(06-06-2016, 11:40 AM)Thunderer Wrote: Who writes books like this? Suddenly I feel like going to the library, for a change.
Now I have become Dunc-, the destroyer of words. As to the library old bean, there's only a certain amount the environmental factors of life can flesh out the alleles before we're all forced to call alley-oop and pass the metaphorical candle to somebody with a little more wick betwixt the wax. Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)
(06-06-2016, 11:28 AM)Dunc- Wrote: Roleplay the existence of a decadently wealthy character, then grovel for infrequent small loans of a million credits to cover your consumable outgoings, skimping a few hundred thousand credits here, another hundred there. Your income is guaranteed by the esprit de corps of your roleplay partners (and their desire not to have to wait upon the interminable respawn tick), who are in-turn exalted by the (doubtless) enviable opportunity to watch you act out your one-man quest to obtain balance deflowering special roleplay status as you take on the role of a Kusarian magical schoolgirl, on a valiant quest through Pennsylvania to discover the meaning of life, tentacles, all of it . Be assuaged, the players with whom you collaborate are inhuman demigods, with considerably more than twenty four hours in their days, and have been playing Discovery since higher primates first scratched their navels with a playstation's USB connector. They have graduated top of their class in the IMG
paramilitaire, and have over 300 confirmed POBS. As we speak they are contacting their secret network of shared miners across the Omegas and the most ideal ore routes are being traced right now so you better prepare for the income gap, ami. They are the kind of detestable spreadsheet players who find Eve online to be the neural-net equivalent of a Rheinish sex basement. They are unassailable Atlases, who, if shrugged, would shed the gross domestic product of seven Ethiopias (or one Conrad, by Bretonian units). They have no need for player verses player altercations - PVP to them is merely elaborate doublespeak for hiring Yber, a safeword for bounty boards, florrid missives to the local authorities, a letter of marque. They breathe, eat, and crap, credits. Their lawyers will be onto you like Jormungands on a police valkyrie. Their mercenaries will mutilate your alts. They are Force majeure, and they may not run this place but they have one hell of an understanding with the people who do.
Best just to leave the credits to the professionals, my boy, and claim it all back in expenses. After all, it's a perfectly legitimate method for circumventing the anti-panhandling clauses in the server rules. Life is too short for bourgeois fatuity, running hither and thither after errant shekels. Much better to be graciously, comfortably and loquaciously, unemployed.
May we never work out what was the purpose of your satire, lest it be decided that it was off-topic. Or rather, Black Widow's general moaning thread got locked, so I suppose this is the closest secondary thread in which to post this.
At the very least the hyperparagraph ends with a Freelancer reference.
The original poster's question had already been answered in full (and extremely well, in a friendly, accessible manner), by people on this forum significantly more experienced than myself, who gave more competent answers than I myself can give, so I had a bit of fun with a few timeless Discovery truisms. On topic? Yes. Functionally it is what I myself tend to do when playing Disco - earn enough credits to cover the plethora of basic ships that may require personification, then share the wealth when it comes to tee shirts and tang, nanobots and nukes. People are more than happy to refund you for an encounter if the encounter is sufficiently good and your credit pool is a dry well of nothingness (a favour which you should always return, mind).
The best advice is to smuggle, or join a trading faction. Either option will grant you player interaction, which is lubricant which makes everything in Disco rub together comfortably.
A good eighty three words of the above were useful advice, when all is said and done - which it is. All is said and done. The OP's questions were answered, you waggled your rapier, I've jiggled mine, and I'll not presume to take any more more nuggets of advice from you.
Have a pleasant Monday.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)
(06-06-2016, 11:28 AM)Dunc- Wrote: Roleplay the existence of a decadently wealthy character, then grovel for infrequent small loans of a million credits to cover your consumable outgoings, skimping a few hundred thousand credits here, another hundred there. Your income is guaranteed by the esprit de corps of your roleplay partners (and their desire not to have to wait upon the interminable respawn tick), who are in-turn exalted by the (doubtless) enviable opportunity to watch you act out your one-man quest to obtain balance deflowering special roleplay status as you take on the role of a Kusarian magical schoolgirl, on a valiant quest through Pennsylvania to discover the meaning of life, tentacles, all of it . Be assuaged, the players with whom you collaborate are inhuman demigods, with considerably more than twenty four hours in their days, and have been playing Discovery since higher primates first scratched their navels with a playstation's USB connector. They have graduated top of their class in the IMG
paramilitaire, and have over 300 confirmed POBS. As we speak they are contacting their secret network of shared miners across the Omegas and the most ideal ore routes are being traced right now so you better prepare for the income gap, ami. They are the kind of detestable spreadsheet players who find Eve online to be the neural-net equivalent of a Rheinish sex basement. They are unassailable Atlases, who, if shrugged, would shed the gross domestic product of seven Ethiopias (or one Conrad, by Bretonian units). They have no need for player verses player altercations - PVP to them is merely elaborate doublespeak for hiring Yber, a safeword for bounty boards, florrid missives to the local authorities, a letter of marque. They breathe, eat, and crap, credits. Their lawyers will be onto you like Jormungands on a police valkyrie. Their mercenaries will mutilate your alts. They are Force majeure, and they may not run this place but they have one hell of an understanding with the people who do.
Best just to leave the credits to the professionals, my boy, and claim it all back in expenses. After all, it's a perfectly legitimate method for circumventing the anti-panhandling clauses in the server rules. Life is too short for bourgeois fatuity, running hither and thither after errant shekels. Much better to be graciously, comfortably and loquaciously, unemployed.
THIS POST HAS TOO MANY SYLLABLES, APOLOGIZE!
Anyway, if we return to the topic, so, i should make another character, and, the cardmine from buffalo base, it should be sold at a Lane hacker's base? Are the cardmine from the rogues and outcasts completely different?
(06-06-2016, 11:40 AM)Thunderer Wrote: Who writes books like this? Suddenly I feel like going to the library, for a change.
Now I have become Dunc-, the destroyer of words. As to the library old bean, there's only a certain amount the environmental factors of life can flesh out the alleles before we're all forced to call alley-oop and pass the metaphorical candle to somebody with a little more wick betwixt the wax. Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.
Although this piccolo of genus orationis Asiaticum tingles my pharynx, it has no pragmatic application. I realized, but too late, what subtle fumes of methanol an artist might throw up as a reply if he was called an epigone. I was blinded by haste before, but now I see, that I should have replaced the fact with a white lie, because bliss is the aim and not use, except if the use leads to bliss.
Fear not my alleles. I do not intend to epigonise Alexander. I only crave for a boat and a supply of spirits, so I can sail nowhere, but feel doubleplusgood.
(06-06-2016, 11:40 AM)Thunderer Wrote: Who writes books like this? Suddenly I feel like going to the library, for a change.
Now I have become Dunc-, the destroyer of words. As to the library old bean, there's only a certain amount the environmental factors of life can flesh out the alleles before we're all forced to call alley-oop and pass the metaphorical candle to somebody with a little more wick betwixt the wax. Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.
Although this piccolo of genus orationis Asiaticum tingles my pharynx, it has no pragmatic application. I realized, but too late, what subtle fumes of methanol an artist might throw up as a reply if he was called an epigone. I was blinded by haste before, but now I see, that I should have replaced the fact with a white lie, because bliss is the aim and not use, except if the use leads to bliss.
Fear not my alleles. I do not intend to epigonise Alexander. I only crave for a boat and a supply of spirits, so I can sail nowhere, but feel doubleplusgood.
Is it, by any case, lysergic acid diethylamide?
Whilst such Aquarian voyeurism indeed finds origins within Indo-Sanskrit media, and has been much appropriated by the egalitarian left as pseudo-philosophical agitprop, advocating all unmannerly mutterings of maddish mumbo-jumbo much maligning the magnanimity of the millennial mean, such grotesque guruisms construe nothing but new age obsequience to intellectual obsolescence. Whilst I myself occasionally benefit from the occasional lysergamidic intervention, the combination of music with hallucinogenic euphoria is a triviality best kept to the arcadian rave. A stringed instrument, particularly of oh so oriental a denomination, should be treated with an Orpheic adoration, lest the dainty details become bedeviled by a mind without the rigour for sustained barbarities in the name of playing the bard. Such a combination of substances is ill-fitting and irksome to behold; to see a man, vomiting alkanes and cuddling gravestones is a grave offence indeed.
Come to me my sibling in misfortune, together we may rend the world anew in a dazzling technicolour never once held by man, for we are Prometheans, you and I, destined to cleanse the forum with a Praetorian swing. We will grapple with existential aberrancy like two comely Jacobs with a catamite. Come, dance with me, dance! Like the barycentre of Pluto and Charon we will wile away the waltzes under the light of the moon, locked in a utopian beat. Take me, claim me now and I will fill your days with light and you will fill my heart with lightning, oh Thunderer, let us thud together till our cries rise in ululation.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)
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I swear to Eris, no thread has led me from cursing to smiling in such abundance as this one has. This forum has been too long absent from the predations of a mind wielding a well-thumbed thesaurus and an overly thick Miriam Webster's.
And no, unmentionable-variety-of-unthinking-popper-off-ers, smuggling has not been nerfed, unless more means less in your addled fever dreams. Stop smoking real dope while smuggling the fictional variety and you might perform better at arithmetic and history both.
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