Convergence Zone

The Company has explored, scanned, surveyed and exploited more systems than we can be bothered to count. During those wide-ranging excursions we've noticed a pronounced drop in wormhole activity. Specifically the activity availing itself to surprise butt-sex: Sleeper Farming.

During our weeks of constant scouting all we've managed to get glimpses of are covert ops frigates and cloaky haulers and those are by far few in number. In general w-space seems to be sleeping.

Yes, there are a few corporations who've managed to swell their ranks and engage in the large wormhole fights, but these entities are not in the same class as us. They happily blob entire fleets onto a single carebear cruiser in order to whore the killmail. Unfortunately they will just as happily renounce you for not engaging them, despite their known blob tactics.

That is the down-side of massive entities in w-space. No one wants to fight them for fear of being so overwhelmingly outnumbered that fighting becomes an exercise in futility.

Regardless of whether the current doldrums are a result of massive entities or something else the Company is lucky to have found its most recent acquisition: the location of a class 3 wormhole system with active pilots and many shiny ships ripe for the plundering.

Stay tuned for a report of upcoming operations.

Mutiny on the Faggot Sea

Failure. Loss. Defeat. Cowardice. Betrayal.

The road to glory is long and twisted. It doubles back on itself and no one is immune to confusion. Even bitter vets get lost and must start over.

On the decks of our elite Stratios cruisers, buckled and burned by countless battles, we former Captains of the Dutch Rudder Company sail the unspeakable madness of wormhole space. With fair solar winds at our backs and smooth waters ahead we plundered the tight holes of carebears and failtards in the systems connected directly to the regions of known space.

Within weeks we had amassed a fortune from looting officer-fit Caracals and PLEX-encrusted tears. It was time to make for port and squander our bountiful wealth on male strippers and unnecessarily expensive battleship hulls with fancy paint jobs.

Erotic, depraved hedonism cannot last forever and we soon took back to the uncharted stars, this time in support of those we believed to be friends.

We found the corporation known as Jaded to be a veritable sea of anus-chafing faggotry. Ceaseless chattering filled with "rekt", "gucci", "kek", "gibblefart" and "suckadickbro" reverberated throughout their home C5, Stargasm, in childlike voices that would be impossible for me to replicate - to attempt it would require filling my mouth with an inordinate amount of semen!

Despite their incoherent ramblings and endless debates about everything from ship fittings to how many more penises one of them could stuff into his butt we decided to stay and attempt a rescue operation.

When their active leadership was berated by an absentee CEO we came to his defense and helped him take the helm of the corporation in name as well as in fact. Ruinous comms discipline was reigned in to a mere retarded comms discipline. Catastrophic Sleeper escalations that would've otherwise resulted in the deaths of entire gangs of caps were salvaged so that only minimal losses were incurred.

Jaded's gratitude for our efforts of leadership and content generation was expressed in the revocation of our roles and banishment from their precious festival of failure.

Left to our own devices once again, the Captains of the Dutch Rudder Company hoist our space-anchors and set sail with cargo holds full of wildly inappropriate ammunition and a dick-flourish flag flapping proudly atop our jackstaffs.

Keep out a weather eye, space friends. Soon enough you may see us coming over the horizon.

A Long Road Back

There have been many kings throughout history: great kings, weak kings, priest kings, god kings, foolish kings and even wise kings.

None of them are so special, however, as dead kings.

Poisoned, assassinated, slaughtered, betrayed and deposed, dead kings, whether they die in glorious battle and victory or suffer ignominious death via the errant bolt of a soup-maker, become the stuff of legend.

I, too, am a king – a dead king – crazed by exposure to the long dark of Anoikis and the deep places. I am dead yet free of the thief which stole my sanity.

In time my mind will recover. Perhaps with another clone; another rebirth.

Yes, I believe that's the key.

'Once there was a thief and the thief was God.'

- First line from The Exodus Bible

Piracy!

Official writ from the Headquarters of the Dutch Rudder Trading Company:

To the Board of Directors at the Dutch Rudder House,

An account of actions undertaken by the Company on the 10th of May, 2014 in J140642 against ships flying the flag of the Science and Trade Institute and a defense against accusations of piracy by the very same.

----------

By a Staff Officer

----------

Malception, commander of the Infidel, thus named in the angry-spaghetti script of all Hajis everywhere.

The aforementioned system had been under surveillance by a Company ship under the command of No'Wai Amagawd, newly-returned from shore-leave  and the co-author of the infamous No'Wai-Malception Law. Captain Amagawd signaled to the rest of the fleet, once more commanded by Torshawna aboard the flagship One Flourish to Burn, that he had spotted neutral activity in the open at which point our fleet made full sail to the nearest wormhole that would provide entrance to where the targets were located.

Upon entering the system we found the targets to be on the wormhole to high security space and engaged them there for lack of a better option. As they all jumped out a Navy-issued Caracal landed several kilometers off of the wormhole. Our Stratios cruisers made short work of the vessel, but the pilot's escape pod slipped away.

Many of the modules remained intact within the wreckage and they were of some value.

What followed were immediate accusations of piracy on the part of the Company by the captain of the destroyed vessel whose unmitigated stupidity was highly entertaining for those of us involved. The commander of the fleet was the first to receive communications from our most recent victim.

An EVE mail from the idiot:
PIRATE
From: themoron Sent: 2014.05.11 00:18
To: Torshawna, 

Fuck you.

...Followed by chat conversation:
[ 2014.05.11 00:19:32 ] Torshawna > why so rude?
[ 2014.05.11 00:19:36 ] themoron > thats why
[ 2014.05.11 00:19:38 ] themoron > in the wormhole
[ 2014.05.11 00:19:47 ] Torshawna > we didn't get the pod
[ 2014.05.11 00:20:00 ] themoron > Yeah, well you're still a douche
[ 2014.05.11 00:20:06 ] Torshawna > what for?
[ 2014.05.11 00:20:07 ] themoron > enjoy your bounties
[ 2014.05.11 00:20:14 ] Torshawna > for playing the game?
[ 2014.05.11 00:20:22 ] Torshawna > don't fly in wormhole space if you don't want the risk
[ 2014.05.11 00:20:47 ] themoron > You have a choice to camp, just like I have a choice to go there. We were just exploring
[ 2014.05.11 00:20:54 ] Torshawna > we didn't camp
[ 2014.05.11 00:20:59 ] themoron > ergo, enjoy the bounties
[ 2014.05.11 00:21:05 ] themoron > no, you saw noob ships
[ 2014.05.11 00:21:13 ] themoron > and thought itd be fun to open up
[ 2014.05.11 00:21:17 ] themoron > which makes you a douche
[ 2014.05.11 00:21:23 ] Torshawna > alright
[ 2014.05.11 00:21:32 ] Torshawna > let me say this to
[ 2014.05.11 00:21:36 ] Torshawna > you'll feel a lot better
[ 2014.05.11 00:21:53 ] Torshawna > May the Rudder always guide you into Orgasm Harbor. It's been a pleasure sailing with :)
[ 2014.05.11 00:22:41 ] themoron > what, your 3 month old corp
[ 2014.05.11 00:22:42 ] themoron > zzzz
[ 2014.05.11 00:25:41 ] Torshawna > lol
[ 2014.05.11 00:25:48 ] Torshawna > you can smalk taK ALL YOU WANT
[ 2014.05.11 00:26:00 ] Torshawna > the fact that you are idiots, doesn't hurt my feelings

Some post facto intelligence gathering has yielded the following gems: a little behind-the-scenes write-up by the pilot's acquaintance as well as a conversation between the pilot of the Navy Caracal and his more experienced, but vastly more impoverished friend.

In accordance with policies a priori zero shits have been given over this incident and all butthurt has been collected to be used as ballast for our vessels.

Siphilus

Official writ from the headquarters of the Dutch Rudder Trading Company:

To all who shall see the presents, Greeting. Let it be known that on the 25th day in the month of April in the 2014th year of our Lord, the Company undertook a joint operation to be conducted in Anoikis with unaffiliated corporations.

Flying under the Admiralty of Torshawna aboard the flagship, One Flourish to Rule, our fleet, consisting primarily of Stratioses and inexplicably-present Blackbirds, engaged a Sacrilege and Cerberus in null-sec after passing through a class 3 system. Both ships managed to escape, but we soon turned the guns of the Company on one our own.

Since joining our battle-group Siphilus (a.k.a. Xylophone), a representative from Blacksoul Tribal Nation, made a certified ass of herself, but I suspect she overestimated the number of shits to be given by the Company.

After she left herself in a position of extreme vulnerability in null-sec it was jokingly suggested she simply be scuttled in order to return her to the safety of hi-sec to which she responded that though many threatened to kill her none had ever followed through and she would be relieved if someone actually followed through.

Being a consummate gentlemen of the stars Dutch Rudder Trading Company sent her to a fresh, new clone thus providing that longed-for relief.

Therefore, it shall be this Company's policy forthwith to provide zero shits and harvest all butt-hurt and tears from said policy. Also, Ishisomo is henceforth renamed Itchy Homo on all navigational maps of the Company.

The Company

Among those sailing the vast psychosis known as New Eden there are but a few that belong in such sociopathic depths. These few sing to me from across the surface of the abyss with their big gay siren song and I find myself flying under the banner of the Dutch Rudder Trading Company, a new entity founded by the same deviant minds that brought us Cold Moon Destruction.

The Company is crewed by pilots normal people should not consider flying with. As I've stated in previous blog posts they are truly scum of the earth, but one is hard pressed to find better friends.

It's only been a week since joining, but I'm already enjoying life on the high seas, so if you're an experienced pilot and enjoy a good time then you definitely need to call us. We are without a doubt the best pilots in all of EVE and cannot be defeated. Ever. Guaranteed.

Join JACKN IT channel for that "good time" I talked about.

Until then entertain yourself with one of our latest exploits.

Троцкий

Cosmology recently encountered some Russians from a class 2 system (c2.1) that had connected to us. Their scanning Tengu, looking for easy kills in some Sleeper sites no doubt, scanned our system and jumped into our static, a class 5 system. We had already scouted that system and all the wormholes were now at the end of life and nearing collapse.

The Tengu would soon be back this way so a friend and I waited for him on our side of the wormhole. Naturally, we were correct in our thinking and the wormhole shook as the Tengu jumped back toward us, but our cruisers couldn't get a lock on it before it managed to cloak.

Knowing it would make a run for safety we warped to the c2.1 wormhole. I landed just as the Tengu was jumping through and quickly followed after. On the other side I immediately de-cloaked, hoping to catch the Tengu before he could warp off, but it seemed I was too far behind him and he had already escaped.

Instead, I was presented with two Stiletto-class frigates; interceptors that were far too nimble for me to lay hands on with my Proteus, which was slow and cumbersome by comparison. The Stilettos were soon joined by a Cynabal and shortly thereafter one of them interceptors reshipped to the Tengu we'd seen earlier.

During this time I stayed on their side of the wormhole, allowing them to work their way through my shields and begin gnawing on my ship's sturdy armor tank. This allowed the other pilots in our system, Headshed, to reship into ships that would be able to handle any sort of minor escalation the Russians might make.

Both the Cynabal and Tengu were staying outside my range while the Stiletto burned in and jumped through to Headshed. I followed, hoping to get lucky and catch him on our side with the help of those waiting, but none of us could get a lock on and he jumped back through.

I followed, polarizing myself in the process, but managed to point and web the Stiletto, putting him into deep armor before he escaped my range and warped off. I was left with the Cynabal and Tengu once more, but in Headshed were now an Arazu and another Proteus.

Burning off the wormhole I attempted to close with the Cynabal, but was unable to reach him. Our Arazu jumped in and damped them down a bit, but was unable to force them to within my short point and web range (my recent shift toward mitigating ECM jams had caused me to sacrifice my extended point and web, a fact that repeatedly reared its frustrating head during this engagement). It did force them to break off the engagement though, but not before our Arazu which was poorly fit had to jump back through to Headshed.

There was a lull at this point where both sides tried to think of suitable responses to the other sides tactics. They were unable to break the tank of a single Proteus, but we had yet been able to get a point on a single ship aside from a Stiletto which had made a mistake, but escaped anyway.

I reshipped to my Daredevil and went back to c2.1, hoping to engage one of the Stilettos and put an end to their troublesome buzzing around our ears. I was soon greeted by an Vengeance-class assault frigate, which gave me pause. It was slower, but better armed.

Eventually I decided to err on the side of aggression. If I managed to pull off a kill here then we'd have finally gotten a kill out of what had so far been a very tedious and frustrating dance. If I died then we'd hopefully provoke them to bring our more ships in hopes of further kills.

My aggression resulted in the latter of the two outcomes: https://zkillboard.com/detail/36525854/.

Undaunted, I reshipped to my Proteus and returned to c2.1 with our second Proteus. I cloaked up and waited. Soon enough the Cynabal was back, landing 70km from the wormhole and in near perfect alignment with planet IX. I warped to that planet and returned, de-cloaking midwarp, landing nearly on top of the Cynabal, who wasted no time burning away from what might soon be certain death.

In spite of my luck the Cynabal escaped. At this point I was raging against Bob, whom I now suspect is a Russian dissident who during some prior life went by the name of Comrade Trotsky.

As to be expected the Cynabal was quickly joined by a couple of Stilettos as well as a new ship to the field, a Tornado. One of the Stilettos didn't waste time in wandering too close, however, allowing the two Proteuses to make short work of it: https://zkillboard.com/detail/36526033/.

Since the Tornado was closer I turned to burn towards it, but it warped off, rather than get into close combat. At this point, my armor was deep into red, so I called in our two Guardians to get reps. At their appearance the Russians abandoned the field.

With the Russians unwilling to engage in close combat and we unwilling to abandon our logistics the was effectively at an end. We returned to our system, posting a watch on the wormhole to c2.1 and saw no more of the flighty Russians.

Ultimately there were no good fights here and everyone left with blue balls. I've already switched subsystems on my Proteus to extend my point and web range. In the future we will likely abandon the dual Guardians for a single Oneiros in the face of such light DPS, favoring more ships and long-webbing Lokis.

I'd like to congratulate the filthy Reds for their victory in the ISK war and encourage them to make changes that will satisfy Bob's thirst for the goodfights. The deity of w-space may indeed have been called Trotsky in a prior life, but he might also have been known as The Gipper.