Freeze Frame

Alas, this so called 'real life' encroaches once more and places limitations on my yarrage. I fully intend, my friends, to continue this intrepid adventure chronicle of mine, but at a later date when I have more adventures to tell of!

The Debonair Corsair shall be with you soon, in the way fully intended.

Until that time...

It's not all chocolate boxes and roses...

And now, my good people, palaver on why sleep is your friend.

Firstly, as a veteran of sorts to this game we love if not to the yo-ho life as such, I should really have known better in the following situation.

There sat I, drifing happily in a haze of single malt and idly scanning my immediate area in my beloved Rifter, 'Betty', when I decided to make a move to a neighbouring system. Upon arrival at my intended stargate, up pops a Merlin on scanner.

'Ah ha! Fisticuffs!', think I, and rightly so, but not in the manner I had hoped.
Making the assumption that my incoming sparring partner would be up for close-range fisticuffs and sporting a fine array of blasters, I decide to load barrage into my beloved autocannons and make the attempt to keep my potentially hard-hitting but ungainly opponent at bay via canny use of my web and afterburner.

He lands on the gate, I dance carefully about his virtual person at 7km, he locks on...

(I should mention at this point that as something of a cad and bounder, I'm viewed with less than fondness on the part of Concord and flash rather splendidly in red hue.)

...and in my overeagerness for fisticuffs I fire first!

I hang my head in shame, dear readers. Had I listened to Mrs. Corsair I would have  been happily and ignorantly abed in cap and nightgown, lulled by the light breathing of my sleeping baby Corsairs. Instead, I suffer the ignonimy of dull wittedness and wither under the fire of gateguns and my opponent happily rummages through the ravaged hull of my beloved Betty.

Onwards and downwards, I say!

A Prelude

Avast ye scallywags, ne'er-do-wells, rapscallions, cads, bounders and of course you other folk who lead more respectable and less reprehensible lives.

I intend, my good patrons, with flair and debonair, a dram of glam and a portion of pizazz, to chronicle this existence of mine as a scoundrel in the universe of EvE online - sailing the seas of lowsec and quaffing copious amounts of fine liquor whilst, bow-tie carelessly unravelled and sleeves rolled up to my refined elbows, gladly engaging in fisticuffs (see fig.1) with all and sundry in the meagre hopes of turning a profit and continuing to lead the life to which I've become accustomed . . . and perhaps even having a dab of jolly good fun by the by.

So, without further ado, I present to you The Debonair Corsair: tales of gallantry (cowardice), prowess (ineptitude), and swagger as told by yours truly, Nogusha, lately of The Black Rebel Rifter Club.

I do hope that you will enjoy our time together.


I believe the correct colloquialism is 'watch this space'. Pun entirely intended.

Tally-ho!

fig. 1 'Fisticuffs'