Do you know how much damage a capsuleer can do? I can almost bet that you don't, no matter what experience you have. From a miner destroying belt rats with drones, through lowsec pirates to the Titan pilots unleashing truly awesome firepower out in null, you don't truly understand what we can do. It came to me when I was made aware of how every single capsuleer I've ever met have humongous fan followings dirtside. Search your name on Galnet and you'll find fansites, discussion fora, fanfics you might wish you'd never knew existed and the visitor counts run into truly staggering numbers.
It's a matter of scale. Look at a decently populated planet and start counting politicians or pop stars. One single planet will have damn near more of them than there are capsuleers in all of New Eden. Now go system wide. Constellation wide. Region wide. Nation wide. We're so exquisitely rare that aware or not... we're fucking rockstars. Literally, in some cases.
Now imagine someone actually working on that. Diverting near unlimited capsuleer funds towards public relations, agents, promotions, community management and social media presence? You can have an army working your reputation and presence for a year, for the pittance it costs you to buy and fit a cruiser.
Now compare that to what we can realistically do in our engines of death and destruction. Sure, we can kill a lot of things, but we can't truly affect the nations. Do you know who does? The dirtsiders. The workers. The youth coming into their own. The disenfranchised and the powerful, the wealthy and the poor. Through votes, through whispered thoughts to a spouse, through violent rebellion. Through a thousand little things done through a lifetime, times a million. Two million. Billions.
Now that's fucking metal.
Interlude: Hearts and Minds... and genitals.
Ever felt the presence of the spirits? The spirits of mountains, perhaps. Of winter and snow. Of the deserts, plains, towns or even space stations? Of a sun, endlessly churning with unfathomable power and warming your metal skin as you bathe in its glory somewhere in the Wildlands, perhaps. They all pale when compared the spirit of people in a mass. Maybe it's simply because you carry one yourself, so it's more recognizable. Maybe it resonates stronger, as they feed on each other in a churning, boiling and fevered mass of emotions, hormones and excitement. I'm already sweating, my torn shirt tight against wet skin. My black leather pants that should be the most uncomfortable set of clothes in existence barely registering as my pulse is racing. I grin, in the darkness I share with a few others. Varg, a bearded and frightening Sebiestor, built more like a Brutor. Arashan, a gorgeous and lithe Wind Dancer of the Vherokior tribe. A Thukker that simply goes by Dread, quiet and cold.
Darkness or no, I can see it in them all. The resonance. The primal surge of raw sexual lust that permeates the air, even here in the dungeons below. A throbbing sound of feet stomping in unison echoing through the hallways. The muted roar of thousands upon thousands of voice mingling together in a wordless expression of desire, anger and cheer. My tattoos are starting to warm up on my skin, countless little nanotech devices picking up on my mood and that of the surroundings. Even the warpaint tattoos are starting to surface, painfully. Varg and the others look to me and grin just as ferociously as me, with the same undercurrent of nervous energy and sheer desire.
A small light starts flashing nearby. It's time.
It doesn't matter what training I have. It doesn't matter that I can still my mind perfectly in the most horrifying combat a capsuleer or dirtsider can ever experience. It doesn't matter that I've done this before. There's no calming what's trying to burst out from underneath my skin as we walk with a sinuous grace through the hallways and up some stairs, the muted roar becoming louder. My tattoos are all glowing a bright red now, my face covered in warpaint and my mouth set in a grin so vicious it'd send vargs - the Mikramurkan predator, not my companion - running away, yelping in fear. Similar effects from my companions are bathing the hallway in an eerie red glow as we finally exit out onto a blackened dark stage to see the thousands upon thousands of people's faces - mostly Minmatar, but all bloodlines are represented. Even some Amarr - turn towards us and what had been a roar turns into an indescribable spiritual force hitting us like a shockwave.
Varg and the others move to their instruments, Arashan settling in the Drum Circle, Dread grabbing a complicated looking string instrument with a lead heading to a bank of speakers large enough to have their own tectonics going on and me heading to grab a microphone.
Sex. It's the only thing I can think of. The roar, the adulation, the literal sea of hormones and emotion before me and me standing before it as a God. Sex. It's fitting that is the only thing that comes to mind, because that and the other primals is what we're playing on. The most primal of emotions and need, alongside survival and rage. The path to their hearts and minds... go through their genitals.
The stage explodes in light and fire as I roar into the microphone a single word...
"SARZ'NAMARR!"
The holographic projectors kick in and the band-name is displayed for everyone within countless miles to see and Arashan starts dancing. Without aural adjusters, the sheer sound produced by the speakers would destroy our ears and it's likely most of the people closest to the stage will need medical attention once the concert is done, but until it's over they're going to be too frenzied and euphoric to care. I grin... and the
music begins. My howl into the microphone is pure unrelenting hatred pouring out from my very spirit, focused and aimed at my nemeses. At the Empire and their equals. At New Eden allowing everything that has hurt me, my people and countless others throughout generations. There is no artistry involved, there's just everything that I am channeled through an enraged growl as the ingrained lyrics escape containment to wash over these thousands of roaring and jumping people that would in this very moment die for me without question.
Varg's rage expressed through a furious shredding of his guitar, Dread's relentless fury twisting and tormenting his strings as Arashan lets her own wrath fuel every punch, every kick, every move of her body as the drum circle barely holds together under her onslaught. Fire erupting around us and our tattoos glowing a bright red as everything that we are infects the crowd and makes them ours.
I am soaking wet and if I weren't more interested in my screams, growls and relentless rage expressed into the microphone I could have fucked my way through the entire crowd and demanded more.
Spirits above and below,
I. Am. A. GOD!The first song finishes and I am already completely exhausted, and can't afford to show it. I grin at Varg and look out over the crowd that is seething and boiling for as far as I can see. We still have two hours to go.
I raise my fist, the Bloody Fist of Ushra'Khan engraved on my prosthetic arm glowing as red as my tattoos... and the show goes on.
I do more damage to the Empire here tonight than I could do in a month of combat.
Article and vague concert review on the IGS.
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Topic: Interlude: Hearts and Minds... and genitals. (Read 1876 times)