started to rub away the thick fog, and slowly, with each pass of his thumbs, his ability to control his own senses returned.
He sat up and set both feet on the floor, and leaned over to a side table and selected one of the many pads there that had a connection with the quarterÆs maintenance and triggered a drone to come and start getting the stain out of the carpet.
He then pushed off the chair and walked into the brightly lit bathroom, where he turned on the recycled water sink and switched it to hot, and grabbed a hand towel and got it damp and cleaned off his chest and then started to scrub his slightly oily forehead. He let his eyes close and let the warmth and the steamy feel further clear his mind.
He rolled his shoulders and then his neck, letting the towel drop into the sink and switching off the faucet.
He opened his eyes and leaned on the sink for a second, then turned and went back into the other room and stacked a few papers and pads that was on the foot of his bed and sat down, and then reached over to the top of his pillow where a remote control was and turned on the wall monitor, and started to watch a Gallente news digest show, while also finding socks and a shirt from a stack of laundry sitting directly next to the stacked papers and datapads.
Getting bored quickly with the program, he switched on the gal-net forums and browsed the corp. and org. sections first, next general, and then finally the summit, from which he tried to enforce a self served banishment.
ôHmmmm, Masuat'aa Matari, eh? Things are changing, or so it seems on the surface,ö he thought. ôI wonder if Darodem would consider this the first peal of thunder on a coming stormàö
Wren smirked and watched and read further, pausing once to raise an eyebrow at seeing Dark Kakaku back, then shrugged and suppressed a reaction to reply to the AmarrianÆs barbs and comments.
It took the Sebiestor a long while to finally switch off the summit. He sat in silence and inactivity for a moment, and thought about joining the cause and answering the call.
ôEh, maybe Makkar is right and the only thing I have mastered the art of self torture, quitting and hiding.ö
The sound of his own voice made him blink. As if he didnÆt remember thinking the sentence before it spouted from his lips.
ôNah, I have made my new loyalties and I am happy.ö
ôFfft. Whatever. DonÆt argue with yourself, it makes you look crazy,ö he thought to himself.
ôWhat if I am?ö
ôWell, you are overdoing the whole psychotropic drug thing.ö
ôAnd?ö
He waited for a reply, but none came, so shrugged and found a belt and started to slide it through the loops in his pants as he stood up.
After buckling, he reached down and selected a few datapads and then went to the small closet and pulled out a flight vest, one that matched his charcoal grey pants and shirt. In one pocket was a silver hair clasp, and he started to gather his hair into the topknot and then palmed open the door and stepped into the hallway.
--------------------------------------------------
 |
Wren
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 07:07:00 -
[260]
Edited by: Wren on 03/08/2004 07:08:59
The SebiestorÆs left foot slid off cool smooth leather armrest of the oversized chair and dropped to the thickly carpeted floor. This of course upset the balance of his body and the half empty glass which was already precariously held between index and middle finger fell and thudded softly, its dark red contents flung up in tiny crimson spray.
A few drops landed on WrenÆs bare chest and one impacted right above his left eye. This was enough stimulation to finally arouse him from the drug induced half dreaming state.
The moderate sized compartment which he occupied was littered with datapads and notes containing lyrics, descriptions of rituals and rites, half finished/started stories and poems, and a few loadout forecasts and requirement costs. It also had bottles and vials in various stages of fullness balanced on just about every available surface.
Wren looked down at the floor, and at how the glassÆs contents slowly stained the light grey carpet, and his already susceptible psyche made a dozen connections from cell division to a stabbing victimÆs blood, and each flashed through his vision in vivid detail.
After a few minutes, his unblinking gaze lifted from the glass and observed his foot. Then after a few more minutes he slowly raised his hands to his temples and started to rub away the thick fog, and slowly, with each pass of his thumbs, his ability to control his own senses returned.
He sat up and set both feet on the floor, and leaned over to a side table and selected one of the many pads there that had a connection with the quarterÆs maintenance and triggered a drone to come and start getting the stain out of the carpet.
He then pushed off the chair and walked into the brightly lit bathroom, where he turned on the recycled water sink and switched it to hot, and grabbed a hand towel and got it damp and cleaned off his chest and then started to scrub his slightly oily forehead. He let his eyes close and let the warmth and the steamy feel further clear his mind.
He rolled his shoulders and then his neck, letting the towel drop into the sink and switching off the faucet.
He opened his eyes and leaned on the sink for a second, then turned and went back into the other room and stacked a few papers and pads that was on the foot of his bed and sat down, and then reached over to the top of his pillow where a remote control was and turned on the wall monitor, and started to watch a Gallente news digest show, while also finding socks and a shirt from a stack of laundry sitting directly next to the stacked papers and datapads.
Getting bored quickly with the program, he switched on the gal-net forums and browsed the corp. and org. sections first, next general, and then finally the summit, from which he tried to enforce a self served banishment.
ôHmmmm, Masuat'aa Matari, eh? Things are changing, or so it seems on the surface,ö he thought. ôI wonder if Darodem would consider this the first peal of thunder on a coming stormàö
Wren smirked and watched and read further, pausing once to raise an eyebrow at seeing Dark Kakaku back, then shrugged and suppressed a reaction to reply to the AmarrianÆs barbs and comments.
It took the Sebiestor a long while to finally switch off the summit. He sat in silence and inactivity for a moment, and thought about joining the cause and answering the call.
ôEh, maybe Makkar is right and the only thing I have mastered the art of self torture, quitting and hiding.ö
The sound of his own voice made him blink. As if he didnÆt remember thinking the sentence before it spouted from his lips.
ôNah, I have made my new loyalties and I am happy.ö
ôFfft. Whatever. DonÆt argue with yourself, it makes you look crazy,ö he thought to himself.
ôWhat if I am?ö
ôWell, you are overdoing the whole psychotropic drug thing.ö
ôAnd?ö
He waited for a reply, but none came, so shrugged and found a belt and started to slide it through the loops in his pants as he stood up.
After buckling, he reached down and selected a few datapads and then went to the small closet and pulled out a flight vest, one that matched his charcoal grey pants and shirt. In one pocket was a silver hair clasp, and he started to gather his hair into the topknot and then palmed open the door and stepped into the hallway.
--------------------------------------------------
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bUBbLeS
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 11:07:00 -
[261]
if there's cAKe ... i'm in
Julius ceaser : "operor vos volo MCCCXXXVII laganum bUBbLeS?"
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bUBbLeS
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 11:07:00 -
[262]
if there's cAKe ... i'm in
Julius ceaser : "operor vos volo MCCCXXXVII laganum bUBbLeS?"
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Discorporation
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 11:16:00 -
[263]
They're agents of teh pi3, Bubbs, micr0-be3tles, the lot of em!
[Heterocephalus glaber]
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Discorporation
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 11:16:00 -
[264]
They're agents of teh pi3, Bubbs, micr0-be3tles, the lot of em!
[Heterocephalus glaber]
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Makkar
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Posted - 2004.08.03 11:31:00 -
[265]
Disco, if there's one thing you cannot associate us with in a friendly capacity, it's "teh pi3". 
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Makkar
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 11:31:00 -
[266]
Disco, if there's one thing you cannot associate us with in a friendly capacity, it's "teh pi3".
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Discorporation
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 12:08:00 -
[267]
PIE Inc != pi3
[Heterocephalus glaber]
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Discorporation
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Posted - 2004.08.03 12:08:00 -
[268]
PIE Inc != pi3
[Heterocephalus glaber]
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Makkar
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 12:12:00 -
[269]
They've got you fooled too, huh?
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Makkar
|
Posted - 2004.08.03 12:12:00 -
[270]
They've got you fooled too, huh?
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