Ten years asleep, Ten years away, Ten years without change.
A decade ago, I left the world of capsuleers to sleep my time away atop what seemed like a fortune. Billions in the bank, an armada of ships secreted away should I be called back to war and no need to lift my head up from my stupor.
Now I have returned and the universe is changed. Capsuleer empires have raised citadels the likes of which I could never had envisaged. Capsuleer titans prowl in such numbers that I have seen fleets of them plying empire space delivering death and catastrophes. Invaders from another realm have disrupted entire solar systems, pulling them deep into some deep nether.
All whilst I slept.
I should probably introduce myself.
My name is Acadir Nimroren’a. Once I commanded fleets through the stars, fighting under a banner of cross and circle. I started life as a pirate, holding travelers to ransom in Genesis in my first love, the Caracal. A ship of such sublime efficacy that I still see it, and it’s spawn the Cerberus, prowl the spaces between stars.
I remember those early days well. Sat, waiting for prey who would jump from Bherdasopt into Gonditsa. Prey who had chosen, for whatever reason, to forsake the safety of CONCORD. My first kill was a fool in a harbinger. It felt good.
Then came Sodalitas XX. An alliance of capsuleers. My allies, my friends, my family. We forged a path of blood through the stars and I learned. My skills increased, my reputation expanded and my power grew until, one day, I began to command fleets in the stars. I participated in bloody battle after bloody battle until, one day, we had secured a home.
A constellation in the lawless space beyond the reach of CONCORD. A small empire in the stars. A piece of providence to call our own and I was one of the military commanders that held it fast. We secured our borders, made ready for war and grew fat on all the profit we could extract.
Then Enemies came.
We fought again.
Until one day we were forced out. Left to flee back into the realms of the Angel Cartel. Utopia, they called it but it was far from such a place. It was a slow death. A cruel death. But still, I fought. Still, I led. Until another day came and it was too much. I left under the cover of night, stealing away in a Loki - that most advanced of ships - and could never be found again. I made my way back to the empires and went to sleep, my glories fading away in a haze of spirits.
That was YC113. It is now YC123.
Emerging into the universe after so long it is hard to know what to make of New Eden. I remember the wars of my prime and they seem so quaint when compared to the wars of this era. Alliances who could wield the power of a Titan were few and far between. Fewer still were those who would risk such ships in open combat and yet, now, news comes of another being destroyed so regularly that I am numb to it. Supercarriers, once so feared by capsuleers, are used to hunt pirates of all things. It is almost pathetic.
I think, however, that the biggest change since I secreted myself away has been the emergence of capsuleer fortresses throughout lawless space. Like boils on a diseased limb they have sprouted seemingly endlessly. I blame Upwell. Making the technology to build stations so easy, so ubiquitous, was a mistake. Space should be empty. It should not be home to humans, scurrying and spreading through it, infecting the purity of emptiness with insignificant works. Worst of all, the stations have become beacons of destruction. Of death. Each Keepstar is a strategic asset so each one must be destroyed when the invasion comes and damned are the lives of those non-capsuleers aboard.
How many millions die so that the leaders of alliances can live out their ambitions? No, I remember P6N8-J. We had one station and it was enough for our strategic purposes. There was no need for more. This is an age of excess.
And that is before I consider the Triglavians. An existential threat and the pseudo-empires in lawless space ignore it. They should have rushed back and dealt with that menace before it could steal away entire systems and - yet - they did not. Instead they continued to play their silly games.
I have picked my way through ‘Pochven’. I have seen the bones of conflict. I have even fallen prey to the fools who have sided with these invaders as I extracted what little I could from the wrecks of the poor souls that died in that hell.
So what now?
I have been picking my way back into the world, setting out alone into the depths of space such that I can build up my ISK reserves. Seeing the universe again with wearier eyes. Sometimes I even sign up when the call for mercenaries calls but I have no allegiance. Every so often I wonder, should I once again find a family? But I know, deep down, that the endless wars of the capsuleers are of no longer of interest to me. Perhaps I should never had roused myself. I should have kept myself away from the universe. But it is too late now, I am returned and I see that nothing has truly changed.
Instead, I simply fly and fight according to my own whims. Beholden to nobody.
A tired old man, too restless for peace and too jaded for war.