Meet the Rebels - Taranfel
Taranfel was a mean looking man, the kind of man who was spat out of the system and left to fend for himself. His evil glare hidden behind reflective black shades, he was snappy in the sentence and I got that gut feeling that I'd rather be somewhere a little more public than this sleazy ransacked excuse for a room, empty liquor bottles rolled around the floor and a grease and engine oil stench mixed with the recycled air.
Taranfel picked up a half-filled dark-brown bottle off the side and took a long glug before settling down in his chair, the bottle still clasped in his dirty unwashed hands.
My background? Who the hell cares about the past? Look to the future. Ain't nothing back there but used up clone whores and space dust.
I fly Rifters for a living. I'm damn good at it, and I ain't a pansy.
Roaming mostly. Vandalizing, blowing stuff up, an' generally bein' as much of a pain in the ass as I could be.
A pilot. In a Rifter preferably. Bad ass. That's a Black Rebel. Cross one an' best kiss yer ass goodbye.
Me? I hacked an interstellar transmission by Concord. Heard a bunch of whiny nonsense about some fella's up to know good and makin' life hard for the fly-straight-or-die types. Soundin' like my kinda' people.
It damn sure helps. We ain't a bunch of pretty boys. We already got one of them. You want to be a pretty boy go be a lackey mongrel fer the damned Caldari State lugheads.
Heh, the Rifter? No ship faster or more fearsome. Ain't nothing like the scream of the comms when yer flying thousands of kilometers straight at yer target. Guns blazin', modules jammin', an' prayin' you ain't wakin' up in a clone vat any time soon. You show me a better ship an' I'll shove my boot in yer ass for lyin'.
Nah, we ain't all unwashed. We got that one pretty boy I told ya, always hangs out in the hot tub. Scumbags? Some say it. Who the hell are you though, eh? Got our pride. Soon as turn you to spacedust as blink at you, but we offer ransom an' we mean it. Them pirates ain't honorin' ransoms? Might as well be good fer nothin' brainless drones.
What the hell you want me to say that ain't been said? Scumbags and n'er-do-wells. Tell you straight though, ain't never a dull moment. Ain't no two Black Rebels exactly alike. We ain't yer average group of glory hounds. We just don't give a damn. We want to kill you? We will.
Wake up. Scratch the lice from yer hair. Spit the mornin' scuz from yer mouth. Hop on board an' undock. Maybe you kill a few ships, maybe you wake up in the clone vat. Don't matter. I'm free, an' you ain't.
Taranfel picked up a half-filled dark-brown bottle off the side and took a long glug before settling down in his chair, the bottle still clasped in his dirty unwashed hands.
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| Taranfel |
Tell us a little bit about your background in New Eden.
My background? Who the hell cares about the past? Look to the future. Ain't nothing back there but used up clone whores and space dust.
How did you become a Black Rebel?
I fly Rifters for a living. I'm damn good at it, and I ain't a pansy.
What were you doing before you joined the Black Rebels?
Roaming mostly. Vandalizing, blowing stuff up, an' generally bein' as much of a pain in the ass as I could be.
What is a Black Rebel?
A pilot. In a Rifter preferably. Bad ass. That's a Black Rebel. Cross one an' best kiss yer ass goodbye.
How did you hear about the Black Rebels?
Me? I hacked an interstellar transmission by Concord. Heard a bunch of whiny nonsense about some fella's up to know good and makin' life hard for the fly-straight-or-die types. Soundin' like my kinda' people.
Is it true you need a tattoo to be considered for entry?
It damn sure helps. We ain't a bunch of pretty boys. We already got one of them. You want to be a pretty boy go be a lackey mongrel fer the damned Caldari State lugheads.
The Rifter, tell me more?
Heh, the Rifter? No ship faster or more fearsome. Ain't nothing like the scream of the comms when yer flying thousands of kilometers straight at yer target. Guns blazin', modules jammin', an' prayin' you ain't wakin' up in a clone vat any time soon. You show me a better ship an' I'll shove my boot in yer ass for lyin'.
Are all Black Rebels unwashed scumbags whose only goal in life is to terrorize those they tag as 'the enemy'?
Nah, we ain't all unwashed. We got that one pretty boy I told ya, always hangs out in the hot tub. Scumbags? Some say it. Who the hell are you though, eh? Got our pride. Soon as turn you to spacedust as blink at you, but we offer ransom an' we mean it. Them pirates ain't honorin' ransoms? Might as well be good fer nothin' brainless drones.
Tell me about your corpmates?
What the hell you want me to say that ain't been said? Scumbags and n'er-do-wells. Tell you straight though, ain't never a dull moment. Ain't no two Black Rebels exactly alike. We ain't yer average group of glory hounds. We just don't give a damn. We want to kill you? We will.
Describe a typical day in the life of a Rebel.
Wake up. Scratch the lice from yer hair. Spit the mornin' scuz from yer mouth. Hop on board an' undock. Maybe you kill a few ships, maybe you wake up in the clone vat. Don't matter. I'm free, an' you ain't.
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