New EVE Scanning Ship For Relentless Explorers!

My Take on Exploration in EVE Online — The Joys, the Grinds, and the New SOE Ship

Exploration has always been one of my favorite activities in EVE Online. Over time, it became my go-to method for making ISK — for many good reasons. It’s profitable, flexible, and can be surprisingly relaxing. Of course, like any profession in EVE, it has its frustrating parts too. But honestly, that’s part of the charm.

The Upcoming SOE Command Ship — Odysseus

Lately, there’s been a lot of buzz about the newest addition to the Sisters of EVE exploration lineup — the Odysseus. For me, this is an exciting development! SOE ships have always been among my favorites, whether for exploration or PvP.

I’ll admit, I was a little disappointed to hear it’s classified as a command ship. That title gives off a “fleet support” vibe — something more group-oriented than solo. But knowing SOE ships, I’m sure it will still have the versatility we’ve come to expect. It’ll be interesting to see whether this ship encourages more group-based exploration, or if it remains a soloist’s dream.

I won’t turn this post into a news article (I’m sure you’re not here for the latest patch notes), but I had to mention it. It’s great to see the SOE fleet expanding, and I can’t wait to get my hands on the Odysseus. Keep an eye on my killboard — you’ll see it there soon enough. 😏

The Solo Nature of Scanning

Now, back to my little rant — and yes, it’s a bit of a rant! Exploration in EVE is something I’ve always wanted to talk about. I know there’s some discussion around fleet exploration, but to me, it just doesn’t feel like a group activity.

From running data and relic sites to mapping wormhole connections, exploration is a solo game. And honestly? I prefer it that way. It’s quiet, self-reliant, and the ISK goes entirely to you. It’s a one-person job — and that’s part of what makes it peaceful. Maybe I’ll make a Reddit post about it one day, but I digress.

The Scanning Community — A Quiet Bunch

One thing that always amuses me about the exploration community is how independent we all are. You’d think explorers might give each other tips — a heads-up about a good system, a site they’ve left behind, or which wormholes aren’t worth scanning. But no — explorers tend to operate in silence, as if they’re the only ones in the cluster running sites.

This leads me to my main gripe: the way people run sites.

The Two Types of Scanners

In my experience, there are usually two types of explorers:

1. The Cherry Pickers — those who only hack the best containers, maybe only if they see 10M+ ISK in loot.

2. The Completionists — those who’ll hack anything over 1M and move on.

Of course, not everyone fits neatly into those categories, but I think a big chunk of the exploration community does.

The problem with the first type is that it leaves a mess behind — half-finished sites sitting around, waiting for a respawn timer. It’s honestly frustrating to warp into a system and find nothing but incomplete sites.

Personally, I like to finish what I start. I’ll even blow up empty containers just to despawn the site. You’d be surprised how often a new site spawns in the same system before I leave. Sure, it takes a bit more time, but it’s worth it — both for the ISK and the satisfaction of clearing a system properly.

Slowing Down and Enjoying the Journey

I understand why some explorers speed-run their routes — efficiency, profits, or just habit. But I’ve found that taking your time, clearing what you scan, and enjoying the peace of space is one of the most tranquil parts of EVE Online.

Sometimes there’s only 5M ISK left in a system — not much by most standards — but that quiet sense of progress, of doing the job right, is what keeps me coming back to exploration.

Yue's Settlement - Fiction

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The warp tunnel collapsed around the frigate, and Yue emerged into the bleak silence of Stain. Sansha’s Nation. A graveyard of forgotten colonies and stolen souls. The wreckage of old empires drifted like bones in the void, silent witnesses to the Nation’s dominion. Her comms were flooded immediately with hostile pings—warnings, scans, lock attempts. But BLK’s codes worked. Barely.

“Unregistered vessel—identify or be removed.”

“This is contractor YUE-17T, under provisional license fro
m BLK manufacturing, en route for negotiations.” Her voice was steady, even as her hands trembled in the capsule fluid.

The line paused. Then, cold acceptance.

“Docking corridor 6B assigned. Any deviation will result in disassembly.”

As she aligned to the station, the true danger began. Warp disruptor fleets patrolled the deadspace pockets around Sansha’s territory—fanatics in salvaged pirate hulls, eager for fresh kills. Twice, she had been pulled from warp, engines scrabbling against interdiction spheres. First by rogue capsuleer raiders… the second by Nation loyalist fleets, testing her loyalty with blaster fire rather than words.

And each time, Yue survived—by a hair, by a prayer, by sheer spite.

By the time she docked in X-7OMU, the outer bastion of Sansha control, her hull was scarred, and her nerves raw.

The Nation Does Not Welcome You

The docking bay was vast and silent—lit by sterile floodlights that drained color from the world. Workers in modified cybernetic rigs watched her in silence. Their eyes glowed faintly with Sansha’s neural implants, empty of judgment, empty of mercy.

A man approached—tall, pale, with a silver cranial interface etched down his skull.

“BLK sends a woman to negotiate for NET resonators?” he scoffed, voice cold and metallic. “We expected engineers. Soldiers. Not barmaids and runaways.”

Yue’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t come to pour your drinks.
”

The representative—Overseer Verrin—smirked, then pointed toward the hangar bay’s massive bulkheads.

“Prove it. Retrieve Nation relics from uncharted cosmic signatures in HLW-HP. Survive their guardians. Bring back encrypted data modules. Do this, and maybe we’ll speak of partnerships.”

He turned, cloak trailing behind him. “Or die quietly. That would also be useful.”

Ghosts and Ruins

The mission was suicide. Cosmic signatures in this part of space weren’t like empire ruins—these were active warzones left by Nation incursions, crawling with hostile drones and deranged capsuleers seeking Sansha tech for their own gain.

But Yue went.

Her ship wasn’t alone.

BLK had made good on their promise—two more frigates loaded with experimental rigs and covert propulsion systems were smuggled to her while in transit. She wasn’t just a courier anymore. She was the spear.

She dove through nullsec—threading minefields of deadspace pockets, evading pirate ambushes that spat torpedoes and mockery in local chat:

“Easy kill, boys—get the girl in the black hull!”

They never did.

She cracked relic vaults buried inside derelict Sansha outposts, siphoned data from forgotten True Creations research hubs. Sleeper drones stalked her through the ruins, their beams carving molten scars across her armor, but they never stopped her.

Three days.

No sleep.

Barely alive.

But she returned.

Her frigate staggered into dock, hull glowing from re-entry heat and battle damage. Yue stepped out of the capsule pod, covered in capsule gel, blood, and a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

She threw the data cores at Overseer Verrin’s feet.

“Still think it’s not a woman’s job?”

The Overseer stared. Then—unexpectedly—he bowed.

The Nation Accepts You

“You are not weak,” he said quietly. “And the Nation does not waste strength.”

Yue was granted quarters deep within the True Creations Logistics Suite—an inner sanctum normally reserved for Nation scientists and trusted operatives. Clean metallic floors, dim golden lighting, and a viewport that stared into the silent, starless void.

Her new orders were already waiting on her datapad.

Mission Designation: NET Resonator Acquisition
Objective: Coordinate covert operations with BLK. Secure resonator technology for capital hull integration.
Assets Granted: 3 covert frigates, 1 modified cruiser (pending), encrypted transponder keys, full logistic support from True Creations.

Yue leaned back in the black leather chair of her quarters, the hum of the station thrumming beneath her bones. Outside, Sansha ships drifted like silent leviathans—waiting.

She smirked.

“Alright then… let’s build your ghosts.”

Where Have All The Eve Bloggers Gone?

 When I undocked my blog again after a long stay in station, I expected to find familiar beacons lighting up the system. Instead, local was empty. My old blogroll looks like a killboard after a bad gatecamp—nothing but wrecks and abandoned hulls. The capsuleers I used to fly with through words and hyperlinks seem to have warped off to parts unknown.

It’s not that the EVE community went silent. Far from it. They just moved their citadels. These days, you’ll find them streaming on Twitch, narrating their fleets on YouTube, or debating fits in a Discord channel that pings more than CONCORD on a bad day. The grand blog alliances of yesteryear have disbanded; the starbases are offline. Somewhere out there, an ancient WordPress installation is still spinning in space, quietly auto-renewing its domain while the owner forgot the login.

It’s easy to see why the exodus happened. Writing a blog post feels a lot like hauling PI through lowsec—technically rewarding, but dangerously time-consuming, and someone’s always ready to blow it up before you reach your destination. Streaming, on the other hand, is like running Abyssals with blinged-out fits and guaranteed viewers: instant gratification, visible loot ticks, and chat reactions in real time. No waiting for comment moderation, no fiddling with RSS feeds, no wondering if anyone actually read to the end.

Then there’s the attention economy—EVE players’ true final boss. Once upon a time, people followed RSS feeds the way they now chase killmails. These days, they prefer short, shiny things. If your post doesn’t have a thumbnail or a meme, it’s cloaked. You could write the next great analysis of null-sec economics, but someone will scroll past it to watch a two-minute video titled “I Accidentally Titan Bridged Myself Into a Wormhole”. You can’t really blame them. That’s premium content.

Still, I think there’s hope for those of us who like the long warp. Blogs don’t need to compete with streams or videos; they just need to do what they’ve always done best: tell stories that last longer than a single patch cycle. The universe of New Eden runs on drama, numbers, and nostalgia. There’s room for quiet reflections between fleet fights, for thoughtful dissections of market crashes, or for poetic laments about losing a freighter full of skill injectors because you “just needed to grab one more module.”

Maybe the EVE blogosphere isn’t dead—it’s just in deep safe, cloaked, waiting for the right moment to decloak and fire a fresh volley of words. Maybe the future isn’t about massive alliances of blogs but smaller, scrappier capsuleers who keep the tradition alive.

If that’s true, then I say: hit “undock.” Write that after-action report nobody asked for. Chronicle your wormhole misadventures. Complain about your corp mates in a public post your CEO will definitely read. Be the blog you wish you could still find in your bookmarks.

After all, someone’s got to put the next killmail on the board of history—and it might as well be written by you.

Life of Lise - Fiction

So, more than a break has occurred since I last attended to Life of Lise. I hope to keep this as the main part of my blog. The last update had me slap bang on the frontline of the Caldari faction war. Our presence was becoming a problem for more than a few and the whole ordeal ended in us being pushed out of our home system. Being 7 or 8 jumps from the safety of highsec we decided to disband. however much fun we had there I think it burned quite a lot of us. from, there on I have kind of been solo. going from small corporation too small corporation. Let me Entertain you whilst trying to bring Lise's Story up to date, Enjoy...

Breakfast in Venal

The station seems strangely busy.
Lise thought to herself as she wandered down the long gunmetal alleys toward the serveries. It was uncommon to see more than two or three people on her morning walk for breakfast. She was still residing in her original stalking area in Venal, a place she had chosen for its lack of residents and the absence of the usual hustle and bustle of an average constellation.

It had become more of a home these days than a hideaway. Lise had retired from the militia—it felt like an eternity ago—and the quiet hum of the station had suited her just fine.

“Morning!”

The chirpy voice startled her. Lise dropped her datapad, the clatter echoing down the corridor.

“Let me get that,” the man said, stooping to retrieve it.

Lise stood frozen. She tried to say thank you, but it came out as little more than a breath.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said with a grin. “Name’s Eveh. I’m here with my crew—assessing the system. Seems quiet.”

Eveh was tall, broad-shouldered, with a chiseled jaw and a casual posture that made him look entirely out of place among the drab station corridors. His uniform jacket was unzipped, and he looked more like an adventurer than a fleet commander. He crossed his arms and studied her, waiting for a response.

“Your crew?” Lise finally managed. “Er… ah… okay, yeah… um, normally I mean…” She gave up, blushing.

Eveh chuckled. “Heh. So it is quiet then. You don’t speak much?”

Lise cleared her throat and rubbed at her eyes. “Sorry, I just woke. I’m not used to conversation so early in the day. Yes, it’s normally quiet. These are all your people?”

She gestured toward the group of four capsuleers who had just passed them, talking idly among themselves.

Eveh nodded. “Scouts, engineers, a couple of logistics pilots. We’re mapping out the system—thinking of setting up a colony here. I do have history here you know, besides It’s remote, stable, and… well, beautiful in its own lonely way.”

Lise’s expression stiffened. “A colony?”

“Yeah,” Eveh said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “We’ll start small. An industrial wing, maybe a few research outposts. Nothing that should get in your way.”

Lise frowned. “You will get in my way. You bring a fleet into Venal, others will follow. You can’t just plant a flag and expect it to stay quiet.”

Eveh smiled faintly, a knowing glint in his eye. “You sound like someone who’s seen it before.”

“I’ve lived through it,” Lise said flatly. “I came here to be away from it.”

The silence between them hung heavy for a moment, filled only by the faint vibration of the station’s life-support systems.

“I understand,” Eveh said finally. “But sometimes quiet systems need a bit of life breathed into them. Maybe you’ll see it differently, in time.”

Lise crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. “Don’t count on it. I’ll be staying, no matter what you decide to do.”

Eveh grinned again—calm, confident, maybe even a little amused. “Good. It’ll be nice to have someone local to keep us honest.”

He gave a half-salute, then turned to leave. His crew followed, boots echoing on the metal floor.

Lise stood watching until they disappeared down the corridor. The air seemed heavier now. She picked up her datapad and continued toward the serveries, her appetite dulled.

She could already picture the flashing lights of new beacons in orbit, the quiet skyline fractured by industrial scaffolding.

“Colonize the system,” she murmured to herself. “Over my dead clone.”

But deep down, even she could feel it—the faint, unwelcome spark of curiosity.

to be continued...

The Lone Wolf’s Path: The State of Solo PvP in EVE Online

 

Excuse the AWOL elephant in the room I may come back too address that some point. Still in and out of game. I still thoroughly enjoy Solo content in all forms. My recent absences had me questioning if my usual approach was still viable...

Flying solo in EVE Online is one of the purest expressions of what makes New Eden special. It’s dangerous, unpredictable, and at times brutally unfair—but that’s also why it’s so rewarding. Every fight is yours alone. Every escape, every kill, every explosion is a direct reflection of your skill, guts, and creativity.

In an age where massive fleets dominate the headlines, solo PvP remains a quiet art. It’s the difference between commanding a warship and being a duelist in the void—stripped of safety nets, politics, and doctrines. You choose your fights, your fits, your routes. There’s no waiting on a fleet ping or a logistics chain—just you, your ship, and whatever New Eden throws your way.

Of course, the lone wolf life isn’t easy. You’ll lose ships. You’ll get blobbed. You’ll fight entire alliances who see your killmail as a trophy. But every time you survive, every time you outfly or outthink a fleet, the rush is real. Solo PvP teaches you faster than any fleet fight ever could—because your mistakes and triumphs are all your own.

Recent updates from CCP, like the Legion and Revenant expansion tweaks, have shifted the balance once again. Jump bridge changes have made travel riskier but more interesting, creating ambush opportunities that solo hunters can exploit. Ship rebalances—like tweaks to the Tornado and Ferox Navy Issue—have shaken up old metas, rewarding those who adapt quickly and punish those who fly by habit. In other words: perfect conditions for creative pilots.

Despite EVE’s constant evolution, solo PvP remains sustainable if you approach it with the right mindset. The trick isn’t to “win every fight”—it’s to fight smart, fly ships you can afford to lose, and keep your learning curve steep. Cheap, versatile hulls like frigates and cruisers let you stay dangerous without going broke. Combine that with an eye for patch notes, flexible fittings, and a few escape bookmarks, and you’ll thrive where others hesitate to undock.

But sustainability isn’t just about ISK—it’s about mentality. A solo pilot learns to embrace loss, to laugh at bad fights, and to celebrate even the smallest victories. Over time, you build intuition—when to commit, when to disengage, when to warp off and live to fight another day.

So yes, solo PvP is absolutely viable in 2025. In fact, it might be more exciting now than ever. CCP’s recent balance passes have made the galaxy a little more unpredictable, and unpredictability is where solo pilots shine. If you can roll with the punches, keep your ships light, and your map routes fluid, you’ll find more opportunities than obstacles.

The truth is, EVE will always reward those willing to take the risk alone. The galaxy may be vast and hostile, but for those who dare to fly solo, it’s also deeply personal—a space where every killmail tells your story.

So fit up, undock, and embrace the chaos. In New Eden, the most sustainable strategy might just be to keep flying anyway.