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Elapala Uchonela
Elapala Uchonela-1.70
Created on
Next Birthday
Last Active
Security Status
-1.70

Combat Record

Career-long numbers from eve-kill

Combat
Kills
181
Losses
42
Efficiency
81%
Danger Ratio
69%
ISK
Destroyed
25.41B
Lost
3.26B
ISK Efficiency
89%
Balance
+22.15B
Solo
Solo Kills
13
Solo Ratio
7%
Final Blows
87
Points
186
Other
NPC Losses
13
NPC Loss Ratio
31%
Avg Kills/Day
Activity
Medium
Damage
Damage Dealt416.9K
Damage Taken327.1K
Damage Ratio56%

Combat profile

How they fight, with whom and against whom — last 90 days

Activity

What they fly and where they fight

ShipsThis week

No data in this window.

SystemsThis week

No data in this window.

Most Valuable

Matchups

Who they kill, who kills them, what they lose

Top ListsLast 90 days
Hulls Lost

Losses broken down by hull class.

Career

Corporations flown for, most recent first

In-game bio

Nobody ever questioned Elapala.

In an alliance full of mercenaries, industrial barons, and half-mad wormhole explorers, Elapala was just another calm voice on Discord — the one who never panicked when a fleet got dropped on, the one who always remembered which gate was bubbled, the one who quietly scooped loot while everyone else argued about killboards.

Elapala flew a Sleipnir like it was an extension of their own body.
“Align sun. Overheat on contact,” Elapala would say in that steady, synthetic baritone. Not warm. Not cold. Perfectly neutral.

A voice scrubbed of identity.

And the thing was — it worked.

The alliance trusted that voice more than most real ones.
Then one night, on a routine roam through low-sec, something strange happened.

Not in space. On Discord.

Fleet had just wiped a pirate gang off a moon in Ouelletta. Discord lit up with the usual chaos — laughter, salt, bragging. Elapala keyed their mic to say something clever and…

Instead of their normal voice, Discord emitted a high-pitched, frantic: “EEEEEEP!”

Silence fell like structure timers on morale.

No one spoke.

Then Elapala tried again.

“chkkkk—sorry—VOICE MOD REBOOTING—”

What came through next was not human.

It was small. Breathy.
Furiously adorable.

“squeak-chk… okay wait… that’s not right… hold on—”

Someone in fleet finally whispered:

“Mate… why do you sound… damp?”
There was a long pause. A soft splashing noise. Then, quietly:

“I can explain.”

Twenty pilots froze mid-ship spin.

“I’m… not actually human.”

The voice modulator given up entirely now. What came through was unmistakable.

A sea otter.

Wet. Chirping. Slightly out of breath.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” Elapala sighed — which sounded more like a tiny squeak through whiskers. “I just wanted to fly ships and be normal.”

Somebody finally lost it.

“You’re telling us… the reason you always log in at weird hours…”
“…is because sea otters are nocturnal,” Elapala admitted.

Another pilot asked, very carefully:
“So when you said you were ‘eating during fleet’…”
“Clams.”

The alliance leader cleared his throat.

“…Are you telling me our best FC…”
“Uses a voice modulator and a floating waterproof keyboard,” Elapala said. “Yes.”