Leela

Ryven glanced across the table to the younger woman, her hair short and dyed red and black.  Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses similar to his own.  She was a Sebiestor woman of about 30.  He had known her for well over a decade.  She was one of his favorite informants.  Things were now different, however.  This was the first time he had ever seen her in person, and he found himself suddenly very attracted to her.  She had a certain vibrance about her, and a no-nonsense look in her eyes.  He found himself wanting nothing more than to keep the conversation going as long as possible. 
"So, Leela, what you're saying is, you need my help?"
Her eye line softened. "Yes.  That's what I've been getting at for the past ten minutes."
She had a problem.  Her father was a rather wealthy man, by Republic standards.  He had placed his daughter on house arrest for the past month or so, but she finally managed to escape.  However, she couldn't stay away for long, since she knew he would come looking for her and had far more resources than she did.
"So, what do you need me to do?"
She sat there silently for a few moments before finally responding. "I need you to kick my father's ass.  I need you to beat the shit out of him so bad he figures out he can't control me anymore."
Ryven responded. "I think I know a few ways we can accomplish this." He took a drag of his cigarette. "First, I'll handle your father."
She looked at him curiously. "Secondly?"
"Secondly, I know a way to keep him off your shit forever."
"Anything else?"
"We need to talk payment."
"Okay, what's it going to cost me?"
He grinned widely. "How about a date?"

The Imperial Outlaws

So, I am no longer a knight.  I suppose that change of state should be accompanied by some sort of solemnity or mourning, but in truth, I don't feel much differently.  I am still fighting for the Empire, which I am making a bid to gain actual citizenship with.  I am still flying with Shalee and Eran.  Furthermore, I am now a member of something new and vastly more exciting than the Knighthood.

Imperial Outlaws is what we are named.  Essentially, the basic ideal is to fight for the Empire whilst not being restrained by needless sentiments.  We fight by whatever means necessary.  Not only that, but, they have made me the diplomat.  I have always enjoyed diplomacy.  Well, at least my form of it, which is usually akin to simply pissing people off or using my wit to alleviate tension.  Either way, it should be a lot of fun.  I am looking forward to the future and what it may hold.

In other news, I also have focused some efforts and am now producing both tobacco and tea products for use on our planetside manor, Cerra Manor on Huola planet VII.  I do hope these items get use by our guests, which have been somewhat infrequent so far.

Eulogy

Willem Magistratus entered the spacious public hall of Mercy's Keep and looked around, drawing a deep sigh. Desolate, the halls stood empty, the whistling of the frigid wind the only sound. He walked behind the empty bar and poured himself a strong athra ale, then decided to make it a double.
Willem downed his tall glass of ale and gasped. Athra ale is not meant to be drunk like light beer. Willem shook off the drink and looked around, spotting a door to the keep that is usually guarded but for some reason was no longer.
Willem approached the chapel door and laid his hand upon it before pushing through to the chapel.
The hallowed feel of the chapel was amplified by its stark emptiness. The walls echoed his footsteps as he approached the Icon of the Empress and kneeled.
"O lady." He began, prayer like. "Lady."
He solemnly placed his hands together.
"This is our humble house for our fallen knights. Knights who have fallen in battle. Knights who have perished in your great cause."
He gasped loudly before tearfully yelling, "WHERE ARE THEY? Why have they abandoned you?"
Willem choked and wiped his tears away.
"This place of holiness,ABANDONED!" His anger swelled. "By the knights who swore to protect it."
Ryven Krennel entered the Keep, puzzled by the sounds within.
Willem collapsed, grief and ale taking their toll.
Ryven, now alarmed, quickly walked toward the sounds, spying the collapsed form of Willem. Ryven sighed, his expression soft, and kneeled to help Willem up. He felt sympathy for his comrade, a fellow man of the faith.
Ryven spoke softly. "You really shouldn't try to drown sorrow." Ryven frowned "You can't do so without drowning yourself."
"Ahh ryven," Willem spoke from the floor. "This is a challenge to my faith. A challenge i might now survive only if could forget it. This will live with me a long time."
Ryven gave Willem a look of sympathy. "I know this is hard for you."
Willem gasped and choked a silent thanks before trying to stand, but found Athra ale denied him the ability.
Ryven sat down on the floor next to Willem, letting his eyes soak in the majesty of the place.
"This place was pretty special."
Willem replied " I had always envisioned that THIS was the center of our keep. That HERE would be our heart and soul."
Ryven shook his head. "The center of the keep, of the knighthood, has always been its people."
Willem gazes at the icon of the Empress. "And her. How I love her."
Ryven continued. "And beyond that, the dream."
[ 2011.10.10 00:43:45 ] Willem drunkenly looked at the Empress Icon.
"Is she not beautiful? Is she not worth dying for?"
Ryven chuckled a little. "Well, of course she is." He laughed. "Which is why I do it regularly."
"Where are her protectors Ryven?"
"We're still here." He paused as Willem choked out another sob. "We've just changed our location somewhat."
Willem asked. "Who will deconsecrate this place when it is empty? Will we just let this place linger, without protection?"
"I doubt it. I can't really say. That is up to its owners."
Willem gasped, his eyes wide. "And if the minnies come here?"
He sobbed even more.
"Here? At the heart of the Throne Worlds? I imagine, if that happens, I'll have bigger concerns in mind than whether they mess up the artwork." Ryven frowned darkly.
Willem continued. "Without us...without the knights... we are a front line defense!" He crescendoed, "FRONT LINE! With us shattered who will take up our mantle?
"Willem, we are hardly the only ones. And, I'm sure you're aware, a fair number of us are still going to be on the front lines."
"Who, Ryven? Who? You dont mean those self serving capsuleers out there who only care about stats and isk do you? THEY dont care about HER!"
Willem pointed emphatically to the to the Icon.
Ryven responded calmly. "Am I one of those who care only for stats and ISK?"
"No, Ryven, else you wouldnt be here."
"And yet, I am no longer under the auspices of this Order."
Willem stared down at the polished and sighed.
"The truth is, Willem, that the Knighthood is more than this hall." Ryven gestured at the icon. "Just as the Empress is more than that icon. It's an ethos. It's an idea. And ideas don't die when you stop paying the rent."
Willem suddenly looked determined. "Get me out of here, Ryven. You're right."
Willem tried to stand but still could, so Ryven rose and helped him stand.
Ryven asked him, "You going to be okay?"
He replied. "I must take my love for her out there. Out there...to them."
Ryven smiled. "That's the spirit. Now, let's get out of here, and we can both deliver some tough love to the heathen, eh?"
"Agreed. Thanks, my friend."
Willem leaned on Ryven as they exited together, Ryven laughing.
"Don't mention it." He said, and entered the cold Athran night.

Dreams Too Lofty

The Knighthood was founded on a dream, a lofty one. The goal was a chivalrous order of knightly warriors serving the Empire by defending its holdings. It was a noble dream, and like all such dreams, it begins to erode in the hands of people. Ideas are perfect. People are not. People corrupt ideas. Further, ideas are simply ideas. The harsh world of reality illuminates the failings of these ideas. When these raisons d'etre fail to accept reality as it is, they must either adapt or break.

I don't know what doomed the Knighthood. I only know that those hallowed halls are now closed and Aldrith is silent and absent. But, I have followed several of my brethren to a new organization, one not founded solely on ideals, but upon goals firmly based in the real.

Reflections

As the years have passed, I have had time to reflect. One of the issues that troubled me was why I was so intent on murdering Titus's only offspring. The truth is, I hated who and what I was whilst simultaneously reveling in it. I blamed the Haijikioten blood for my ruthless savagery and saw the Haijikioten line in need of eradication. Self-preservation was a strong instinct, so I decided not to have any children of my own, and sought to ensure Titus and I were the last of our line. With Titus gone, I became the last scion of a lineage of thieves, killers, and renegades; a prince of evil seed.
Then one day I decided to end the pointless killing and give myself to a higher purpose. I recognize that while my talents lay in the field of bloody violence, those talents can serve something greater. The Haijikioten curse can be lifted and has. Now I am a Krennel, founder of a lineage. Now, I wonder if perhaps I do want a child.
Haijikiotens were often orphans. I am a capsuleer. Surely any child of mine wouldn't need to fear orphanhood. Haijikiotens are savages. Krennels are warriors. Surely I could teach my child the difference.

The J.D. Gaffa Days - Blood Moon Legion

Ryven joined J.D. Gaffa, Inc. in hopes of increasing his financial stability. He became CEO after an extremely short period of time, but had trouble adjusting to the humdrum of life in Empire Space. He engineered entry into the New Eden Commonwealth Alliance, which brought some action, due to a short war against End of the Line, where he gained his first real experience commanding a fleet, and the war was won quickly. The alliance fell apart, however, and Ryven searched for a new one, which he found, in Night's Dawn. He established two starbases in Geminate and gained Sovereignty in a small system. This was only temporary. Mostly Harmless and Wildly Innapropriate invaded, and JDGI suffered some heavy losses. Ryven grew despondent after leaving ND. He resorted to frequent piracy, and after moving to Balle, simply gave up his role as CEO and went into seclusion for eight months, his own demons eating at him. He finally emerged from his seclusion and wandered about until a fellow from Blood Moon Legion passed through the area looking for recruits to help fight Pandemic Legion and IT Alliance in the north.

BML was a component of Tactical Narcotics Team Alliance, a subsidiary of the Deklein Coalition of Alliances. He was revived and fell into a frenzy of violent activity. The massive fleet engagements stimulated him, and he found destroying PL's capital assets to be exhilirating. Eventually IT fell, and BML had a crisis of identity. A change came over Ryven. He felt the need for absolution, and he didn't know why. Nonetheless, he left the north and journeyed down to Amarr to seek entry into the Knighthood of the Merciful Crown.

Null-Sec, Entrepreneurship, Betrayal

YC110-Early 111
Ryven was adrift, listless, bruised and weary. Capsuleerdom meant he got to experience death frequently, and it was always moderately unpleasant. He had been free of the Academy for only a few weeks when he suffered his first death. A pirate destroyed his Ibis and subsequently podded him. He felt a sharp pain as his pod vaporized, and the sensation of being stretched across an inconceivable distance before reawakening in his new clone, groggy and pissed off. Then came his first corporation, an abortion of a merc venture that saw him running lots of missions for Home Guard and Spacelane. The frenzy of murder for profit. Then his business partners, Katurn and Red Kai, gallente and Jin-Mei respectively, convinced him to join Xercore with them. This was a short period culminating in an expensive and poorly outfitted loss of Red's Hyperion and the trio's ejection from the corp.
They then joined FCUK, a subdivision of Liberty Alliance, which had just made a hegemonic pushed into the Pure Blind Region. Ryven got a taste for capsuleer combat sitting in ambush on the EC-P8R/Torrinos stargate in a Crow or a Drake. He enjoyed living in P2-TTL and the mentorship of his friend, Shock Ryder. All good things come to an end.
IRON attacked, an act of betrayal. Ryven undocked his Drake from the P2 station and was quickly destroyed. Starbase gunners manned their turrets as hundreds of ships poured into the system. Ryven contracted all of his goods to another capsuleer, Baron Nerus, to be carried out of the Region. Liberty was evacuating. Ryven hopped in his Crow and headed out of Pure Blind through the long route to Nonni.
Ryven left Liberty a few days later to follow Shock Ryder to the Arrow Project, a member of Morsus Mihi. His combat record from this period is empty. He focused on gaining capital by killing pirates in lonely dead end systems in Tribute. His life was quieter and he was slowly growing tired of his Morsus comrades. So, they left to fight Band of Brothers in the South, and Ryven left to join some capsuleers in J. D. Gaffa, where he would supposedly make a lot of money.

Scorched Earth

Can a scarred heart ever really heal? For years, I have carried the oppressive burden of my past sins, the guilt of which slashed at my heart and bound me in a tailspin toward greater and greater acts of depravity. I tried to numb myself through my bloodlust. Then, for reasons I don't understand, I sought absolution through a faith alien to my blood, fighting for a cause far removed from my upbringing. And yet, I feel my wounds closing. I feel the black rage lifting. Now, where once there was rage and hatred and insatiable desire for violence, now I feel the calm wash of acceptance, peace, and the certainty of fighting for something other than the reward of another mark on my record. Now I serve something other than my own demons.

Sometimes I long to return to the State, but my newfound faith would make me an oddity, and my past would garner me few friends. There is a coldness to being cut off from your people. I wonder if this is a general rule applicable to all humans or if it is uniquely Caldari. Maybe this is the catalyst that drives the Matari. Perhaps.

Old Foes

Pandemic Legion have set up shop in Amamake. I don't know why. Still, my pulse quickened upon hearing the news. My old foes from my time fighting them and IT are here and shootable. My pleasure only grew in the past few days. We enlisted the help of the Caldari to deliver a blow. We used a covert jump bridge to land a sneak attack on a carrier at their starbase in Amamake. We took a fair number of losses, my Manticore among them, but we destroyed thier Archon not 50 km away from one of thier titans and inside the envelope of their base's guns. Amarr victor, bitches!

Changes

Ryven deliberated for a few days before he enrolled. The deciding factor in his decision was the promise of both freedom from natural death and the promise of commanding his own ships. The State apparently had overlooked his parentage, and he spent his first year at the Academy adjusting to the rigid set of rules enforced there. He was not trusted by his peers, nor especially liked. He made a few friends, however, but they were not particularly strong or binding. He managed to scrape by in the upper half of his class. His second and third years, his instructors praised his tactical caution, but derided his chaotic impulsiveness and willingness to try reckless tactics. Ryven would always shrug and say, "It's not like I'll be dead for long, anyway."
His fourth and final year was pretty much a blur of small fleet training exercises, which he excelled at. Paradoxically, even though he was a very impulsive and egocentric individual, he flew well with a group. Ryven didn't find this odd, since he'd been doing that shit for twenty-four years.

Farewell from Beyond the Veil

Letter from Titus Haijikioten to Ryven Krennel:

Ryven,
No man walks eagerly toward death. You are reading this, so we can safely assume I am dead. You probably have also been informed you are a very wealthy man. Despite your denial by taking that garbage Gallente name, you are a Haijikioten, the last scion of a house of murderers, thieves, pirates, and. the like, but a proud one no less. I never was good at emotional shit, but, since I won't be around for this, I can express to you the closeness I had with you. I have gone my entire life without children of my own, and through no one's fault but my own. I felt that void acutely. And then I found you. You filled the position of a son for me, and I loved you as one. As such, I have a gift for you. I sent in an applicstion to the State War Academy for you. Yes, I forged your signature. I applied you for their capsuleer program. Immortality, my boy. Their response arrived already. You're accepted, and have up to one year to enroll. Consider it my last request that you do so. Pull our family out of the dregs and make something of yourself. Find a nice girl, maybe? Hump like rabbits and have some little shithead welps running around. At any rate, this is me saying goodbye. Do me proud.

-Titus

Nail in the Coffin

"Mr. Krennel?" The young woman's voice, questioning, erupted into his ear.
"Sure. Who is this?"
"I am Li Kora. I handled all legal matters for Titus Haijikioten and HSG. We have never met."
Ryven scowled and took a pull from his drink. "Go on."
"Your uncle had me draft his will a while back. You are his sole beneficiary. In addition, he left a message to be given to you upon his death. May I send it to you now?"
Ryven rubbed his eyes and took a drag from a cigarette. "Fine."
The attorney sounded relieved. "Good, sending it through. Also, all of your uncle's possessions have been transferred to you."
Ryven's scowl deepened, another nail driven into his guilt-lined coffin. "Liquidate it all, and transfer the proceeds to my account."
The Achura acknowledged and Ryven ended the call. He then began reading the message from Titus.

The Aftermath

The stars formed a backdrop for the misery. Ryven sat in the captain's chair, the lifeless body of his only family laying propped against his feet, head cradled in his arms. Shiny rivulets of tears streaked his face, and his own self-hatred peaked. He was the agent of his worst pain, the queller of his bloodline, scourge of all that was right. He trembled.
The guristas compound was naught but a glowing red ember, and as far as Ryven could tell, so was his life. His world was shattered, a fractured glass leaking his own stain into the void. This pain was his penance.
***********************
Titus's funeral had been a very private affair. The news of Ryven's selling of HSG and it's assets was met positively. Most of the crews felt he was bad luck anyway. So, Ryven engaged in the oldest form of self-flagellation: he sat in a bar and drank alone, hoping to drown his pain. This carried on for a week or two before his neocom began to buzz, and for some reason, he answered.

Rage is the Downfall

The beam overhead gave way and crashed to the deck of the Tovil-Toba's bridge. Ryven cried out to warn Titus, but was already too late. The jagged end of a large metal beam plunged through Titus's chest, blood spewing in a spray of crimson, and spattered out his mouth. He survived just long enough to pull himself off of it, which sealed his fate. Ryven's vision went red. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes. This was his fault. His plan to kill his cousin succeeded, but in rage, Titus drove the fleet into the Guristas compound, revenge as his goal. Rage was his downfall. No less culpable, Ryven drove his guilt into rage and took command of his shattered fleet, blind to the destruction around him. Ship after ship exploded into fiery chaos until only the Raven and a cormorant remained, the lone victors, battered and burning. Ryven gave the order.
"Destroy their base. All of it."

The Dragon's Rage

Titus's fleet dropped out of warp. They were twelve ships in number, scattered in a loose formation around the Tovil-Toba. The Raven was the largest, with two drake-class battlecruisers, five caracal-class cruisers, three cormorant-class destroyers, and a merlin-class frigate. They were greeted by a larger force of at least twenty-five ships. Four feroxes, three caracals, and the remainder were all frigates of various classes. The two fleets sat still for a few moments, each taking the pause to take a deep breath before the plunge. The Guristas couldn't see the look in Titus's eyes, but Ryven could, and he felt a preternatural chill at the base of his spine. The glow from the bowl of Titus's pipe cast his face in a chilling visage of rage and sharp shadow. He blew bluish smoke from the corner of his mouth before opening comms with the fleet.
"All units engage. Primary is target alpha one, Ferox. Fire at will."
The space around the deadspace compound exploded into fierce combat, missiles streaking toward the targetted ferox, exploding brightly upon impact. Both fleets began maneuvering in the elaborate dance of interstellar combat. The feroxes returned fire, but lacked the discipline to primary just one ship, and Titus's fleet began taking sporadic damage. The Tovil-Toba was rocked by repeated hits. It was taking the brunt of the Guristas' volleys.
The first ferox and then another went down, but so did two of Titus's drakes. The cormorants began to engage the frigates and they began popping as well. The battle raged on for a hellacious ten minutes before tragedy struck.
The last ferox was not going down fast enough, and the Tovil-Toba's shields were depleted. The Raven and Ferox traded blows, but the Tovil-Toba's armor was quickly destroyed. The ferox was already in structure. One more volley would destroy it completely. The cruise missiles fired and streaked their way toward the ferox. Just before impact,the ferox's turrets flashed. The ferox exploded into bluish-white brilliance, but it's final volley breached the Tovil-Toba's hull.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Thoughts

The war is going well. My brothers and sisters in the Knighthood continue to treat me well, though I wonder sometimes what they really think of me. I admire and respect my superiors, an altogether new experience for me. I met "Red" the other day. Strange child, but fiery, and I approve of that. Fearless too, like me at that age. Shalee seems to be my closest associate, and I greatly enjoy her company. I also met her "friend" Tigerfish. We seemed to get along. Eran seems a bit gruff, but I suspect it is mostly stress from the tumultuous combination of his personal and work life. Raphael, well, what can you say about him?

We faced tragedy in the loss of Raze and Victoria Valadeus. They both were very respected voices in the community. I didn't get to know them as well as I should have. I have been too preoccupied with my own search for information regarding the relationship between both of my surrogate fathers, as well as my own sudden need for absolution, the latter being more of a surprise than the former. Regardless, the loss of the Valadei hit me and I felt something I hadn't in a long time: mortal. I drank a lot. Things weren't any clearer the next day.

The Die is Cast

             Months of planning had finally come together in one beautifully executed stroke.  She lay there, his cousin, dying in his uncle's arms.  Her life's blood pooling underneath her, her skin gaining that pallor that signals the end is very near.  Strangely, Ryven felt nothing.  He knew well enough, by now, that he wouldn't feel remorse or guilt.  That's just not how he was wired.  He had, however, expected to feel triumph, victory, the satisfaction that comes with accomplishing a goal, especially a goal as important to him as wiping out the remainder of his family line.  If asked, he likely would not be able to explain why he wished this, but, the most likely explanation is that the Haijikioten blood within him, the blood that coursed through Kalus's veins, was the embodiment of the supposed evil that led his father to piracy, and in the end, to his death, and thus, Ryven's life in an orphanage, the unwanted Haijikioten boy.

*******************************

            Ryven had had almost no trouble arranging the whole thing.  It was a simple matter, really.  He had his contact in her pirate gang send a fake message from Krystal to another ship, which Titus and Ryven attacked shortly after.  This message was discovered in the process of salvaging the pirate ship.   Based on this information, Titus launched immediately into action.  This was not part of Ryven's plan.  It seemed to have worked out rather well, though.  Titus's fleet attacked fiercely and Ryven boarded the ship Krystal was being "held" on.   The fighting was short, but fierce.  He sent his boarding team to the bridge, while he searched the crew quarters, knowing full well that was where Krystal and his contact were going to be, having communicated with his contact prior to the attack.  However, it seemed that life imitated art, and his contact, Jacobus, really was holding her hostage, knife poised to thrust up into her ribs.  Ryven had not communicated to Jacobus why he wanted Krystal, only that he did want her.  So, Ryven smiled, closed the distance between them, and shoved Jacobus's hand, holding the knife, up into Krystal's ribs, piercing her heart.  Jacobus stared at him, shocked, and terrified.  Ryven quickly drew his pistol and fired a round directly into Jacobus's skull.  Word arrived over his comms link that the bridge had been taken.  Ryven quickly raised the "Tovil-Toba."

           "Captain, you're needed, immediately.  Krystal's hurt, badly.  Aft crew quarters."

******************************

While Ryven was lost in his reverie, a fiery rage began to boil inside Titus Haijikioten.  Without a word, he stood up, and brushed past Ryven on his way back to the Tovil-Toba.  He keyed up his comms link and quickly barked out orders.

"Everyone back to the Tovil-Toba.  We're getting underway right fucking now.  Arm every goddamn weapon we have.  Every goddamn one."

           

Reconnaissance

Ryven's quarters were lit only by the glow of his personal neocom terminal and the ember burning at the end of his cigarette. The swirling tendrils of grayish blue smoke framed his face as he scanned the display of personal information on Krystal Lamont, the unintentional progeny of Titus and some hooker in Sinq Laison. Her life had been nothing special. Little to no education, a few arrests for assault, and now part of a pirate crew, most likely turning free tricks for her room and board care of the Guristas. She was only 24 years old with common enough features, but definitely of Haijikioten blood, judging by the cold eyes and brutish bone structure only slightly softened by her Intaki mother's genes. She looked Civire. Ryven grinned. He need only find a way to ensure a pitched battle with her Guristas brethren and he could almost certainly ensure her demise, free of any trace of his involvement. The key would be getting in touch with a member of the gang in need of some financial gain, and plying him with it. A little ISK up front, and a quick murder after to ensure his silence. Ryven leaned back in his chair, a smile creeping onto his face. All would be right soon.

Downtime

Commander Krennel stared at the nude form of the sleeping woman in his stateroom on the Tovil-Toba. She was rather attractive, as station prostitutes go. He never really understood women, though he had an off and on relationship with Keila, the ship's weapons officer. Still, for satisfying a base need, hookers would suffice. The smoke from his cigarette swirled and formed a gray halo around his shorn head. He focused his gaze on the glowing tip and managed a grin as the blue steel of his surroundings faded and blurred at the corners of his vision. He missed the warmth of his time with Baillieu. These days, the heat of battle was the only place he found peace. His hunger for battle was insatiable. He shuddered. What was he? What kind of man got his jollies from wholesale slaughter? He was convinced it was the Haijikioten blood in his veins. Titus had learned of a relative, a daughter of his through a prostitute. Ryven swore then and there, he must kill her.

Of Stars and Murder

Everywhere stars. Heavenly spheres contained in their self-constructed prisons of immense gravitation. Like pure ideas so hefty their own immense weight is all that contains them but do so effortlessly and nearly flawlessly. These stars are like ideas, bright and immense but constrained, burning at the edge of consciousness, only marvelous at a distance, mundane in proximity. Still, get too close and they consume you. They suppress their own fury organically. One such idea tugs at me now, mercilessly. We are all murderers. We kill tirelessly. The worst part is that we are numb to this death because we fight others as unkillable as ourselves and seldom tally those unfortunate mortals that perish while the capsuleer is born anew. The true murder is the murder of an idea: the commensurate weight of a human life. These mortals, these humans, are somehow less weighty than the infomorph. The importance of the human is now a brown swarf, exhausted and muted, dwindling into nothingness. The death of ideas may one day leave the universe bereft of starry ideas, an infinite moral darkness, no light to steer by. Void.

Leaping Ahead

The years since the orphanage had blown by, and Commander Krennel, now 33 years old, had been forged into a full-fledged mercenary warrior. He was hardly famous, but in the world of the HSG, he was one step removed from the boss, the XO, the right hand of Titus Haijikioten. The fact that his feelings for the old murderous bastard switched from filial love to intense seething hatred from day to day was lost on no one. Titus was aware of it, and it pained him, but was tragically part and parcel of life on a ship whose missions ran along the border between paramilitary operations and outright piracy. Titus trued to stay legitimate in his business dealings, but he had a lot of personnel to pay. When the State was peaceful, he had to resort to less legitimate business to keep his company afloat. The Megacorps tended to recognize this reality, and so long as these activities didn't threaten their interests, so be it. Titus maintained good relations with Home Guard and Spacelane Patrol, and had friendly contacts in Ishukone, and routinely did business with all three.
Ryven was beginning to grow ambitious. Titus could see it in his eyes. He knew the young man was always after something better. Titus began forming a plan. Ryven was the last of the Haijikioten family, and seemed unlikely to settle down. Titus, being exceptionally wealthy, had the finances to help Ryven to become a capsuleer. If Ryven, a physically pristine specimen, were to apply, he would be almost certainly accepted. Titus knew he would die sooner or later, but probably sooner. He wasn't getting any younger. He began recording a message.

Donning the Mantle

I have been promoted. I have only been a part of this holy crusade for a few months, but the Knighthood has graced me with the mantle of knighthood. I am now beknighted. I admit that I hope I am worthy. I am still striving to forge myself into a warrior of holy God, the fist of His Empire, a servant of His Empress. This is a new way of life for me, and it is often at odds with my past life. My fellow Knights continue to help to guide me on my path. I have even managed to be granted the rank of Imperatus Commander by the militia. Ryven's star is on the rise, it would seem. I must continually dedicate myself to the cause, to the defense of the Empire, and the Reclaiming.

Spare the Rod...

Titus winced as the whip cracked sharply against Ryven's bare back. The young man's flesh parted under the repeated strokes of the long whip, now reddened by blood. Ryven grunted from the pain, and Titus swelled with pride at the man he had begun to view as a son. Truthfully, Ryven may have actually been his son, but the subject would probably never come up. It pained Titus to order this brutal display of punishment, but such was the price of insubordination.
Lieutenant Krennel had spoken his mind and questioned an order. That simply could not be allowed. The outcome was favorable, but the act still required answering. Still, Titus hated doing it. He had resigned himself to its necessity. Then, after giving the order, he opened up a line of communication to his personal attorney, a young Achura named Li Kora. He informed Mr. Kora to draft up a last will and testament naming Mr. Ryven Krennel his sole beneficiary, to inherit his amassed wealth, which was quite substantial, and his mercenary corporation, HSG. He truly loved the boy, but the realities of life as a soldier of fortune were not kind, and Titus figured this was the best way he had to express his paternal feelings. He sighed in relief when the final lashing sounded out its sharp note, and Ryven was unbound. Titus had to look away from the hatred in the young man's eyes.
Ryven's promotion to Lieutenant Commander a month later only slightly reduced the rift between them.

Romance

A lot of people around me have found love. I envy them to a degree. I have never known this feeling. I have known women. I even had a few I got close to. Others I only used to fulfill a need. Truth is, romance is alien to me. I just don't know how to behave or how to feel. I am totally unfamiliar with how to get a woman, and even more at a loss as to how to keep one. Hats off to those who have.

Reflections

I have come a long way from the angry child in the orphanage to here. I finally know peace. This new home I have found, the refuge of my faith, and a divinely appointed purpose have redirected my rage, and replaced it with fervor. I am not a zealot. I do not hate my enemy. I do not hold him in disdain. I do feel it is my God-given purpose to vanquish him, for the protection of God's chosen, even though I am not among them. I can only hope God will smile upon me and the work I do in His name.
Yesterday I encountered a pirate and we battled in single combat. We flew the same model ship, and it was a close match. I managed to defeat him, my ship trailing smoke and flame behind me. I felt exhilirated. I also felt myself at complete peace with the world around me. This is where I belong: at the razor's edge, where flesh meets its end.

Striking at the Source

The supplier, Mr. Troucan, had set up a small fortress in a pocket of deadspace in the Balle system. There were a scattered set of habitation modules outlying a warehouse, a bunker, and a series of sentry guns when the HSG fleet and a squadron of a few other mercenary companies as well. Titus was commanding a fleet of 3 battleships, 4 battlecruisers, and about twenty cruisers and frigates. The sentries opened fire, raking the shields of 3 of the battlecruisers, but without focused fire, the shields held, and the other ships were able to silence them. The battleships opened fire on the habitation modules, which fell quickly. The warehouse's hull was nearly breached when the smugglers' defense fleet showed up. Ryven commanded a Merlin class frigate, which he banked toward the closest enemy, an Incursus. The two ships orbited each other at 10 km, trading fire. The Incursus' drone was eating away at Ryven's shields, but he was rescued by a fellow pilot helping to blow the Incursus apart. It exploded in a flash of white, and the drone, without orders, sat idle in space.
One by one, the smugglers were defeated, until only a Dominix-class battleship remained, it's ugly bulk silhouetted against the system's star. Titus's fleet was down to ten ships, having lost half it's battlecruisers during the opening stages, and about fifteen frigates in the last ten minutes. Titus ordered the fleet to fire everything at the defiant battleship, which had ordered it's heavy drones to attack the nearby Raven class battleship piloted by HSG's rival, Matthias Tijoli. The Raven's shields dissipated the same time the Dominix's did, but with little armor, the Raven was in it's death throes.
"Titus, I think we both know I'm not getting out of this alive." Matthias's voice was strained. "I just wanna say, you're a rotten bastard, and I always hated you."
The Raven exploded in a white flash just before the Dominix did. The fleet swung to face the bunker where Mr. Troucan waited for his death, hope lost with the destruction of the smuggler fleet.
"Rot in hell Matthias." Titus laughed to himself. Then he keyed the fleet comms channel. "Direct all fire onto the bunker, fire at will."
Ryven's merlin swooped toward the bunker, guns blazing.

Some Wounds Heal

Ryven, now a Lieutenant Junior Grade, winced. The wound in his shoulder from the attack on the Dusk Vigil still ached from time to time, even though only a circular scar remained. He struggled to hide his pain as he began to interrogate the last of the prisoners snatched from their homes during a raid of suspected smugglers in Torrinos. Titus tasked him with gaining actionable intel on an upcoming transaction, or even better, the location of a supplier. Ryven was given permission to do whatever with the prisoners. The State had already written off these low-lifes. They would never make it off the Tovil-Toba.
"I want information, Mr. Tovas. Ryven spoke without emotion. "Information you are going to give me."
Mr. Tovas whimpered. He was pale from days of starvation, and twitching from psychosis from the sensory deprivation of an isolation machine, a sinister device that completely deprived a captive of any external stimuli.
"You are going to tell me, because there is no reason not to." Ryven continued. "You are already dead. Your wife, Scylla, is being watched right now. Truthfully, non-cooperation at this point will cause you only more pain."
Mr. Tovas was crying now. Ryven never understood that in prisoners. Why cry?
"Do you want to watch your wife murdered? Do you want to go back to the tank?"
"No! Leave my wife alone!" Mr. Tovas's voiced dripped with desparation. "What do you want to know?"
"Give me a supplier, and your wife lives."
"Travela Troucan. In Balle. He's our biggest supplier. It's a deadspace pocket. The coordinates are here." He typed on the supplied datapad.
Ryven smiled and drew a pistol from his hip holster. He fired one shot into Mr. Tovas's face and smiled at the splattered brains on the bulkhead. He keyed his comms device.
"We have the supplier."

Eden of Evil

New Eden is a wicked garden. Everywhere evidence is found. We are all scrabbling about to kill and maim and gain for our own selves. I was a murdere for hire. I raided and pillaged all along the fringes, but sometimes sponsored by the State and well within its borders. That blood is no less on my hands. The question then, is why do I continue to fight? If I recognize that there is no net difference in the death being meted out by my hand, then how might I absolve myself? Can I say it is blessed by God, and therefore not sin. Yes. More honestly, it is simply all I know how to do. The fact that God has blessed it makes it easier to bear.

The Dusk Vigil

Ensign Krennel stepped through the breach in the hull of Dusk Vigil, an Atron class frigate piloted by a group of gun runners the State hired HSG to eliminate. The ambush had gone perfectly, and now Ryven was leading the team to confiscate the ship as a bit of a reward for their services rendered. His team was small, only twelve men, but the Atron only had a crew of about thirty, and the boarding party was well armed and moving rapidly.
Ryven ordered Gunner 2nd Class Arkanen to take point as the team swept down the ship's main corridor. They gave every compartment along the way a cursory glance for Gallente crewman, and then shut the hatches if clear. The team's weapons were all fitted with noise suppressors, and every crewman they discovered was accompanied by a short burst of suppressed gunfire. Ryven thought it sounded kind of like a zipper slowly being pulled.
The team met little resistance until they reached the ship's bridge, which had been hastily barricaded and reinforced with men from other sections of the ship. Ryven could see about ten men, one of them obviously in charge. Ryven raised his assault rifle and lined the sights up on the Gallente captain's head. The captain's head exploded in a puff of pink mist and fragments of his face and skull splattered the crew nearest him. Ryven smiled and adjusted his aim to pop the next two targets. He felt a sharp jolt in his shoulder but kept firing until only his team remained. The frigate was his. He felt something moist and began to feel dizzy. He slumped against the nearest bulkhead and only then realized he had been hit. He drifted off into a swirling sea of blackness, to be haunted by the bloody god of his inner night.

Templar Lieutenant

I received a promotion today. It means little really, but I am pleased anyway. I am only a squire in the Knighthood, but a Templar Lieutenant in the militia, which really matters little. Still, it is a small positive in a week that has been less than successful. I hope to improve over the coming days.
I have been studying the Scriptures still and know that this fight is just. I will continue to serve the Empire and Empress Jamyl Sarum.
My funds are dwindling. I hope to change that very soon. I have a partnership with a Khanid that may send more ISK my way soon, but he has experienced setbacks. Apparently trouble is everywhere in New Eden, not just on my heels.

The Ambush

            The Scythe-class cruiser sailed silently against the backdrop of stars, only the yellowish glow of its engines marking its presence.  It seemed to glide between two asteroids as it was recognized by a targetting system 75 kilometers away.  Ensign Ryven Krennel smiled. "It's almost too easy."
             Ryven's merlin-class frigate sat motionless, concealed by it's cloaking device, as the prey, a fugitive from Piak, slowly traversed his field of view.  He eyed the Scythe, and then eyed the storage can that had been dropped not three hours ago as a place marker.  Ryven judged that the Scythe was close enough and keyed his comms channel.
             "Dragon, this is Eagle: target in position." Ryven paused to laugh. "Bring the rain."
             Two AUs away, Titus heard the message and directed his fleet to warp."Eagle, this is Dragon: We're inbound.  Decloak when he's in range and lock him down."
             Ryven checked the range, and nodded to himself as he allowed his ship to decloak.  His ship slowly faded into existence before the eyes of the Scythes's Captain.  Ryven ordered the frigate's small crew to fire up the warp disruptor.  The Scythe was caught in a snare, and began to fight back.  Ryven was quick, though, and managed to create just enough orbital speed that the cruiser had trouble hitting him.  Still, alarms would occasionally sound when a lucky hit got through.  The Scythe had issues of its own, though.  Ryven's frigate was pelting it with hybrid ammo, which hit for a sizeable amount of damage.  So far, the cruiser's sheilds were holding up, but, a few more volleys may very well change that.  The cruiser's captain was about to order the crew to overheat his guns, when he noticed Titus's fleet drop out of warp turn toward him, and begin targetting his now battered and outnumbered cruiser.
            The combined damage of Ryven's 2 blasters, and the missiles of a Raven battleship, and 2 Ferox class battlecruisers was too much for the Scythe, which quickly succumbed and exploded in a bright flash of bluish white.  All that remain was a small ring of debris where there once was a crew of 200-300 men.
           "Eagle, this is Dragon: Good job." Titus radioed Ryven. "They never had a chance."

A Promising Future

Ryven smiled. His fight with the Chief had zero consequences for him. Hakkalo lived, but was off ship for the time being. Ryven had been twice as busy as before, now responsible for twice as many weapons. Titus was not pleased with the loss of his Chief Bay Operator, but generally understood that Hakkalo was a cast-iron prick. So, Chief Bay Operator Ryven Krennel assumed the asshole's position. Titus knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to give the now 18 year old his Officer's test, and move him into the upper echelon of Haijikioten Security Group.
Ryven was unaware of his uncle's plans for him, but it fell in line with his own plan: to command a starfaring vessel. This became his new goal.

Sociopathy

Merdaneth brought it to my attention. I hadn't really noticed it clearly. We keep perpetuating the cycle. We are capsuleers. We lose a ship, get podded, no big deal. We wake up safe in a new body, with almost no pain. But our crews? They trust us with thier lives and are repayed with death: wild, chaotic death. I had grown callous. I had forgotten. We speak of devotion to the cause. What devotion? For me, dying is a momentary inconvenience. My crew: that is true devotion. They die, knowing they will never wake again. I hope that their sacrifices are not in vain. If they are in vain, solely for my profit or amusement, then I truly am a monster, a sociopath, a villain.

Lightning Strikes

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A Storm Approaches

Ryven took to his new duties rather quickly. As Crewman 3rd Class, he worked long hours maintaining the Raven-class battleship, Tovil-Toba, and it's large engines. He was a quick study, and was generally like by the other crew, and before long, he rose in favor and his uncle promoted him to Bay Operator 2nd Class, a position reloading and maintaining the ship's cruise missile bays. He enjoyed his work, but found himself at odds with the launcher deck's Chief, a fat balding sociopath who apparently felt nepotism ranked somewhere in the neighborhood of bestiality and necrophilia on the list of shit you just can't allow. So, he made life as hard as he could for the stout young Civire thrust upon his crew of launcher specialists.
Ryven managed to make a name for himself anyway, applying for and managing to earn his place on the ship's boarding/assault team, a group of well-trained close-quarters combat specialists, as a point man, breaching and clearing ship compartments and fortifications. This only managed to stoke the fires of Chief Tyr Hakkola's hatred, and it was apparent to everyone that they were headed toward a collision of wills, and a betting pool was already circulating. The older crew had money on Hakkola. Those that had seen the fierce young demon, Ryven, in a fight, offered double or nothing on Krennel.

The Dragon's Wing

"So, Ryven, I offer you a choice." Titus said, his eyes focused intensely on Ryven's eyes. You can join my crew, and work and learn the trade of manning and one day commanding a ship. Or you can tell me to fuck off and take your chances in the streets. I won't persuade you with some nonsense about familial duty. Your family failed you. You owe me nothing."
Ryven wanted to tell him to fuck off. He wanted to express his fury at his abandonment and the death of his closest kin and friend. He wanted to. Yet, the chance to command, to lead, and even more, to carve a bloody swath through space, eventually won out.
Ryven calmly spoke, "When do I start?"

The Path of Faith

I have reached the turning point. My studies have convinced me of one thing: there is a God. My life has been a long and harsh journey through the wilderness, but now I emerge fully anew. My new life I dedicate to the service of God. May He illuminate my path. I know, as a Caldari, my blood carries the taint of faithlessness and apostacy, but through faith and service, I still have hope of salvation. My ship's weapons are now the sword of God.

History

      Titus began the story of Ryven's father, which is here somewhat abridged in order to be more concise, and to remove any unnecessary pauses that occurred in the actual discussion between Ryven and Titus, which, though possibly interesting in a sentimental way, are of little relevance in the larger scheme of things.
      "Kalus Haijikioten was always the more hot-tempered of us two brothers.  We were consummate Civire children.  There was never a task we couldn't rise up to meet, and to be honest, we were very close for the majority of our lives, until he met Seelah, which I will get to in a little bit.  I was the younger brother, but, I had a better head for business, and I convinced him to join me in starting a mercenary corporation, which we named Haijikioten Security Group (HSG).  We started with two frigates full of what can only be called semi-reformed pirates, and a lot of violent tendencies.  Over a period of about ten years, our fleet expanded to nearly fifteen ships, from frigates of different variations on up to the flagship, the Tovil-Toba,my Rokh-class battleship currently docked in this station.  Kalus was always discontent, and hating my business acumen, ran off to form his own group, appropriately named Firebrand Security Corp.  We didn't really compete for contracts since I had all of our old connections still, and he took contracts from the most unscrupulous of individuals.  Our paths crossed in the case of your mother, Seelah.  Kalus and I were both hired separately in the matter of a Guristas pilot named Ynnas Makalen.  She had betrayed certain influential members to the Caldari authorities in Lonetrek, and naturally, the Guristas were pissed.  Who can blame them?  If any of my crew betrayed me, I'd come back from the fucking dead and piss on their ashes when I was through roasting them over a cool fire.  That's not the point.  Kalus was hired by the Guristas to board her ship, and take her prisoner, to most likely be executed at a later date, probably unpleasantly.  I was hired by Ynnas to help her fake her demise, so she could start over fresh, free of the Guristas and all the likely fatal baggage that they entailed.  I won't bore you with all the logistics of this, but, as such things happen, I arrived first and began the extremely real attack on her Moa class cruiser, Fugue. She meanwhile escaped in a small escape pod before her ship was utterly destroyed.  Kalus arrived in a Caracal class cruiser right as her ship exploded.  I did not recognize the ship as his, and he quickly engaged me, despite my ship being a larger Ferox-class battlecruiser, Lyssa.  The battle was over quickly, and thankfully he survived.  I took him prisoner, and quickly recognized him.  I did not tell him of the survival of Ynnas, who already had taken on her new persona of Seelah Rekkollo.  The few days of laying low in a pocket of deadspace sowed the seeds of the end of amicability between me and my brother.  Seelah paid me generously, but, not just in ISK.  She spent those nights in my cabin, but, little did I know, she spent the days with Kalus.  The jealousy and sense of betrayal from this love triangle ended our communication.  I never saw Kalus again.  He left my ship with Seelah and only around three years later, he was dead, with Seelah, and you were left here.  The story of Kalus's death, however, is one it took me quite some time to unravel."
       "Kalus's last contract was from a Jin-Mei member of a mining corporation that operated in Sinq Laison, but traded in the markets of Caldari space.  A group of Caldari miners were operating independently in the Ibura system, where they had found an asteroid belt of immense wealth in a hidden pocket of deadspace.  The Jin-Mei, a rotund asshole named Jai Kindo, wanted this independent mining group to fail.  So, he paid Kalus a modest sum to make it happen.  Kalus did not know the head miner was endorsed secretly by the Kalaakiota Corporation.  Caldari business is a labyrinth of these sorts of connections, but, generally, if a megacorp isn't paying you to do so, you don't attack Caldari properties.  Kalus never really understood that rule.  So, in his usual way, he attacked the colony brazenly, and CONCORD responded in their usual fashion.  Your father was not a capsuleer, and as such, was killed nearly instantaneously when his ship was destroyed, along with your mother.  The state convicted Kalus of war crimes, even though he was already deceased, thanks to CONCORD, and your future was immediately imperiled.  I was present in the court when your father was sentenced, and immediately called in some favors.  The Sisters agreed to take you in, largely because I had helped them in the past as security for a convoy of refugees.  The State agreed largely because I have done numerous contract jobs for them in the past as well.  I have been kept informed of your welfare here since you first arrived.  I specifically requested that your parentage not be revealed to you until you were already old enough to not let it effect your choices in life.  I was thrilled when Baillieu Crennelle, the man who gave me the information necessary to hunt down and kill Jai Kindo, took you under his wing.  He was a good friend, and a constant broker of information useful to me.  I, too, wept when he passed.  And now I am here to offer you a choice."

The Fires of Familial Fervor

Ryven, in the wake of Baillieu's death, had surprised the Sisters by adopting a surname. Crennelle was far too Gallentean, so, he had Caldaricized it to Krennel. The now 16 year old Ryven Krennel waited for this unknown visitor to arrive, Leaning motionless against a cold metal bulkhead in a small conference room adorned with a large table and 8 modestly comfortable high back executive chairs. Ryven didn't have to wait long.
Titus stepped through the door, a cloud of bluish pipe smoke billowing in front of him. He was not exceptionally tall, but his dark cobalt pants, black tunic, and full-length cobalt coat, adorned with a Caldari Captain's rank insignia, created a very formidable image. To any observer, a family resemblance was apparent. Ryven analysed this man, and was unmoved.
"So, you're Kalus and Seelah's little welp?" Titus grinned. "I gotta admit, I never would've thought my asshole brother had it in him."
Ryven raised an eyebrow but betrayed no emotion. Titus liked this young man already.
"I am Titus Haijikioten. I am your uncle on your father's side."

Haunted

Last night, I decided to break my seclusion and continued my reading in the public hall of the Keep. I was shocked when I encountered an old acquaintance, Rin Kaelestria. We talked some about her tenure in my old corporation, J. D. Gaffa, Inc. I lamented the fact that at the time of my holding the office of CEO, I was quite withdrawn, and never really got to know her well. This is one of my lesser guilts, but the subject of past sins came up. Our reverie was broken by Cass, who interrupted to deliver an account of her sordid past as a member of our enemies. I likened sin to slavery, and managed to upset nearby Sister Matelo. She had been discussing something with Esna a few tables away. We were also visited by a holder I had never met before, who weighed in on the subject of sin. I was thoroughly interested, as I am now thirsty for knowledge of this faith, but it was getting very late, so I made my goodnights and left.
I am haunted by the guilt of my past transgressions and the senseless violence I have engaged in. Is it so wrong that I now search for redemption in the God of the Amarr? I am not yet a believer, but much that I have read rings true to me. I find that with each page I turn, my faith grows.

A Dove Falls, a Dragon Cometh

      Faster-than-light travel takes a harsh toll on those who do not take the necessary precautions.  There are modulation medications required to stave off the onset of cynosis.  However, even with proper precautions, not all jumps are created equal, and not all humans can handle it the same.  The jump from Korsiki to Airaken was Baillieu's last.  The strain of instantaneous transportation through time and space on the vessels of Baillieu Crennelle's brain was too much, and a vessel burst.  This is normally not terribly horrific to watch, but, in Baillieu's case, it quite literally exploded out the side of his skull in a bright spray of crimson.  Ryven bolted upright, his mouth agape in total shock as the lifeblood of his dearest friend and father-figure showered the small passenger cabin.  Baillieu's eyes, already lifeless, rolled backwards as he fell to the floor with a sickening thud.  Ryven sat and wept as the Badger pulled into the docking queue at the Sisters of Eve station that would never again be his home.  He was more alone than he had ever been before.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

     The funeral passed, as did the following weeks, and Ryven withdrew into himself.  Little did he know, his last remaining family member was already on his way to take him to a new life.  This new life would not be the soft, gentle, loving one of Baillieu Crennelle.  Ryven's new life would be one of intense labor and previously unimaginable violence on the fringes of civilized space. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     Titus Haijikioten, a stout man of at least fifty years of age, cut a striking figure on the bridge of his Rokh-class battleship.  His hair was streaked at the edges with silver, but was otherwise black as night.  His eyes were deep blue, and spoke of decades of harsh living in constant combat.  His nose was pronounced from numerous breaks.  He had a long scar on his right cheek from a Khumaak wielded by an enraged Brutor mercenary.  He always wore a coat, regardless of the temperature, and despite being seriously outdated, he smoked a sweet-smelling herb from a long-stemmed pipe nearly continuously every day of his life.  He was a striking figure, and an even more striking personality.  His younger brother, Kalus, had dishonored the family name, but Titus's reputation was so solidly the stuff of legend, that business never faltered.  Titus was a mercenary that never failed to complete a contract, and always seemed to choose the most profitable side in a bidding war, which was usually the Caldari State, by virtue of his long-standing relationship with them.  

      Titus watched as the Sisters of Eve station in Airaken grew closer.  He had received a message from the Sisters only two weeks prior, informing him it was time for him to take Ryven off their hands.  He had always known the boy's whereabouts, but, had never had the lifestyle that would have allowed him to care for a child.  Ryven was no longer a child, though.  He had reached the crucial age of sixteen, and even more impressively, won the Forge Regional competition in unarmed combat.  Titus was quite impressed, considering he himself had not succeeded when he competed forty years ago.  He was even more impressed when he learned about Ahrima Kaito.  The boy was properly blooded, and Titus had a place for that sort of talent on his crew.  He would give the boy a choice, and he hoped he accepted the right one.  First, though, he would have to tell the boy of his father.

Taking a Life

        The tournament was over, Ryven the victor, and both he and Baillieu were on the return voyage back to Airaken on-board a refit Badger Mk. I.  The boy sat, obviously confused, his close-shaven head illuminated by the overhead lighting.  He wore the blue and silver sash of the victor.  The losers received nothing, except the knowledge that they were beaten and they submitted. Ahrima was on Ryven's mind.
        "Should I feel something?" Ryven asked.  "I killed him.  Should I feel something?"
        His eyes displayed only the sincere desire for an answer to this question.  Baillieu wished he knew how to answer.  From his own Gallentean upbringing, the answer was certainly yes, but this was not a Gallentean child.  This was a young Caldari, and the rules were different.
        "You should feel respect." He finally responded.  "Respect for the skill and honor of the fallen warrior."
        "What if I face someone without skill or honor?"
        "Then respect the fact that they died on the end of your fists, feet, or whatever weapons you used."  He paused for a moment before continuing. "You should also always strive to be worthy of respect as well.  Fighting honorably is just as important as fighting skillfully."
         "If you say so." Ryven seemed less than convinced.
         "You don't agree?"
         "If I fight honorably without skill, then I will die." Ryven said, matter-of-factly. "Honor is of little use to a corpse."
         "True." Baillieu acquiesced. "But, you will die only a brigand.  Legends are born of those who fight with honor."
         Ryven didn't know this was the last time he would ever speak to Baillieu Crennelle, the man who became his surrogate father.  The ship shuddered as the pilot activated the stargate to Airaken.
 
                                                                                                                                      

The Tournament

       It was the first time Ryven had left the orphanage since arriving.  He was adorned in a simple white tunic and sandals, the garb of a competitor in the Forge Regional Fighting Tournament.  He left his home at the Sisters of Eve station in Airaken, and had travelled nine jumps to Jita, at the heart of Caldari space.  He was competing against at least a hundred other Caldari children who had reached age 15, when they were finally allowed to compete in what may have been the bloodiest sport children were allowed to participate in.  Some of the competitors would not be making the trip back to wherever they came from.  Killing one's opponent was not exactly encouraged, but neither was it forbidden, and in some cases, it was the inevitable result of a mismatched set of opponents. 
      The competitors fought, four at a time, with only one victor.  It was a brawl, by any sense of the word, but also highly strategic.  Temporary alliances were made, but, quickly broken as there could be only one victor.  The fights took place on a dirt floor within a circle approximately ten meters in diameter.  Fighters were allowed to yield when beaten, or to fight to the death.  It was the choice of individual fighters.  If a fighter felt himself beaten, he need only give the sign, and his defeat would be recorded.  Some fighters chose not to submit, and instead forfeited their lives.  While not a victory, this was generally more honorable. 
       Ryven had fought his way through to the finals, and was awaiting the last semi-final match to end before entering and either walking away a champion, or just another meat-bag.  Baillieu stood beside him, his surrogate father, pride obvious in his demeanor.  Ryven could see that Baillieu was getting older, the lines in his face etched deeper and much more cruelly than before.  It startled him, sometimes, how much he had come to care for this man.  Ryven was almost sixteen years old, and by that right, nearly an adult.  The State didn't recognize adulthood officially at 16, but, it was an age at which certain rights were granted, namely emancipation, citizenship, and official working status.  He could choose a life.  He still did not know what that life would be, but, he was anxious to be able to make such a choice. 
       The match was winding down.  There were only two fighters left, and both were looking fairly beaten.  Blood dripped from wounds inflicted with fists and feet.  Weapons were strictly forbidden, but, many fighters wore rings, and some of these were sharpened.  Ryven did not.  He felt it would cheapen whatever victory he might attain.  Honorable fights were better than dishonorable ones, in his mind.  At least, this was what Baillieu had instructed him.  He looked up to the old man, who must be in his seventies by Ryven's reckoning, and thus followed his instruction dutifully. 
       The match ended when the winner, a boy named Ahrima, snapped the leg of the loser, Ventrio.  Ryven credited the loser for not screaming out in pain.  He gave the sign of missio, and was allowed to crawl out of the circle alive.
       Ryven approached the circle, his every muscle fiber taut with anticipation.  He calmed himself, funneling all of his drive and rage into a reservoir within.  I am a weapon, a tool of death and destruction.  Victory awaits me.  Defeat awaits those who stand against me.  This is for honor, my father, and the proper respect they are due.  I cannot fail.
       There was the sound of a gong being struck, and the other three began advancing toward Ryven. Ah, so I have been singled out to be the first one down.  I wouldn't count on it, guys.  Ryven ducked under the first attack, a vicious roundhouse thrown by a stocky boy named Kanue, who was easily twenty pounds heavier than him.  He quickly dealt a sharp blow to the boy's ribs with his right elbow and swept his legs out before turning to block the kick thrown by Ahrima. He grabbed the boy's foot and shot a quick jab into the boy's knee, shattering it.  The third attacker, Dehrin, a Deteis of smaller stature, but quickness on his side, dealt him a sharp punch to the jaw, which momentarily interrupted Ryven's rhythm.  Rhythmn was very important for Ryven's style of martial arts, but, not as important as sheer force delivered in intense, short, lightning blows.  Ryven quickly recovered and dealt Dehrin a vicious blow to the temple, before spinning to meet Ahrima with a kick to the chin, launching him at least two feet into the air.  Kanue, hurting from three cracked ribs, had gotten up slowly and bellowed as he charged Ryven.  Ryven grinned at his belligerence and dug in his heel for a powerful roundhouse kick that spun Kanue around fully before he dropped to the dust, which was now a slurry of sweat, blood, and mucus.  He barely gave Kanue a passing glance as he raised the missio sign and crawled from the arena.  Ahrima, surprised Ryven with a sharp kick to the chest, which knocked the wind out of him and sent him back two feet.  Ryven was pleased with the distance this gave him to work with and immediately responded with a short charge and a two-fisted punch to Ahrima's chest, returning the favor, but better capitalizing on it by immediately following it with a jaw-breaking uppercut.  Ahrima was bleeding from the mouth, and spat out the large piece of tongue he had just bitten off.  Dehrin took this opportunity to strike, not realizing Ryven was aware of him creeping up from behind.  When he was within reach, Ryven spun and put Dehrin into a choke hold, meanwhile keeping Dehrin as a shield from the blows of Ahrima.  Three of Ahrima's kicks to the face and chest later, Dehrin gave the sign and Ryven dropped him and jumped back.  It was just the two of them now.
          "I won't submit, you know." Ahrima seethed.
          "Don't be an ass, Ahrima." Ryven spoke softly.  "I don't want to kill you."
          "That's because you're a soft orphan pussy." 
          "I will kill you if I have to." 
          "I ain't got all day, chickenshit." Ahrima taunted him.
          The smile on Ahrima's face was just a bit too much for Ryven.  His rage got the better of him.  Unfortunately for Ahrima, Ryven's rage got the better of him too.  Ahrima couldn't defend against the flurry of staccato strikes that followed Ryven's lightning fast charge.  Blow after blow after blow all found the targets.  Ryven savored every strike, his vision narrowed to just him and Ahrima, and the world faded away.  His fists kept landing, each one bringing the delightful feel of flesh being pounded and bone cracking.  The fight ended when he drove his fist into Ahrima's face so hard that his skull caved in, a mass of broken bone shards and brains on the end of Ryven's arm.  This was the last of Ryven's energy, and he fell to the dirt floor and the world swirled away into blackness.
        It was Ryven's first kill.  It would not be his last.

The Tiger and the Dove

       The boy had come a long way in the last year since he began his martial arts training.  Honing the body into a weapon, as a necessity, involves controlling oneself and instilling intense discipline.  These are both things that Ryven had little of in the beginning.  The boy in front of him now was another matter altogether.  His eyes were still aflame with intensity, but the boys stocky frame and muscular build, on the verge of his peak teenage years, were perfectly relaxed, but coiled and ready for anything.  He was pure physical potentiality.  A snake, ready to strike.  He was a tiger.
        "Sir, what should I do when I leave this orphanage?"
        Baillieu really didn't know how to answer.  The State likely had little use for him, being of dubious heritage, and having little or no socialization in the labyrinth of Caldari social custom.  He wouldn't fit in, and the life of a Civire at the bottom rungs of Caldari society was dim.  Conversely, life for a Civire in the Federation could be decent, but, still, the same prejudices would apply.  The Amarr would never accept him as an equal, but, the Khanid could certainly appreciate him.  The Minmatar?  They would be loath to accept the work of a man whose race was scarcely better than the Amarrians in their eyes.  No, he was a boy without a home.  Still, as much as it pained Baillieu, he knew only two things the boy would ever really excel at.  Warfare, as part of a reputable armed force, or piracy.  He prayed Ryven would choose the former over the latter.
        "You will have to find your way.  No one will give you what you want.  You must earn it, or take it."

Smooth Skin

We gave the Minmatar a good pounding tonight. My Omen-class cruiser performed extremely well. I got cocky, however and in an effort to do some reconnaisance, lost my manticore to a recurring pest, Dagren. Now, I inhabit this new clone, and I am still amazed at the shiny smoothness of the skin. New clones always have an unnatural lustre. It seems I've again shown my immortality. This is the life of a capsuleer.
I am going to have to make another trip to Domain. This clone is painfully devoid of implants, and I have to keep my edge. Onwards and upwards.

Paladin?

     The concept of holy warriors, knights of faith, of singular devotion to one's deity and the martial prowess to defend the faith, strikes a chord within me.  These are men and women of a cause.  They live lives guided by a purpose.  I would be lying if I said I wasn't inspired by such a romantic concept.  Truly, I envy them their faith, their acceptance of principles without the burden of proof.  Moreso, I envy their ability to act and know why they are acting in such a way.  In effect, I envy them their clarity.
     The question that then follows is: Do I have what it takes to take steps onto the Paladin's path?  Could I conceive of a god?  If such a god exists, surely he is hardly merciful.  Then again, this god of the Amarr is merciful to the Amarr.  It is the infidels, the heathens, the unbelievers, tainted by their sinful ancestral blood, that do not recieve mercy.  Then again, from a novice view of Amarrian scripture, those that die in service to God, do gain entrance into paradise.  Surely my service to this God would not go unrewarded.  Then again, serving God solely for my own salvation is a selfish act, and as such, not service to God, but rather service to me.  Fuck.  I've been here at Mercy's Keep less than a week, and already I've spent more time contemplating the divine than I have in my entire life until now.  I spend my spare hours in the library, reading the scriptures and smatterings of Amarrian historical texts.  Perhaps someday soon I will be ready to embrace this noble tradition.  There's nothing left for me in the State.  The Federation would as soon kill me as welcome me.  The Republic...well, we just won't even go there.  The Empire is my new home, the Knighthood my new life.  What do I have left?

Enemy Mine

I have met the enemy and found him wanting. Sure, they were victorious, but only tgrough their superior numbers. The Amarr may be right. Perhaps God is on our side. Then again, I am down one ship, and have learned to respect the Minmatar when they are amassed, and even more when organized. I may have finally found my enemy. Now, to find a cause.

A Maelstrom Contained

     "What is your purpose?" Baillieu asked the boy.
     "To fight." 
     "To fight?" Baillieu asked, with a tinge of mock surprise in his voice. "But for what?"
     "For the protection of those who need it."
     "That is a noble reason, but hardly honest, now is it?" 
     "Then what should I fight for?" The boy was beginning to get frustrated.
     "Fight for your survival.  Fight for your friends.  Fight for your family. Fight because you should fight, not because you wish to fight."
     "But, sir, I have no family."
      This response stung Baillieu a little.  They had been meeting now every few months for three years.  He had begun to care strongly for this strange child, so awkward socially, but so moving and charismatic at others.  He had the Civire traits through and through: singular purpose, drive, and fierce tenacity, even to his own ruin, if need be. 
       "You have me." Baillieu spoke softly.
        "Yes, I do.  You are the closest thing I have to family.  You're also my only friend." Ryven paused. "Should I fight for you, then?"
        "If I'm ever in need, then, yes." 
        "So, I should fight for those in need, then?"
        "Yes." Baillieu replied.
        "That doesn't do me a lot of good right now, with no one in need of a fighter." 
        Baillieu sighed.  The kid had a point.  Try as he might, he couldn't imagine Ryven as anything other than a warrior.  He certainly wasn't a poet.  He wasn't a philosopher.  He wasn't a mathematician, and politics would serve only to bore him.  His only interest in any of those was how they applied to warfare.  This is where he excelled.  This also proved to be the secret to containing the maelstrom of fire and rage inside him. The idea had occurred to him when he came for a visit and found Ryven in a state of deep concentration in the garden.  He watched the child for nearly an hour without seeing him so much as move.  He couldn't believe the strict focus and discipline the child exhibited.  It clashed strongly with the undisciplined hellion he was everywhere else.  So, he broke Ryven's concentration.
         "Ryven, I think I have a way for you to channel your fire."
         Ryven turned around on the bench and looked at him.  His eyes were those of a tranquil soul.  He had been reliving a past fight, feeling the harsh thud of his fist striking flesh, the taste of blood in his mouth, the sounds of feet on hard steel.  These were his music.
         "Have you ever taken any training in the martial arts?"
         The boy's eyes brightened, but he shook his head.
         "I think that may be the answer."
         Ryven trained in a traditional form of Caldari martial arts, a fierce form of fighting that focused one's rage and hatred into each and every blow, and could be extremely deadly if used by a master.  Ryven took to it immediately.  He found an outlet for his fire.  He found a way to channel his wrath into a single punch or kick.  He spent hours every day, sometimes as much as twenty hours in a day training.  The beginning of a purpose was forming.

The Gallente Gentleman

        Baillieu Crennelle pondered the Civire child in front of him.  He was still too young to have filled out, but already the child had the wide shoulders and tall build that would one day make him into a strong warrior, and obviously the child had fighting spirit.  Baillieu could sense the fire in the child.  Of course, he knew the child's parentage, and the offspring of those two would have to be a fiery one.  Baillieu Crennelle knew Ryven's parents, at least, from a historic point of view.  The Haijikioten family was steeped in tragedy.  This little Haijikioten boy was just the latest in the lot.
        Ryven's father, Kalus Haijikioten, was a mercenary almost from birth.  Hist father before him, and the one before that, and the one before that, had all plied a similar trade.  At some point, most likely the Caldari-Gallente War, the Haijikiotens had had an honorable ancestor who fought as a member of the State Navy, and had done so with some distinction.  Unfortunately, that family line enjoyed the taste of conflict so much, they engaged in it every chance that came along, regardless of who was sponsoring it.  The Caldari State had uses for such talents, and often employed them, especially when they didn't want the blame coming back to them.  However, the trouble for Kalus Haijikioten and his lover, an ex-Gurista named Seelah, came when they were hired by a somewhat shady Jin-Mei who hired them to attack a mining colony in the Ibura system.  The Caldari State, notably the Suukevestra Corporation, who owned, via a network of smaller companies, the colony, was enraged.  Though both Kalus and Seelah died in the raid, due to a catastrophic hull breach, they were both tried and convicted posthumously as war criminals and pirates.  This left some question as to what to do with their two year old child, Ryven Haijikioten.
         The State wanted to leave the child to his fate on the streets rather than take on the spawn of pirates as a ward of the State, but, the Sisters of Eve intervened and took him into their care.  They suppressed his parentage to free him of the stain of his family.  However, it seemed to Baillieu that some things are genetic.  He had been in the corridor when this child attacked and critically injured the red-haired boy.  He was shocked and appalled, and so he asked a few others about this strange child.  They all replied similarly, "It's that damn Haijikioten boy."
          He went to speak with the headmistress about the matter, and learned that they were considering doing what the State had not, and leaving the boy to his fate on the streets of some Caldari city.  He made an offer that shocked Sister Caille.  He offered to sponsor the child, and to pay for his continued education.  He offered to all but adopt Ryven, and promised to stop in to visit the child whenever he was able.  Mr. Crennelle was a travelling low-level diplomat, and an Intaki by lineage.  It took some persuading, but, Sister Caille finally relented, pending and solely if Ryven agreed.
          "Ryven, I have something I want to ask you." 
           Ryven stood silently.
          "My name is Baillieu Crennelle." 
           Ryven showed no response.
          "You have two choices." Baillieu paused a moment before going on. "You can either take your chances out there in the world, an unpleasant place, by any reckoning, or, you can accept me as your sponsor and guardian."
           Ryven's left eyebrow shot up.  This was obviously not something the child expected, and for once he spoke. "Why the fuck would a Gallente want to sponsor a Caldari child?  Especially one like me?  Are you trying to fuck with me?"
           "I suppose you deserve an answer to that.  The truth is, I don't really know.  You've got spirit, perhaps?" He lied. "If you accept, I promise to look in on you when I am able.  I can't outright adopt you, or I might.  My wife died a decade ago, and I have no children of my own.  However, I travel far too much, and you'd lose out on education you'll need.  I do promise, though, I will help you to put that fire inside you to a purpose.  Left without purpose, your life will always be filled with troubles.  Channel that rage to a purpose, a cause, and you will excell beyond expectation."
            Ryven stood there in silence for but a moment.  He didn't know what this Gallente's game was, and he worried there was something really wrong with him, but, the offer to help with his rage, and the prospect of a chance to finally have someone in his life to try to understand him, and maybe even guide him, was compelling.  He took a leap.
           "I accept." 

Orphan, pt. 2

      Ryven sat, motionless, staring at the blue water of the garden's pool, watching the ripples from the fake raindrops striking its surface.  His knuckles were busted open, and he had a bleeding gash on his forehead from when one of the overzealous security personnel banged Ryven's forehead into a bulkhead on the way to the office of Sister Caille.  Blood dripped from these slowly, and left little red streaks in the rainwater that was collecting on the earthen floor of the garden.  He pondered life outside of the orphanage, as an orphan on the streets of some Caldari city, or worse, as a bilge rat on some backwater Caldari station, or the sex slave of one of the State's higher-level aristocrats.  He wondered if he would even be able to control the fire within.
      "Why am I this way?  Why am I only happy when I have something to fight?"
      His concentration was broken by the sound of the station's announcement system.
      "Ryven, report to compartment 1-204-3-L"
      "What the fuck do they want now?" Ryven said aloud, to the garden.  The silence answered him, as only it could.
      He stood and left through the cold steel hatch to the corridor outside the garden.  He was on the 3rd deck, so he made his way to the lift at the middle of the passageway's length and selected deck 1.  He was alone on the lift, but didn't have much time to think before the doors hissed open and he found himself on deck 1, where the guests of the Sisters stayed.  Compartment 1-204-3-L was a living compartment, at frame 204, on the 1st deck, near the starboard side of the station.  How they managed to decide which side of the nearly circular station was the starboard was a mystery to him, but he knew which it was solely from practice.  He arrived at a door marked 1-204-3-L.  He rang the electronic buzzer on the outside of the door and was greeted by the hiss of the door opening.
      "Come in." Came the voice from within.
       Ryven did as he was bidden, and crossed the threshold to what would be the next chapter of his life. 

Orphan pt. 1

       The garden was well tended, though Ryven did not know by whom.  The Sisters of Eve station was a large one, and though he had lived there as long as he could remember (granted, not too long, he was only 10 years old), he hadn't really learned much beyond the section of the station that was the orphanage and primary school.  He was an orphan, a Caldari of the Civire bloodline.  This he knew simply because everyone had told him so.  He was one of about forty children from age 4 to 17 under the care of the Sisters of Eve.  However, aside from his name, age, and race, he knew absolutely nothing of where he came from.
       The great mystery of who he was and where he came from was constantly on his mind.  He pestered the Sisters for a while about it, and he knew they knew something.  It was evident in the way the Sisters exchanged glances when he asked.  He always received the same answer, "You are Ryven.  The past is unimportant."  They would caution him to not pry and to accept the freedom to be his own person, unfettered by his parentage.  So, no matter how much Ryven would protest and fume and sulk, the Sisters kept mum.  This really only served to stoke a burning rage within him.
        Ryven came to the garden often.  It was a small room, only 10 meters by 10 meters, and filled with greenery.  The plants were real, but the sky and horizons were not.  Neither was the rain that happened every 48 hours or so.  Ryven sat on the lone bench next to a small pool.  The rain began less than 5 minutes after he sat down.  That's how he preferred it.  It helped to calm him.  He was bleeding again.  He let the sound of raindrops striking the pool lull him into a near trance.  He remembered the fight.
        The other boy didn't really deserve it.  They usually didn't.  His name was Tankran.  He had reddish hair.  He was an idiot.  That's really all it took for Ryven these days.  It happened in one of the corridors of the orphanage.  Tankran had a look on his face, some sort of smirk or a grin; Ryven didn't know for sure, really.  He waited for Tankran to pass within arm's reach of him, and quickly spun and struck him in the face with the heel of his hand, feeling the crunch of the cartilage collapsing, and the warmth of the blood on his hand.  His world slowed, the sounds faded, and only he and his opponent existed.  This is why he fought all the time.  To Ryven, the only peace came from fighting, or replaying the fights in his mind in the garden.  He fluidly followed his palm-strike with a knee strike to the abdomen, and a leg sweep.  Tankran landed hard on the metal floor, his head smacking with a harsh thud.  Ryven followed up with one last strike, an elbow to the sternum, which effectively knocked the wind out of Tankran.  Ryven would've gotten in another hit, but one of the Sisters Security members pulled him forcibly from the now bleeding, injured, and unconscious victim.
       The headmistress of the orphanage, a mid-fifties Gallente woman, Sister Caille, sat him down in her office.  It might as well have been a closet, and it smelled of mold and steel.  The only furnishings were her spartan desk and chair, and the small steel chair he was sitting in.  She also had a framed artistic depiction of the Eve Gate, the central focus of the religion of the Servant Sisters of Eve. She was obviously upset, but didn't raise her voice.  She went on and on about moral codes and ethics.  She talked about how he was a ward of the Sisters of Eve, and that they were willing to help those in need, but that such magnanimity had limits.  That's when she said that they were at the end of their rope, and that one more fight would mean the end of his stay, and that he would be dropped off at the nearest Caldari outpost to fend for himself. When she finally finished, all he could say was, "Yes, Sister Caille.  May I go?"
       "Yes, very well." She sighed. "But, Ryven, don't throw away a chance at a peaceful life."
        The Sisters didn't understand, fighting was the only thing that brought him peace.
To be continued...