- Kills
- 6
- +6 in the last 90 days
- Losses
- 31
- +25 in the last 90 days
- Efficiency
- ISK Efficiency 8%
- ISK destroyed
- 163.8M
- +163.8M in the last 90 days
- Activity
- Low
- 0.1 kills/day · last 90 days
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 6
- Losses
- 31
- Danger Ratio
- 100%
- Final Blows
- 1
- Points
- 20
ISK
- Destroyed
- 163.8M
- Lost
- 1.83B
- Balance
- -1.67B
- ISK Efficiency
- 8%
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 1
- Solo Ratio
- 17%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
Other
- NPC Losses
- 0
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 0%
- Activity
- Low
Damage Dealt12.0K
Damage Ratio · 10%
Damage Taken112.3K
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
Born beneath the red sun of Matar, into a Vherokior family whose roots stretched back farther than any living member could remember.
Her ancestors had once crossed the Sobaki Desert in great caravans, carrying medicines, stories, trade goods and the old wisdom of the Vherokior between the settlements of Matar. By her generation, the family had abandoned the wandering life, but the desert had never truly left them.
Her grandmother still kept the old traditions. Her mother knew the names of distant relatives by heart. Her father could repair almost anything with enough time and patience. Their home was small, their possessions modest, and their family enormous.
To outsiders, they were unremarkable.
To her, they were everything.
The Vherokior have always understood that survival is rarely an individual achievement. A person survives because someone taught them. Someone feeds them. Someone carries their name. Someone remembers who they were when they are gone.
She learned that lesson early.
She learned the second one much later.
Everything can be lost.
The drones came without warning.
At first, they were little more than a nuisance. Strange machines had been appearing in the region for weeks, scavenging equipment and stripping abandoned structures for components. People assumed they were isolated rogue drones—dangerous, certainly, but manageable.
They were wrong.
The machines had found something beneath the settlement.
Something worth building around.
The first attack lasted minutes.
The last survivors remembered it as hours.
The drones did not negotiate. They did not hate. They did not even seem to understand the people they were killing. To them, flesh was simply another obstacle between themselves and the resources they needed.
Her family died defending their home.
Her father bought time for the others.
Her mother refused to leave without the youngest children.
Her grandmother stayed behind to retrieve the family records.
None of them survived.
She did.
She has never decided whether that was a blessing or a punishment.
For years afterward, she carried the guilt of survival with her. She remembered every lesson her family had taught her, charting a new life into the vast unknowns of a new desert of stars.
Her ancestors had once crossed the Sobaki Desert in great caravans, carrying medicines, stories, trade goods and the old wisdom of the Vherokior between the settlements of Matar. By her generation, the family had abandoned the wandering life, but the desert had never truly left them.
Her grandmother still kept the old traditions. Her mother knew the names of distant relatives by heart. Her father could repair almost anything with enough time and patience. Their home was small, their possessions modest, and their family enormous.
To outsiders, they were unremarkable.
To her, they were everything.
The Vherokior have always understood that survival is rarely an individual achievement. A person survives because someone taught them. Someone feeds them. Someone carries their name. Someone remembers who they were when they are gone.
She learned that lesson early.
She learned the second one much later.
Everything can be lost.
The drones came without warning.
At first, they were little more than a nuisance. Strange machines had been appearing in the region for weeks, scavenging equipment and stripping abandoned structures for components. People assumed they were isolated rogue drones—dangerous, certainly, but manageable.
They were wrong.
The machines had found something beneath the settlement.
Something worth building around.
The first attack lasted minutes.
The last survivors remembered it as hours.
The drones did not negotiate. They did not hate. They did not even seem to understand the people they were killing. To them, flesh was simply another obstacle between themselves and the resources they needed.
Her family died defending their home.
Her father bought time for the others.
Her mother refused to leave without the youngest children.
Her grandmother stayed behind to retrieve the family records.
None of them survived.
She did.
She has never decided whether that was a blessing or a punishment.
For years afterward, she carried the guilt of survival with her. She remembered every lesson her family had taught her, charting a new life into the vast unknowns of a new desert of stars.