The Emperor, Heideran VII, told me a story once. He carried out a vision that has propelled him into becoming the champion of dank interstellar peace. The secret of his power began with these words. "As you will lay there, dying in the sun, the sand of desert all around you, you shall speak to a rock, not with your lips, but with your mind, and the rock shall weep tears of fresh pod goo and your thirst will be quenched." Through maximum skill points (mostly injected) and billions upon billions of isk, I lay in my desert oasis of bitches and many, many slave maidens. Upon the golden joystick of capital ships, I watch accross the feild of nekkid bodies and empty bottles around me, countess corpses are jettisoned into space while turning behind me for another bottle of LPA. "When Hannor Mir fell from above and learned to fly on the way down, that was a miracle." Flying vessels I'm barely skilled for, reordering the heavens whilepissed as fuck and with titties in my face.
o7
Dashboard
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Intel Profile
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