Ahoy, you souls who drift ‘twixt stars and doubt,
Who’ve heard too many oaths ring hollowed out.
I speak not as a king, nor prophet crowned,
But as a man who’s bled on lawless ground.
I’ve watched proud banners rise on borrowed flame,
And seen them fade when hardship called their name.
So mark me well: no empire do I claim,
No golden age, no end to loss or pain.
I fly the black for reasons older still
Than killboard pride or swollen vaults of ISK.
I sail for risk, for laughter ‘midst the fire,
For crews who choose their fate, not chains or wire.
And aye — I know full well this world’s a game,
Yet flesh and time are real behind the frame.
So let me drop the mask for but a breath:
New pilots learn too late to dance with death.
They’re taught to wait, to mine, to hold their tongue,
While joy and terror pass them by unsung.
I dared to say: Bring them to nullsec’s roar.
Let them live now — not beg for life once more.
For once, it worked. The stars themselves took note.
We grew too fast for hands upon the rope.
I steered too hard. The hull was overrun.
The crew held fast — until the storm was won… and lost.
I’ll not pretend the fault was fate alone;
I asked too much of timbers newly grown.
A captain learns, when canvas starts to tear,
That will alone cannot replace repair.
We came to Stain with fire and open hands,
To wake dead gates and blood-quiet sands.
Too few were we who’d weathered storms before,
Too many souls new-launched from safer shore.
Yet mark this truth, for here the compass points:
The dream was sound — I failed the early joints.
Given the hands, the time, the wiser pace,
I know full well this course can still be traced.
For what is Stain, if not a proving ground?
Where freedom’s price is paid in shot and sound —
Autocannons barking through the night,
And laughter earned when loss still proves us right.
I would not rule this region from a throne,
Nor paint it blue and call the silence “home.”
I’d see it live — with wrecks and rookies bold,
With half-true tales and legends yet untold.
Let thousands pass through fire and burning gate;
Not all shall stay — nor must they tempt that fate.
But all shall learn to fleet, to fight, to roam,
And leave these stars more skilled than when they’d come.
If some depart for blocs or distant wars,
They’ll do so knowing nullsec’s teeth and scars.
That, to my mind, is victory enough:
We forged true pilots — tempered, scarred, and tough.
Now hear me, you whose hands are scarred and sure,
Who’ve led through loss and learned how crews endure:
I seek no lords, no kings with brittle pride,
But shipwrights keen to stand here at my side.
Quartermasters of people, not of gold;
Teachers who know when firmness must be bold.
Help me make ready what once sailed too fast —
A steadier hull, built now to last.
And captains fair who keep their banners free,
Who’d join a cause yet bend not knee to me:
Your holds, your rules, your course remain your own.
Stand with us — not beneath, nor overthrown.
No taxes here. No empire’s creeping chain.
Just pirates sworn to keep nullsec profane —
Dangerous, loud, and fiercely alive,
Where new-cut crews can dare, and fail, and thrive.
If this reads folly, let it pass you by.
If it rings true — then send a hail, and try.
The stars grow dull when only old ghosts roam.
I mean to give them life… and call it home.
If EVE’s grown cold, it’s not the stars’ decree —
The fault lies here, with you… and aye, with me.
So dream it loud. Make danger fun once more.
Come help us wake New Eden’s sleeping roar.
If EVE’s grown cold, it’s not the stars’ decree —
The fault lies here, with you… and aye, with me.
Then dream again. Let danger rule the day.
Come make this sandbox live, and choose to play.
We’ll bleed, we’ll laugh, we’ll light the dark once more,
And teach the stars what they were forged for.
My Discord does match my name here.
There or ingame you can find my willing ear.
-Cattraknoff,
Pontifex Piraticus Maximus of the Church of Space Piracy,
Prophet of the Gospel of Booty,
Keeper of the Black Creed,
and Dread High Admiral of the Disciples of Space Piracy.