- Kills
- 55
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Losses
- 82
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Efficiency
- ISK Efficiency 38%
- ISK destroyed
- 6.79B
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Activity
- Inactive
- 0 kills/day · last 90 days
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 55
- Losses
- 82
- Danger Ratio
- 90%
- Final Blows
- 14
- Points
- 55
ISK
- Destroyed
- 6.79B
- Lost
- 11.03B
- Balance
- -4.24B
- ISK Efficiency
- 38%
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 4
- Solo Ratio
- 7%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
Other
- NPC Losses
- 8
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 10%
- Activity
- Inactive
Damage Dealt898.4K
Damage Ratio · 47%
Damage Taken1.0M
Activity
What they fly, where they fight, latest kills and losses
Most Valuable
The priciest kills in the window
Matchups
Who they kill, who kills them, what they lose
Last 90d
Killed
Killed By
Hulls LostLosses broken down by hull class.
In-game bio
This is the law of the spaceman, and ever he makes it plane.
Send not your foolish and feeble, send me your strong and your sane.
Strong for the red rage of battle, sane for I harrow them sore.
Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core.
Swift as a panther in triumph, fierce as a bear in defeat.
Sired of bulldog parents, steeled in the furnace heat.
Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones
Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons.
Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway.
On my ruthless throne I have ruled alone, for a million years and a day.
Hugging my mighty treasures, waiting for man to come.
Til he came like a turbid torrent, and after him swept the scum.
The pallid pimp of the deadline, the innervate of the pen.
One by one I weeded them out, for all that I sought was men.
Send not your foolish and feeble, send me your strong and your sane.
Strong for the red rage of battle, sane for I harrow them sore.
Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core.
Swift as a panther in triumph, fierce as a bear in defeat.
Sired of bulldog parents, steeled in the furnace heat.
Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones
Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons.
Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway.
On my ruthless throne I have ruled alone, for a million years and a day.
Hugging my mighty treasures, waiting for man to come.
Til he came like a turbid torrent, and after him swept the scum.
The pallid pimp of the deadline, the innervate of the pen.
One by one I weeded them out, for all that I sought was men.