Sometimes I get it into my head that I am an awesome PvP-er, solo stalker, amazing pilot who wins with raw guile, smarts and superior scanning and scouting skills. I am mistaken in this but it pleases me to live this fantasy for a few days and pretend I am all that I am not. When the wanderlust becomes unbearable, my two characters deliberately lock themselves out of our home hole and drift with our static hole like ants trapped in a soap bubble.
My last such adventure started just as such, I found a lovely C3 with activity and brought in my cloaky proteus (now fit with Shadow Serpentis Warp Scrambler, damn those stabs on the Epithals!) plus my rainbow Falcon and I waved my corp mates bye-bye as my own hole expires in a unspectacular puff. I am on my own. Time to make myself comfortable. The chain is scanned down, I have a high sec route and am chatting to my fleet mates. I wait for action.
Nothing. I am bored. Its game night and nothing is happening in this hole. Over TeamSpeak, I hear our C5 crew getting pew, baiting a C6 team cleverly while fending off some wannabes from high sec. Shots are exchanged. I want in. The static connection from my temporary home is still good, so out I jump, 14 jumps across high sec space and a couple of quiet jumps into low before the team escorts me in (can I haz Alliance BMs, please?). I am in the hole but apparently, things have calmed down now, its late and I park myself at a safe spot and log off.
The next day, nothing much happens and I pack my bags (forgetting my Interdiction Nullifer subsystem that normally lives in my cargo hold), quietly sneak out to empire space again where I must be careful not to lock and shoot anything that lands on grid with me. I feel like a hillbilly coming to town for the first time, shotgun in hand. People! Doing normal stuff, haulers, miners, juicy targets all of them. The Concord Police captains eyes me with suspicion, his hand slowly moving to the holster. My gunnery crew is clenching their teeth. Wormholers have no friends. They have targets.
Well, ok. I don’t belong here. This excursion has yielded naught and local channel scares me. May as well go home, my team is running sites and makes lots of iskies.
Well, the way back is barred, my team hasn’t opened their static in order to – drumroll – mine. We are a mixed corp with pvp aspirations but several of our members seek their riches in rocks and they pay the same corp fee as I do so there is nothing to it. I log off in a station somewhere, have my character take a shower and likely a shag (he is Gallente) and log off for the night.
The next day brings me a lovely route to my home hole, something nuts like 20 jumps all through null, low or whatever space isn’t safe. Oh well, the vagrancies of Wormhole Life. I better start scanning for something to do. My toons set a route to a High Sec area that I know to be devoid of people and I scan myself a lovely chain across a variety of C1s, C2s, C3s. My empire exits are inevitably useless apart from one, it lands in a HS pocket surrounded by lots of low sec and chock full with signatures and anomalies. Rich, rich pickings if I ever need to go solo again. It has stations, services and all of the trappings that High Sec has but no people. I can get easily in / out via WH space and nobody here to bother me. But not today.
I get back into my chain, enter a promising C2 and jump through its static C1, then to its static low sec, skip across the road into a C3, then a C4 where I see a PI hauler making his rounds. No intel, no tactical knowledge, no idea who they are and I plant my Proteus on top of him. But between my decloak and targeting delay, the hauler pulls away from the POCO and aligns, warps off just as I lock him. Damn! Not warp stabs this time, this guy must have Nanos in the lows, he aligned with the speed of a destroyer or cruiser, certainly not with that of an industrial hauler. There is something broken about these specialized ships, I don’t think I have caught a single one yet and PI-hauling Iterons used to be my staple.
Well, cover blown, I hike back through the chain to the promising C2 I mentioned earlier. I decide to hang out for the night and see what almighty Bob will send me tomorrow…
(to be continued)