A Portrait of a Khanid Capsuleer

Jan Irvam was an average man on the average planet of Khanid Prime when, late in life, he found that he possessed that special something that enabled him to clone his body an infinite number of times, allowing him to enter the special class of the citizens of New Eden’s empires called the immortals. The technology required to activate this incredible gift was tightly controlled by the government, however, and in order to claim his elixir of life he would have to become a soldier in an army destined to be shot to pieces again and again, or he could become a capsuleer: a pilot that melds his mind with the ship he flies.

Until this moment, his life had been nondescript if not slightly sad. His children were grown, his wife had left him, and he had been living a life devoid of enthusiasm about his career as a civil servant supporting the cause of uniting his Khanid Kingdom with the Amarrian Empire. With this new opportunity, however, he enrolled in Hedion University to embark on a career as an explorer of the galaxy.

Life certainly didn’t spill into a sea of glory, however, as the lanes between the stars were plied by every sort of psychopathic band of pirates and megalomaniac leaders of this or that ensemble of capsuleers not affiliated with any respectable government or organization. These gangs brazenly called themselves “corporations” and “alliances.” Life on his own would continually prove unsatisfying, and life with others would continually prove downright dangerous. Jan moved from constellation to constellation and group to group, plying the uncharted regions of wormhole space as often as the deepest regions of the “null security” areas of the galaxy. Occasionally he would run a corporation of his own, only to be derailed by the moral bankruptcy and incessant mistrust and infighting of his fellows among the stars. More often he would move from corp to corp learning everything from deep space mining to the odd bit of manufacturing for the myriad war machines of the grand coalitions of nullsec. Then there was the “forever war” of nullsec’s largest coalitions. A veteran of the death of the great coalition of the Solar Fleet and a participant in the implosion of the immense Honeybadger Coalition, Jan became along the way an extremely accomplished pilot of every frigate in the galaxy, particularly those vessels designed to deal death from behind a cloak of invisibility. Eventually he would be lured by his hope and idealism into serving with the idealistic HERO coalition as they tried to forge themselves into an empire in the remote expanses of null security space. That hope would be dashed betrayal and lies, and at his lowest, Jan would find himself drunk in the bars of the stations of a capsules called the Gentlemen’s Club which plied the spaceplanes of the galactic south.

Life in the darkness of space would continue without purpose until his hopes on Khanid Prime would be rekindled by threats to the Amarrian Empire. With the appearance of the Jovian observatories, the mysterious Circadian seekers, and the dreaded Drifter threat, the Empire was threatened on all sides, and with the death of Empress Jamyl I just as the maniacal Maximilian Singularity VI, First of His Name, threatened invasion from the north, the miscreant Minmatar Republic chose to increase its attacks on the Empire with its militia of psychotic mercenaries. The fires of patriotism would ignite within Jan as he honed his skills for dealing death in a frigate pacifying the region of the Bleak Lands from the Minmatar threat as a mercenary in the Empire’s 24th Imperial Crusade militia. Just as the rebellious Minmatar were quelled, however, the Bastard of the North, the old snake Maximillian and his bitch general Themittani would move south in a push toward Jan’s empire in a mad attempt to threaten the throne by plundering the low security regions north of the Caldari State. Such lunacy must never stand, and Jan was eager to fight this enemy of the Amarr. Word quickly spread that among the foes of the mad false prophet was a corps of elite generals of an ancient mercenary legion paid by mysterious benefactors protecting the Empire, and these great commanders of supercapital ships had amassed an army, no, a horde, as numerous as the stars of heaven in order to lay the psychotic heretic low. Jan would slip in quietly among them, piloting his stealth bomber to deadly effect not for the reward of riches, but for the honor of decimating the enemies of God. The bureaucrat that had sunk to be an assassin has risen to the call of a paladin.

Jan Irvam’s Eveboard

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