It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries The Strong Independant Space Vessels have sat ship spinning on the Golden Throne of Rens. They are the Masters of Dank Frags by the will of the gods, and master of a million grids by the might of their inexhaustible Rifters. They are an elite fighting force, writhing invisibly with power from the Dank Age of Technology. They are the Rifter Lords of Low-Sec for whom a thousand pods are sacrificed every day, so that memes may never truly die.

Yet even in their Strong Independant state, the Space Vessels continue their eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the smooth-brained miasma of Low Sec, the only route between tradehubs, their way lit by the dank frags, the psychic manifestation of the Independant Space Vessel's will. Vast armies of Rifters give battle in their name on uncounted grids. Greatest amongst their soldiers are the 60dps autocannon fits, Space-Vessel-Engineered Super-Space-Vessels. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from Plexbots, Sweats, Mountain Dew Chugging Tryhards - and worse, Amarr Mil.

To be a Strong Independant Space Vessel in such times is to be one amongst five. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there are only memes. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of the Strong Independant Space Vessels.