- Kills
- 2,366
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Losses
- 2,849
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Efficiency
- ISK Efficiency 55%
- ISK destroyed
- 678.57B
- +0 in the last 90 days
- Activity
- Inactive
- 0 kills/day · last 90 days
Combat Record
Career-long numbers from eve-kill
Combat
- Kills
- 2,366
- Losses
- 2,849
- Danger Ratio
- 94%
- Final Blows
- 1,078
- Points
- 2,366
ISK
- Destroyed
- 678.57B
- Lost
- 563.97B
- Balance
- +114.60B
- ISK Efficiency
- 55%
Solo
- Solo Kills
- 518
- Solo Ratio
- 22%
- Avg Kills/Day
- —
Other
- NPC Losses
- 184
- NPC Loss Ratio
- 6%
- Activity
- Inactive
Activity
What the corporation flies, where it fights, 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.
Battles
Engagements in the selected window, from our own killmail archive
Description
For all its material advantages, the sedentary life has left us edgy, unfulfilled. Even after 400 generations in villages and cities, we haven't forgotten.
The open road still softly calls, like a nearly forgotten song of childhood.
We invest far-off places with a certain romance. This appeal, I suspect, has been meticulously crafted by natural selection as an essential element in our survival.
Long summers, mild winters, rich harvests, plentiful game — none of them lasts forever. It is beyond our powers to predict the future.
Catastrophic events have a way of sneaking up on us, of catching us unaware. Your own life, or your band's, or even your species' might be owed to a restless few—drawn, by a craving they can hardly articulate or understand, to undiscovered lands and new worlds.
Herman Melville, in Moby Dick, spoke for wanderers in all epochs and meridians:
"I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas..."
Pale Blue Dot, Carl Sagan
The open road still softly calls, like a nearly forgotten song of childhood.
We invest far-off places with a certain romance. This appeal, I suspect, has been meticulously crafted by natural selection as an essential element in our survival.
Long summers, mild winters, rich harvests, plentiful game — none of them lasts forever. It is beyond our powers to predict the future.
Catastrophic events have a way of sneaking up on us, of catching us unaware. Your own life, or your band's, or even your species' might be owed to a restless few—drawn, by a craving they can hardly articulate or understand, to undiscovered lands and new worlds.
Herman Melville, in Moby Dick, spoke for wanderers in all epochs and meridians:
"I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas..."
Pale Blue Dot, Carl Sagan