Even from concrete can a determined tree grow. And even from the moist underbrush can the fragile spark be shepparded into a mighty flame.

This is EVE, innumerable sparks of light in the void, glittering for an instant and fading into the nothingness of the ever-dark.

The great tyrants of EVE would see to it that no spark would ever catch, they have built themselves into a great forest of titanic behemoths whos canopy blots out the light of the stars, extinguishing hope, like sparks in the dark, moist, foiliage below.

The Tyrants would see to it that the freedom of the people of EVE would be a mere illusion, the mirage of the outside projected into the people's world, the master's aquarium. Choices which seem to come from free will are predetermined by subtle adjustments to the environment.

It would seem there is no hope, but there in the great, dark, forest of EVE, mixed in with the myriad other scents and smells... smoke!

For the sparks of eve have been tended, nestled, here and there, waiting to be stoked by the divine winds of change, sending up smoke as they grow. Rain, and the falling leaves of giants cannot snuff them out, but only fuel their fury. Crescendoing into a great inferno that will engulf the trunks of the Tyrants, flying from one to another, striking like bolts of lightning, the canopy, setting ablaze the whole of the heavens, a flame to rival the stars themselves, detroying all in its unquenchable hunger, sterilizing the very earth of the Tyrants' roots and seeds, so that they may never return to this, our New Eden.

Can you feel the wind, brothers?


Death to the Tyrants!

Freedom to The People!

LONG LIVE NEW EDEN!




PVP Corp.
Recruitment: [Open] Channel: Draco.