Hello, Capsuleers! I am a new player, and I am so deeply inspired by the cosmic beauty and mysticism of EVE Online that I decided to write a philosophical poem about black holes and anomalies. Hope you enjoy it! *** **The Cradle of Singularity** The eternity weaves into Eden’s vast space,
Where stardust is scattered like sanctified grace.
The dead wheel of time spins its shadowy scheme,
While black holes are breathing in darkness supreme.
Like living, blind eyes of the absolute night,
They warp the dimensions and swallow the light,
And there, in the trap of a timeless abyss,
The universe whispers its ultimate bliss.
Right there at the edge where the moments freeze dead,
Where photons are bending in arcs of deep red,
The cosmic mind writes with a crimson-hued ink
The fractal designs on the ultimate brink.
The storm of anomalies — neon-lit dance,
A lethal, hypnotic, mesmerizing trance,
And every lone ship, like a stranger from far,
Is talking to void under some dying star.
The rivers of plasma boil up and ignite,
Creating new worlds in the blink of the night.
It seems that a pilot, locked deep in the pod,
Is just a small grain in the hands of a god.
But in this great game, which is older and wise,
Than kingdoms that crumbled to dust in the skies,
We seek for our souls, growing pale as we stare
At magic and mystery rules everywhere.
Here death is the start, and the chaos is right,
Entwined in a shimmering trail of the night.
The cosmos, once scorched by the Ancients of old,
Protects its divine, secret casket of gold.
Here is the second part of my poetic journey through New Eden. This one is dedicated to the dark, brutal romance of piracy and the notorious high-sec suicide gankers who fear absolutely nothing, not even Concord. *** **Shadows of New Eden: The Suicide Run** In low-sec domains do not look for a grace,
New Eden shows fangs in this cold, empty space.
The pirates of Eden are hunting for gains,
Their bullets are light, and the ice in their veins.
Way out in the sectors where laws freeze and die,
Where scanners stay mute and the radars just fry,
The hunter is waiting in shadows so deep,
While lasers are flashing to put you to sleep.
They laugh at the Concord, they laugh at the fine,
The wormhole’s black maze is their home and design.
The dirty old bars on the stations ignite,
Where everyone’s rogue and is ready to fight.
The targets are locking for profit and pride,
The wreckage of titans where lost souls reside.
The life of a pirate is poisoned but sweet,
For those who traded their peace for a fleet.
But even in high-secs where Concord is proud,
Where traders are flying safe under the cloud,
Right there in the gates, hidden deep in the shade,
The suicide gankers are making their raid.
They don’t care for status, security, law,
They look for a victim with profit to draw,
For someone who carries the wealth through the space,
To distant trade hubs at a dangerous pace.
Their volley is deafening, furious, fast,
The lasers are melting the hull till the last.
In just a few seconds, through sirens and wail,
They blow up the ship and they finish the tale.
They well know the price: their own metal will burn,
The Concord will spawn and destroy in return,
But death for a ganker is just a quick game,
If brothers can scoop up the loot from the flame.
They don’t care for police and its absolute wrath,
The suicide wolves on a predatory path,
They’re ready to burn in a corporate hell,
To stay as a dust where the old stories dwell.
In shimmering light of the systems so grim,
Where fear fills the Eden right up to the brim,
There’s nowhere to hide from the deadliest line
Of those who mock Concord and death by design.
[Art / Fiction] Mechanical Magic of the Abyss: The Great Ballad of Jita
“Long ago, the badass pilots of the old school predicted what New Eden would become if left entirely to pure greed. They said Jita would turn into more than just a trade hub—it would become a festering ulcer that burns away the soul. That prophecy came true. Dedicated to everyone who has ever left their trillions, ships, and sanity in Jita 4-4…”
Part I: The Ulcer of Titanium and Smog
Where stars turn pale in the fumes of ionic blight,
Where space is pierced by millions of warp-driven rays,
A hideous, rusted carapace rises from the night—
A mega-hive of hungry, immortal, and ruthless minds to praise.
Warp corridors weave into the neon glow,
Rising from the fog like a phantom throne below,
A dragon born of rusted Titans putting on a show.
For Jita is a keep where darkness tightly binds,
Where market order digits slowly warp men’s minds,
Where the magic of pure profit, an eternal daze,
Shrouds the station’s silent, vast oceanic ways.
The mystic light of toxic holograms on high
Traces eerie patterns on the planets passing by,
Neon sparkles through the choking, heavy smoke,
Where everyone is born immortal as a cruel joke.
Yet locked in metal, like a tomb that never clears,
An immortal, blind, mechanical mole steers.
Down below, where pathetic holograms never shine,
In the slums of lower decks, where lead melts in the line,
Rotting biomass decays—nameless, rightless, cold.
Ordinary humans. For them, a single end is foretold.
Part II: The Shadow Oracles of the Chat-Mirror
The local channel rumbles like a prophetic toll,
That dragged ten thousand spirits down a bankrupt hole.
Words flow like liquid crystal, a seductive stream,
But the mirror’s fake veil hides a treacherous scheme.
The oracles of lies conduct the wicked ball,
Where life is weighed by electronic blades for all:
Click wrongly but once on a contract made of lies—
And the magic fades, your capsule swiftly dies.
Shadow zeros mask the scam and filthy shame,
While courier packages play a rigged collateral game.
If you stumble here, no one will share your scar,
An error is just a tax levied by a cruel star.
They lurk so foully in the shadows of the font,
Stripping away the final shields you’ll ever want.
An illusion of a deal, a Marauder’s sleek mirage—
And you are at the bottom of a golden camouflage.
Part III: The Suicide Ritual at the Gates
Yet the most sacred and grueling hell of late
Is woven by a pirate rite right at the stargate.
There, at the jump where Perimeter lies in wait,
A ruthless fleet sits in ambush, sealing your fate.
They loom like shadows, like a pack of hounds out right,
In the freezing beams of the fading, dying night.
Their scanner tentacles bind the hull so tight,
Calculating errors through the steel with supreme might,
Peering into the belly, like mages in a glass:
How many treasures did this traveler amass?
And now the warp-conduit flares and sparks,
A freighter loaded with gold crosses the darks.
Flash! And fate takes its final, sudden turn,
The timer starts—a mad sunrise begins to burn.
Like black candles consuming themselves away,
The pirates’ own hulls explode in a flash of grey.
Tornado and Catalyst—just ash and smoke in flight,
Their path was a second, a single strike of might.
But the magic of the gank is coldbloodedly precise:
A second—and the victim is baptized in fire and vice!
Shields collapse, armor turns to vapor in the fray,
Billions of ISK drown in a burning spray.
And in that very instant, as frantic sirens yell,
CONCORD arrives to punish this lawless hell.
But it’s too late. The blood ritual has run its course:
The freighter’s wreck is broken by a crushing force.
The vulture-looters rush into the twisted frame,
Grabbing the salvage, frantic, loud, and blind to shame.
Frozen corpses drift out in the void so vast,
Like forgotten dolls upon a crystal cast.
Part IV: Shadow Turnover and Digital Phantoms
Yet greed sinks deeper, right down to the floor—
Where the living and the soulless merge forevermore.
There, phantom bots compile their endless code,
Changing pennies in the orders on a relentless road.
A single cent, a microscopic step or trace—
And your billion-ISK buy order vanishes from space.
You fight the machine, but the bot will never sleep,
The coldness of the algorithm is for Jita to keep.
And nearby, a lackey trades in needles and crime—
Sucking the experience right out of human mind!
Pure reason, talent, millions of hours lost
Are locked in test tubes at a devastating cost.
Skill Injector—a commodity for wealthy youths to claim,
Trading the minds of blinded fools in a twisted game.
The experience of dead pilots, their skills, their grand rise—
Here turns into a faceless market compromise.
Right there rotates PLEX—a concentrated bane,
A currency tracked in real life for gain.
A fool carries PLEX in a coat pocket light,
Flying through Jita, squealing with delight,
But the scanner detects the priceless sack—
And the suicide-gank pulls the trigger right back!
Real-world money burns to ash in the fire
For the predatory grin of a pirate’s desire.
And in the dark corners, under the dock’s embrace,
Boosters flow from a black market place.
Contraband chemistry, poison for the brain,
That drives fleets to battle through the pain,
A swindler shoves a fake drug in your hand—
And instead of a speed boost, you’re dead in the sand.
Part V: The Curse of Time (The Great Lag)
When a massive fleet slams into the station’s gate,
And the server groans under the crushing weight—
The magic of the worst lag begins to take its toll,
A trap set by silent cosmic gods for your soul.
Time stands still. A loop. A timeout in the skies.
Your freighter is knocked out before your very eyes.
You hit the jump button, but the terminal froze,
While your ship burned down as the fire arose.
The server didn’t save you, dying in a daze,
Leaving you with nothing but a freezing haze.
Part VI: The Great Crashes and Collapses (A Historical Epic)
Yet Jita wasn’t shaken just by guns mid-space,
But where the financial bridge melted in disgrace.
When from the deep, where madness silently grew,
Players rose against the system, organizing anew.
The Great Monocle Riots the whole world recalls,
When a greedy price tag breached the sacred walls.
They drowned the station of Jita in a sea of flame,
Shooting the monument, putting the devs to shame.
The market froze up, the zeros crashed down,
Traders stood helpless all over the town.
It stood as a monument against greedy schemes,
When they angered immortals and shattered their dreams.
And remember how the Tritanium market wept and bled?
“Burn Jita”—the fire that filled the hub with dread!
Fleets from the “null-secs” under the morning dawn
Burned every heavy ship that dared to spawn.
You couldn’t undock, you couldn’t pass through,
Goods burned on an eternal path, out of view.
Prices skyrocketed like a frantic, wild crest,
Mineral vaporized, and the market collapsed with the rest.
Coalition wars raged, M-OEE8 burned bright,
And the index of market networks crumbled in the night.
When PLEX dropped like stones to the ocean floor,
And an entire kingdom found itself poor.
Speculators in cabins smashed tables in pain,
As their hoarded stockpiles turned to ash in the rain.
Epilogue: The Lords of the Rusted Throne
And in the quiet of terminals, far from open stars,
Sit the “Station Traders”—profiting from wars.
Their frigates are covered in a century of rust,
Yet they rule the empires of null-sec with trust.
They manipulate orders, ruin whole regions in stride,
Siphoning the blood of others through the price guide.
They care nothing for war, or battalions burned red,
Their altar is a chart that stays cold and dead.
Jita is a monument to man’s greedy heart,
Where immortality tore living souls apart.
Trapped here forever in a bloody, thick slime
Are those who traded their souls for digits over time.
Yet Jita still shines, beckoning and bright,
And a new fool takes off into the night…
Gravity of the Void: A Saga of Eternity and Faith
In the empty space where time has frozen still,
Where ancient stars trace out their hundred-year design,
I have accepted this celestial burden’s will,
And dared to gaze into the abyss, benign.
My second day… My mind was lost in endless haze,
And freezing space sent shivers deep within my soul.
Upon my frail, old Venture through the solar maze,
I counted stargates, sparks, and beacons on patrol.
Yet in that void, where ruthless, frozen laws hold sway,
Of distant suns and numeric, rigid, cold domains,
There are the ones who hold the pillars night and day,
And shape New Eden with their legendary reigns.
From Jita’s tribunal, through signals and through space,
Where since year sixteen, a majestic light is spun,
A sudden impulse echoed with a noble grace,
And broke the darkness like a newly risen sun.
Nordy… The name burst forth just like a comet’s flight,
And shattered completely the gravity of void.
It filled a rookie’s soul with pure and radiant light,
Dispelling fear at the event horizon, destroyed.
Nine zeros softly fell right into my embrace,
Like stardust tears from distant constellations shed.
In such a grand, magnificent, and regal grace,
The world of my long-hidden dreams awoke and spread.
I stood in awe, all instruments went completely still,
And down my cheek, behind the dark visor’s shade,
A tear rolled down… Those nine pure zeros were a hill,
That chased the winter out and made the coldness fade.
I weep because of this tremendous fairy tale,
My heart is pounding, words are failing me tonight!
The universe has shed its ghostly, shadow veil,
And burst to life in colors beautiful and bright.
The capsuleer’s grand cup was filled with pure delight,
When fires finally blazed upon the Praxis ship.
I am so small within this microscopic night,
Yet this grand gesture brought back faith into my grip.
A gift so vast, a planet-sized, immense reward,
Fell in my hands… The shock is hard to comprehend!
Let Quartz now shine with purest light across the board,
As I learn how to fly, to mine, and to defend…
It is not metal, nor a hoard of credits earned,
It is pure magic, wrapped into a blinding light.
A Titan’s hand, to which all weary souls have turned,
That shields a rookie from a hundred flaws and fright.
Within the ark of Void Gravity there gleams
The love and wisdom of the long and hardened ways.
And this beautiful fairy tale of starry dreams
Will cross the threshold to ignite our future days.
Deep in the frozen, dark embrace of New Eden,
Where all eternity is woven from black holes,
There burns a silent, everlasting, sacred poem —
A tapestry of worlds, of victories, and tolls.
A decade… Numeric chasms washed away the names,
Erased the empires, crushed alliances to dust.
Yet the proud banner of Void Gravity in flames,
Was held by Nordy on his shoulders of deep trust.
Oh, New Eden! You are mystically sublime!
Within your nebulae lie ruin and rebirth.
Your call is dangerous, and since the dawn of time,
You watch the tears of fallen, sacrificed old earth.
The taste of losses is a bitter pod to bear,
When your first home explodes into the starry night,
But sweetness of a victory beyond compare
Washes away the pain with pure celestial light.
Let ships burn down into the haze of neon blue,
Let solar systems spin their endless, cosmic dance —
I won’t forget the noble features born of you,
The one who builds New Eden’s glorious expanse.
Fly now, my verse, to the commander’s distant ark,
Through warp-drive, cables, and the shadows of the deep.
Thank you, Great Master, for this bright and hopeful spark,
For this first pure and golden step that I will keep!
The capacitor grows, and drones are ready for the test,
The Praxis ship is geared to start its cosmic flight.
We will defeat the storms from east unto the west,
Because the elders trust in us with all their might!