5.00
- Created on
- …
- Next Birthday
- …
- Last Active
- …
- Security Status
- 5.00
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 667
- Losses
- 878
- Efficiency
- 43%
- Danger Ratio
- 100%
ISK
- Destroyed
- 1.20T
- Lost
- 54.47B
- ISK Efficiency
- 96%
- Balance
- +1.15T
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 9
- Solo Ratio
- 1%
- Final Blows
- 58
- Points
- 667
Other
- NPC Losses
- 0
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 0%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
- Activity
- Inactive
Damage
Damage Dealt72.6M
Damage Taken5.5M
Damage Ratio93%
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
In-game bio
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.