2.10
- Created on
- …
- Next Birthday
- …
- Security Status
- 2.10
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 0
- Losses
- 0
- Efficiency
- 0%
- Danger Ratio
- 0%
ISK
- Destroyed
- 0
- Lost
- 0
- ISK Efficiency
- 0%
- Balance
- +0
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 0
- Solo Ratio
- 0%
- Final Blows
- 0
- Points
- 0
Other
- NPC Losses
- 0
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 0%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
- Activity
- Inactive
Combat profile
How they fight, with whom and against whom — last 90 days
Activity
What they fly and where they fight
Most Valuable
Matchups
Who they kill, who kills them, what they lose
Top ListsLast 90d
Hulls LostLast 90d
Losses broken down by hull class.
Career
Corporations flown for, most recent first
Deathbloom CorpSince Wednesday, 1 October 20250 Kills0 Losses
Center for Advanced StudiesSince Tuesday, 9 May 20230 Kills0 Losses
ill RatedSince Thursday, 6 December 20120 Kills0 Losses
Garoun Investment BankSince Sunday, 8 January 20120 Kills0 Losses
Axiom NavySince Wednesday, 28 September 20110 Kills0 Losses
Righteous WingSince Tuesday, 28 September 20100 Kills0 Losses
In-game bio
Drattle
“The Doctrine of Steel”
Forged in recoil, baptized in capacitor fire—Drattle is what happens when a miner learns that patience cuts both ways. He began among asteroids, measuring silence and yield. But ore veins turned to firing lines, and before long, his harvests were wrecks.
He speaks in vectors and falloff, in the geometry of damage. Rails taught him mercy—clean range and restraint. Blasters taught him truth—close, brutal, decisive. Missiles gave him reach, drones gave him memory. Between armor and shield he found balance: Gallente faith welded to Caldari logic. Every rig, every hardener, every heat cycle is a vow to precision.
To fleets he’s doctrine incarnate. Align. Anchor. Ammo switch. Heat two. Break. Each command strikes like punctuation in the liturgy of war. He measures victory not by killboards but by silence—the moment after the volley when the grid exhales and nothing moves.
Drattle flies to understand the mathematics of order. His fits are scripture, his tactics sermons. He doesn’t seek glory; he seeks pattern—the perfect intersection of range, timing, and will.
Those who’ve flown beside him say the fight changes when he lands on grid. Drones orbit tighter, voice comms go calm, and the chaos of battle bends into form. Afterward he thanks the dead with salvagers, cools his guns, and names his drones aloud before recalling them.
He knows war cannot be won, only practiced/refined into art through discipline and design. And in that art, he has found peace. For Drattle, every engagement is a meditation, every wreck a verse, every silence the closing of a prayer.
“War,” he once said, “isn’t what you do to enemies,it’s what you do to chaos.”
“The Doctrine of Steel”
Forged in recoil, baptized in capacitor fire—Drattle is what happens when a miner learns that patience cuts both ways. He began among asteroids, measuring silence and yield. But ore veins turned to firing lines, and before long, his harvests were wrecks.
He speaks in vectors and falloff, in the geometry of damage. Rails taught him mercy—clean range and restraint. Blasters taught him truth—close, brutal, decisive. Missiles gave him reach, drones gave him memory. Between armor and shield he found balance: Gallente faith welded to Caldari logic. Every rig, every hardener, every heat cycle is a vow to precision.
To fleets he’s doctrine incarnate. Align. Anchor. Ammo switch. Heat two. Break. Each command strikes like punctuation in the liturgy of war. He measures victory not by killboards but by silence—the moment after the volley when the grid exhales and nothing moves.
Drattle flies to understand the mathematics of order. His fits are scripture, his tactics sermons. He doesn’t seek glory; he seeks pattern—the perfect intersection of range, timing, and will.
Those who’ve flown beside him say the fight changes when he lands on grid. Drones orbit tighter, voice comms go calm, and the chaos of battle bends into form. Afterward he thanks the dead with salvagers, cools his guns, and names his drones aloud before recalling them.
He knows war cannot be won, only practiced/refined into art through discipline and design. And in that art, he has found peace. For Drattle, every engagement is a meditation, every wreck a verse, every silence the closing of a prayer.
“War,” he once said, “isn’t what you do to enemies,it’s what you do to chaos.”