1.40
- Kills
- 910
- +9 in the last 90 days
- Losses
- 102
- +15 in the last 90 days
- Efficiency
- ISK Efficiency 89%
- ISK destroyed
- 780.40B
- +823.1M in the last 90 days
- Activity
- Medium
- 0.1 kills/day · last 90 days
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 910
- Losses
- 102
- Danger Ratio
- 98%
- Final Blows
- 229
- Points
- 913
ISK
- Destroyed
- 780.40B
- Lost
- 93.08B
- Balance
- +687.32B
- ISK Efficiency
- 89%
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 32
- Solo Ratio
- 4%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
Other
- NPC Losses
- 2
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 2%
- Activity
- Medium
Damage Dealt221.4M
Damage Ratio · 95%
Damage Taken12.6M
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
Every conqueror starts small...
Kneel down, I'll explain!
Drogon is a feisty Dragoon with ~15,499 EHP of golden armor plate, while Rhaegal sits on standby as a Dreadnought ready to drop capital devastation on grid. Viserion is stuck in drydock patching over 9000 nanite burn spots, though scribes keep rejecting my SRP invoices as 'unauthorized exotic pet thermal damage.'
As for romance, my current lover functions as my personal pillow mate and dedicated Logistics carrier entering a 5-minute siege, burning all their heavy water, causing radiation across grid, and overheating my heat sinks so badly Fleet Command can't tell if my armor failed from passion, a siege cycle, or an exploding stellar core.
Armed with Holy Scriptures and a capital license, I anchor in the radioactive graveyard of Turnur enforcing the ultimate Amarrian rule:
If it’s red, it’s dead!!
Between drops, I launch probes to herd my five unhinged kittens. The eldest camps the Jita Bank, market-terrorizing buy orders by undercutting everyone by 10% just to watch margins burn. The second is trapped inside a Domination Tower because she forgot the POS password and refuses to ask local chat for help out of royal pride. The third is an ex-alliance leader who abandoned nullsec politics for the Angel Cartel, running rampant in Zarzakh and speed-blitzing warzones in an overpriced Machariel. The fourth is a silent ghost with a three-letter name (a girl has no corp history), lurking in an NPC corp as either a deep-cover spy or an abandoned cyno alt. And finally, our youngest kitten panicked and slipped through a Turnur J-space wormhole, hiding from local chat and sneaking out to physically chew rust off abandoned drone wrecks.
When I scream Dracarys over comms and the dragons drop into siege, the grid devolves into a holy inferno of overheated Scorch crystals, panic, and melting nanite paste. Consider yourself officially warned in local chat: praise the Empress, pulse your D-Scan for gankers every half-second, and if you jump into Turnur, jettison your scrap metal before my youngest kitten decides your hull looks like a mid-day snack !!!
Fire, Blood, and demanding AMARR VICTOR in local as pod ransom, or spamming it myself while riding an egg home!!!
Kneel down, I'll explain!
Drogon is a feisty Dragoon with ~15,499 EHP of golden armor plate, while Rhaegal sits on standby as a Dreadnought ready to drop capital devastation on grid. Viserion is stuck in drydock patching over 9000 nanite burn spots, though scribes keep rejecting my SRP invoices as 'unauthorized exotic pet thermal damage.'
As for romance, my current lover functions as my personal pillow mate and dedicated Logistics carrier entering a 5-minute siege, burning all their heavy water, causing radiation across grid, and overheating my heat sinks so badly Fleet Command can't tell if my armor failed from passion, a siege cycle, or an exploding stellar core.
Armed with Holy Scriptures and a capital license, I anchor in the radioactive graveyard of Turnur enforcing the ultimate Amarrian rule:
If it’s red, it’s dead!!
Between drops, I launch probes to herd my five unhinged kittens. The eldest camps the Jita Bank, market-terrorizing buy orders by undercutting everyone by 10% just to watch margins burn. The second is trapped inside a Domination Tower because she forgot the POS password and refuses to ask local chat for help out of royal pride. The third is an ex-alliance leader who abandoned nullsec politics for the Angel Cartel, running rampant in Zarzakh and speed-blitzing warzones in an overpriced Machariel. The fourth is a silent ghost with a three-letter name (a girl has no corp history), lurking in an NPC corp as either a deep-cover spy or an abandoned cyno alt. And finally, our youngest kitten panicked and slipped through a Turnur J-space wormhole, hiding from local chat and sneaking out to physically chew rust off abandoned drone wrecks.
When I scream Dracarys over comms and the dragons drop into siege, the grid devolves into a holy inferno of overheated Scorch crystals, panic, and melting nanite paste. Consider yourself officially warned in local chat: praise the Empress, pulse your D-Scan for gankers every half-second, and if you jump into Turnur, jettison your scrap metal before my youngest kitten decides your hull looks like a mid-day snack !!!
Fire, Blood, and demanding AMARR VICTOR in local as pod ransom, or spamming it myself while riding an egg home!!!