Good evening gentle reader. You may have noticed my lack of reports lately and I assure you that all is well for this hardworking TEARS operative. My patrols have been greatly reduced, but I have not taken a leave of absence. Quite the contrary, I have been diligently patrolling both Gallente and Caldari space but it seems that other operatives have been beating me to the most egregious offenders.

I’ve been mainly left with desk duty, filling out reports and filing the reports of those along the frontlines. I have been taking the all important “little steps” in getting myself back to full operations condition and look forward to rewarding your patience shortly.

It’s been 7 full cycles since my last log entry, and this to me is nigh inexcusable.  A severe bout of pod flu should not be enough to deter me from documenting my experiences among the stars, but alas I’ve been confined to my quarters in the Brutor Tribe Treasury in Rens.  I’ve learned much of the surrounding area during my confinement, and even more so of the Rens system in particular.  I’ve certainly learned enough to know that I must find a quieter system from which to base my operations in the Heimatar Region.

I’ve never seen as much empty boasting and posturing as I have this last week in Rens.  Pilots far and wide shouting of their prowess in these so-called “duels”, arguing about who damaged who’s ship into the hull structure first.  To these poseurs I can say but this:  If your foe didn’t explode, you didn’t win.  Like the mewling of kittens scuffling for a place at the last teat, these capsuleers primp and preen trying to impress the younger and less knowledgeable among us.  Perhaps they succeed, but many being older than even myself, I clearly see them for the insecure men and women they are.  Only one step removed from our noble carebear, these pilots thrive on the illusory glory that they cloak themselves in.  Feeding on the inadequacy of their peers in a vicious cycle, they hope to claim victory by the size of their boasts alone.

I am no vicious killer, braving the wilds of low and null security space, but I freely admit as much and live under no such illusions of grandeur.  I take pride in my efforts to thwart those that feel safe and secure in the midst of their CONCORD protections.  I experience a rush of adrenaline and a child-like sense of glee when the tears begin to flow. I am not ashamed.  I do no pretend to a throne upon which I have no right to look, much less sit.

I am a ninja.  I am a griefer. I claim no moral high ground, for morals are all but unknown to me.  I take what I can, and I burn the rest.  I challenge you gentle reader, to be what you will, but to admit to what you are.

Greetings again gentle reader! \o In my time flying the spacelanes of New Eden, I have roamed many systems in my trusty Vigil steed, Payload. Some of these systems I’ve simply passed through on my way to other destinations, riches, and glory, but some few of them have drawn my attention with an undeniable force that I’ve been unable to accurately identify. This intergalactic wanderlust, if you will, strikes most ninjas at one point or another and some more frequently than others. I have been thus affected the past few cycles, and so putting a temporary hold on my spacelane maintenance duties, I strolled into the local market and came away the proud owner of a new Hoarder. This ship can only be described as I have named it: Fuggernaut.

I’m certain many of you, fellow pilots and purveyors of piloting prowess, may have the urge to scoff at my purchase of aforementioned ship, but rest assured she has been pressed into the most honored of services: Ninja Migration.  Knowing that I will at some point return to these comfortable systems that have previously served me well as a home, I do not strive to amass all my possessions in some Biblical Exodus.  This is well, for this great tub quickly fills with the fruits of my labors and functions as only the most basic of transports.  Packed to the thrusters with a handful of necessary frigates, their fittings, and various other belongings, I set out from Oichiya with a fond farewell (for now) and a tear (obviously stored away for just such an occasion in a TEARS approved Bear Tear Receptacle) in my eye, to find my fortune among the stars.

So far, I’m still broke.  I find myself back in my native Matari Regions, abiding for the moment in Rens where I can smell the unwashed masses of my tribesmen as they come and go from the Moon 8 Treasury, drinking and whoring to the very limit of their wallets, livers, and libidos (in that order).  Unable to indulge myself in either of these pursuits, I look longingly at the shipyards and production lines where even now a freshly frankensteined Hurricane is towed into drydock.  Have no doubt that I can fly said Battlecruiser, and am eager for the day that I take that first flight.  I wait only to finish the advanced studies that will allow me to dress her properly in a gown fit to rend bears, process their tears for fuel, and knit their carcasses into the weave. Mmmmm.

To my original point, this ninja wanderlust, it also serves another and equally important purpose.  Eventually when a ninja, broke ass or otherwise, has been living in a particular system for a while, the bears and miners become familiar with your scent.  If it’s not your scent at least, then it’s the many holes you’ve been persistently drilling into their ships and wallets.  This makes the already elusive trigger happy bear, even more rare, and thus from time to time since we cannot restock the pool with pristine bears flying faction fit ships, we must seek them out in other places.  As the hunters of old Earth learned to their dismay, over-hunting a population can quickly lead to famine, disease, and hippies.   Fortunately with the destruction of Earth the hippie threat was finally ended, but not without years of struggle and suffering.  Even today their descendants remain, and though they attempt to keep their identities hidden, it is all too easy to find them (I’m looking at you Gallente).  But enough dwelling on those long-haired wearers of neck-beards that reek of stale incense!

In staying mobile, the spacelane ninja keeps to the traditions at the heart of his namesake.  Silently, stealthily, we hunt.  Knowing no boundaries as set by governments of men, we roam the stars seeking our future…  and their tears.

The “war” continues, and I use the term “war” lightly as it is assuredly one-sided playing hide and seek with The 0rphanage, though hiding is what ninjas do best…  besides yoinking from the ever present bear population of New Eden.  Having come down with a moderate case of the pod flu over the last few cycles I’ve remained docked up, studiously hitting the books to expand my skillset while I wait for the fever, chills, and the seemingly never-ending goo emissions to… well, end.  Taking stock of my current assets and their locations, I find myself looking into additional sources of revenue that aren’t quite so taxing on my weakened state.  I have a few likely candidates in mind and will fire up my trusty Peekabo and Payload this evening and see what I can uncover.

As is my habit, I keep a close watch on the publications of my fellow TEARS pilots and have been inspired by their deeds.  Thus I will be attempting to broaden my horizons in an effort to both increase the size of my wallet, and provide many more tears for your consumption.  I do it all for you gentle readers.

Today I find myself drifting among the planets and asteroid belts of the lovely Agrallarier system searching for ever needful isk (I AM the Broke Ass Ninja am I not?).  I’m a fair jaunt from my usual stomping grounds in and around Oichiya, but I have only myself to blame for this.  Lately I’ve been looking longingly at the few isk remaining in my wallet, trying to conceive of some ingenious method to increase the local isk population.  To this end, I have begun to dabble slightly in the mysterious art of “Trading”.  So far, I’ve managed to make a few million here and a few million there, but not consistently, and for the most part I have no idea what I’m doing.  But I soldier on!

So here I am in Agrallarier, flying my trusty hauler “Fuggernaut” returning from a failed 14 jump trade attempt.   Some other lucky entrepreneur claimed the ridiculously cheap buy order before I could load the cargo into my own hold and thus I was returning to Oichiya empty-handed.  Glancing at my navigational computer I happen to notice my proximity to Agra and the handful of ships that I (pay out the nose to) dock there for just such occasions when I chance to be in the neighborhood.  I quickly alter my destination and make the 4 jumps towards what I hope will turn out to be a bit of excitement, and profit, in an otherwise unremarkable day.  How right I turned out to be!

Once I’m FINALLY tractored into my hangar(these thrice-damned dockhands get slower every cycle.  If I didn’t know better I’d swear the Gallente Dockworkers Union was PURPOSELY exposing fine upstanding capsuleers like myself to the hazards that are constantly drawn to orbital stations like the Astral Mining Inc. Refinery!) I look around to assess the condition of my girls.  My Probe, the semi-stealthy “Peekabo” who always knows just how to find what I’m looking for, even when I sometimes don’t know myself is looking as lovely as the day she was pulled from the scrapheap and expertly refurbished.  A Rifter simply named “Hurp” sits under the next dust cover waiting for a systems check and lap around the regional asteroid belts looking for unlicensed jetcan miners to cite and report to command.  Finally my trusty Vigil “Payload”.  Payload’s been with me a long time, in fact I’ve taken to naming all my Vigil’s payload like some large, genealogically confused family, only differentiated by the roughly drawn ancient Roman numerals on the hull.  This is Payload Mk V, one of my earlier creations but still steadfast and serviceable.  I double check her fittings to make sure everything is in order, then return to the loading bay and wait while those damned GDU lackwits prep my little Peekabo for launch.

Once we’re finally out of the confines of the station, Peekabo seems to take on a life of her own, leaping effortlessly into warp towards our favorite safe spot to see what we can see.  Lately Agrallarier has been quite the busy little system.  Since those bureaucratic bastards in the government finally decided to open up planetary resources to the miners and other care…”industrialists” a month or so ago, they’ve been flocking to Agra like corpseworms to a …  well…  corpse.  Whatever the draw, Peekabo doesn’t let me down, quickly using her scanner to locate and lock a half-dozen potential clients in a matter of mere seconds.

I quickly warp back to the Astral station and dock up (FAR TOO SLOWLY YOU POXIED SONS OF HANGAR RATS!…  My apologies gentle readers, for these continued outburts.  It really is quite unseemly to let my frustrations gain the upper hand, but if you only understood just how INFURIATING IT IS TO BE FLOATING IN LIMBO WAITING FOR SOME STOOP BACKED ACADEMY DROPOUT TO PUSH TWO BUTTONS AND TOW ME TO MY HANGAR!)

Ok.  Breathe. In… Out… In… Out…  Now, as I was saying, I as-quickly-as-possible-given-the-circumstances docked up and patiently waited as my pod was removed from Peekabo and Payload was towed into the launch position.  Once my pod was securely in place, I barely waited for the layabout dockhands to get clear before punching the throttle to full and feeling the station fall away from beneath me.  I was off.

My first hit was a Navy Issue Megathron, but as I entered the mission perimeter there was nary a soul to be seen.  What there was to see however, were dozens of gleaming wrecks floating in space.  They beckoned to me.  I became enthralled by the flashes of light bouncing off the twisted metal from the nearby sun.  Without further hesitation I engaged my micro warp drive and went to work.  Somewhat disheartened that there were no fair maidens to rescue today, I reminded myself that what I was doing now was still a very important service for the safety of the people of Agrallarier. Clean space lanes are safe space lanes!

No sooner had I finished cleaning up the debris from the second large wreck, did another ship warp into the area.  Checking his hull and pilot identification against the computer, I determined this to be the creator of this hazard.  I momentarily considered issuing this pilot a citation, but a small voice in the back of my head stayed my hand.  Identifying the ship as a Cormorant, I reached the conclusion that he was on a similar task to the one I was currently engaged in, so I exercised my discretion and allowed him to continue unmolested.  Little did I know that he didn’t have the same intentions for me, as he immediately plotted an intercept course and approached as quickly as his big tub of a ship would allow.  I could’ve easily outrun him, but my innate curiosity took hold and I continued moving from wreck to wreck.  Suddenly alarms started going off in my cockpit! I’d been targeted!  Hovering over the warp console I waited.  And waited. And waited.  Finally determining that this was only a scare tactic and that there was no true threat, I continued cleaning up the last of the wrecks and proceeded back to station to unload.

Barely giving anymore thought to the incident in the debris field, I was surprised to see the following come over broadcast, but of course I would respond…

[ 2010.07.20 01:04:28 ] Captain Leinax > Dryfty ven ven
[ 2010.07.20 01:05:04 ] Dryfty > I’m sorry, I dont speak whatever it is you’re speaking.  Might I humbly implore you to use English?
[ 2010.07.20 01:05:29 ] Captain Leinax > me to kill you ven ven
[ 2010.07.20 01:05:41 ] Dryfty > is “ven ven” some sort of adjective?
[ 2010.07.20 01:05:55 ] Dryfty > or exclamation?
[ 2010.07.20 01:06:03 ] Captain Leinax > comon comon
[ 2010.07.20 01:06:29 ] Dryfty > and for the record my friend, you had a perfect chance that you didn’t take while I was gathering all the juicy morsels from those wrecks
[ 2010.07.20 01:06:49 ] Dryfty > so you really have nobody to blame but yourself for your careless space littering
[ 2010.07.20 01:06:51 ] Captain Leinax > me da igual lo que digas te voy a matar por ninja
[ 2010.07.20 01:07:25 ] Dryfty > a wise man once said “English Motherfucker.  Do you speak it?”  I’d like to shake that mans hand.
[ 2010.07.20 01:07:55 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > rofl
[ 2010.07.20 01:08:09 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > these past few comments have made my day lol
[ 2010.07.20 01:08:38 ] Dryfty > happy to oblige someone :D
[ 2010.07.20 01:08:42 ] Silas Cooper > lol
[ 2010.07.20 01:08:50 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > besides yourself?
[ 2010.07.20 01:08:58 ] Dryfty > if only I knew what my grammatically impaired compadre was asking for
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:05 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > aye
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:12 ] Dryfty > maybe with a series of grunts, farts, and hand gestures?
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:22 ] Pugzz > ven ven = friend friend
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:29 ] Dryfty > Pugzz, thanks!
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:30 ] Pugzz > i guess he just needs to type it twice
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:31 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > well thats fantastic hah
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:35 ] Pugzz > lol
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:43 ] Dryfty > in that
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:45 ] Dryfty > case.
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:51 ] Pugzz > thank god for google
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:58 ] Dryfty > Captain…  will you be this lonely capsuleers BFF?
[ 2010.07.20 01:09:58 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > rofl yup
[ 2010.07.20 01:10:01 ] Dryfty > por favor?
[ 2010.07.20 01:10:03 ] lPrincesslEVE > pugzz ven ven
[ 2010.07.20 01:10:15 ] Pugzz > \o/ those could be real war decing word.. ven ven
[ 2010.07.20 01:10:16 ] Dryfty > I make an excellent BFF
[ 2010.07.20 01:10:23 ] Captain Leinax > gonna kill for ninja  Dryfty
[ 2010.07.20 01:10:31 ] lPrincesslEVE > ven ven
[ 2010.07.20 01:10:39 ] Pugzz > then kill him
[ 2010.07.20 01:10:48 ] Dryfty > yellow boxes don’t kill, you have to actually pull the trigger
[ 2010.07.20 01:11:06 ] Dryfty > kinda like driving, its the pedal on the RIGHT
[ 2010.07.20 01:12:02 ] Captain Leinax > come here noob, youre flagged Dryfty
[ 2010.07.20 01:12:27 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > jeeez, captain is scaring me
[ 2010.07.20 01:12:36 ] lPrincesslEVE > captain means business
[ 2010.07.20 01:12:39 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > im calling cops
[ 2010.07.20 01:12:41 ] Astaroth > captain is gonna die :S
[ 2010.07.20 01:12:49 ] PrincessLeiaOrgana > lols
[ 2010.07.20 01:13:08 ] Pugzz > PrincessLeiaOrgana  meet us at the “blue oyster bar” we can talk about the Minmatar Gay Rights League application u put in
[ 2010.07.20 01:13:09 ] Astaroth > dryfty is prolly a front for 10x ppl that will jump in on im when he opens fire

During the course of this exchange I’m obviously contacting any fellow Ninjas, of the Suddenly variety for any assistance they might render as my only combat worthy ship in the area is my patrol Rifter. Unfortunately I’ve not yet completed my certification course for the use of Tech 2 projectile weapons, so I doubted she would be up to the task of taking down a Navy Issue Megathron, which I felt certain Captain Leinax was flying.  The valiant pilots Zavulon Sukkot, Kiritsubo, and Ejidun were quickly en route to assist, but alas our antagonist had vanished from the system.  The search was on.  Finally we intercepted him coming back via the Auvergne jumpgate, but either kill rights had expired or something else had prevented my Fleetmates from gaining CONCORD sanction to melt his ship, and on top of this insult he was still flying the Cormorant!  Slightly disheartened, but anxious to further my combat training I went back and spent the rest of the cycle doing what I do best: cleaning up after others.  All was not lost though, for I believe I made a lasting impression on the young Captain Leinox.  This was later confirmed via this notification:

Captain Leinax has set their standing to terrible towards you.
“for ninja”

Alas that I can’t part as friends with those who don’t understand the value of the services we provide.  Fly safe gentle readers o/.