Sure, there are some items that I hold dear. And there are some stories to them. Soz, they got longer, than I planned initially, especially the strange one, but I hope you’re not in a hurry)
Well, the Stripes of Fury is an obvious one. The day we conquered Gebuladi felt glorious indeed. My brother landed a final blow on Supreme Commander Jebi’s battleship which we ritually destroyed afterwards. He evacuated all of the crew of course (at least I hope so). But the victory itself also felt kind of pyrrhic - most of our capsuleer adversaries left the warzone so the resistance we faced assaulting last few systems was miniscule. But then again, it was the same with Minmatar Militia back in 116.12 when Amarr got their medal - big blobs of skilled pilots finally decided they’ve had enough and retired. So we were left there, just a handful of green rookies with glowing eyes led by a few burnt-out veterans in desperate attempts to slow down the enevitable. And there were turncoats among enemy ranks, former Minmatar loyalists with their names highlighted orange by IFF giggling on us in Arnstur local when the final hub went down. That dark feeling of helpless anger and despair lingered in me throughout the next 2 years, fueling my rage and occasionally backfiring on my comrades when I thought they weren’t trying hard enough. So it’s not for the victory, but rather for those harsh times - the defeat and the slow rebuilt leading to a long and weary counter-offensive - that I wear the Stripes with pride. And it is a keepsake for those few indestructible friendships that formed back then.
Off with those bittervet sentiments, there’s a couple more things that I keep around for good memories.
"Odd Vector’s Tristan" - as the name suggests she’s a Tristan class frigate given to me by Odd Vector, the leader of Ghosts of Deep Space alliance. I don’t think that it was him who invented this very popular and effective fitting, which was our main working horse throughout the whole push, but it is him whom I still consider the very image of a competent FC and a true guerilla warfare master. Always calm and cool, no matter the circumstances, and not reluctant to enforce discipline when it’s needed - in the same calm and efficient manner.
"Electrogypsy S-Type" - that’s a funny one, a Slasher class frigate with a full rack of T1 salvagers. A memory of my first days as a capsuleer, when I decided that I’ll pay for my first licence extension with my own isk and went scavenging. At first I was scanning down sole battleships in highsec space and salvaging wrecks of the pirate ships they blow up on their missions. Then I found an easier way without probing - huge fleets of bounty hunters responding to sansha incursions - these I started following around. They seemed kinda annoyed by a stray dog tagging along but didn’t really mind it seemed. Not until one of their own ships got blown up and a ridiculously expensive gun remained intact in their wreck. It remained there for a very brief moment, and my little Slasher, now flagged suspect, didn’t linger on grid much longer. That was the payday, although that particular Slasher did die to a bounty hunter’s throwaway Catalyst, when I tried to see what happens if keep following that fleet. But I used to have a few of them around.
Forgive me, @Valerie_Valate, but bones and knives are following. Again 
A scale model of a Griffin class frigate of old design, with the bridge section on her port side. Carved of a bone of a sea beast native to Arnstur V by the hands of a certain someone who ended up siring two kids with me. The peculiar thing about it is that long before we even met I killed that man’s brother. Twin brother, identical. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to kill him. It took me quite some courage to show up at his funeral and what I carried to his pyre was a model of a Shamrock which I carved of eszurean soapstone. There were images of that ship in some “outlaws and mercs” kind of mag I used to read as a teenager, that was love on first sight when I’ve seen them. Right now I don’t quite remember, why exactly I chose that as an offering, but years later, without knowing of this offering, the twin brother of the one I murdered gave me the same thing - a model of his favorite ship made of materials from his homeworld. That’s quite a long story with the Spirits and their mysterious ways heavily involved. Maybe I’ll tell more of it one day.
A Kri’tak knife from my days in the military. Those were a bit less days than expected, but the knife - I managed to keep. “Bloody Bi↑ch” says the engraving on the handle. And it’s stained with blood, aye. The blood of people responsible for abduction and subsequent murder of my mother. There was a mole in our clan, a traitor rather - one of our own. There was a whole infiltration op going on against us - our clan was formed during The Great Rebellion and was a thorn in amarrian holders’ arses ever since. Not to so much directly involved in the raids in the recent decades, but harboring freedom fighters, supplying them and other shenanigans of sort. So mom got very close to exposing that traitor - by accident, apparently - heard or saw what she wasn’t meant to. So that scum took her hostage and fled aboard her ship. She managed to escape after a while. But they were tracking her. A Dramiel class frigate blapped her already damaged ship in a single volley and zoomed away seconds before my dad, gramps and uncle landed on grid to save her. So at that day she took those bastards’ dirty secret with her in her final journey. But my kin found them eventually, during The Elder War, all in one place luckily enough. The fate brought us together to rend some justice upon those who were plotting against our clan and that one who betrayed his kin. My dad took my knife and carved our clan tats way deeper into the traitor’s skull. Then my uncle did the same to the captain of that Dramiel, a civire bodygaurd of the holder behind this. And then they let me do the same to the holder himself. That grim story is not a memory I find pleasant - revenge is served cold as they say and it doesn’t give peace by itself but it does bring closure, plus there were other details in that event that I’m not that happy about. But I keep that knife as a memo of where I come from and who my enemies are.
Funny thing, I almost lost it once. Willingly threw out of an airlock actually. Shortly after my first license extension. I had a bit of an ideological crisis back then and almost joined State Protectorate. An old friend of mine, someone who often gives me spiritual advice, explained to me that it’s expectable for people to lose their spiritual connection and start questioning their beliefs when they experience death and rebirth via cloning but the herbs and other medications are there to help us. So as I was on my way to see the SPROT recruiter, figure out if I wanna join or not, my nav computer goes a bit funny and lands me out of warp way further off the gate than it should - as if the ship was on autopilot, but even further, more than a hundred km away. And I see a corpse floating around closeby. I grow curious and scoop it. And he turns out to be alive. I grow curious enough to set course for the docking perimeter of the closest station and get out of podgoo to see what’s up myself. It was a man I never met before or ever after, a vherokior, covered in thin ice and dressed in - well, not rags, but something you’d expect a citizen of nowhere to wear - cargo pants, sweater, some kind of poncho - not even a pressure suit or any fancy tech. And there were no wrecks or debris that I’ve noticed where I found him. He seemed perfectly healthy, in a trance of sort, visibly suffering from cold but showing no signs of radiation or decompression traumae. As he was gradually coming to his senses he seemed to try to say something. Then he finally snaps out of it and yells at me angrily: “Doncha ya litter around, dumbass!” - and takes out my knife and literally forces it into my hand. The same knife, with the same engraving, and a few dents I recognize. Stunned, as I am, I only manage to babble something like -“Thanks. Eh. Are you alright? What can I do for you?” -“I’m cold as ■■■■ don’t ya see that?! I need a drink. I’m going to that bar over there. And doncha follow me, fool, go where you’re going to!” And he disembarks and walks away in the direction of nearest bar, grumping curses to himself - “Capsuleer my ass”- and such. I crawl back into my pod and replot the course to the nearest TLF station. As wild as it sounds, I’ve got kinda used to bizzarre events happening to me every now and then since my Voluval and upto my early capsuleer career - I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe 
But this episode was one of those, when I questioned my perception of reality, even though I clearly wasn’t dreaming or tripping at that time.
