2.60Coolun' Dar
- Creato il
- …
- Prossimo compleanno
- …
- Ultima attività
- …
- Security status
- 2.60
Scheda di combattimento
Numeri da eve-kill, di tutta la carriera
Combattimento
- Kill
- 14.242
- Perdite
- 406
- Efficienza
- 97%
- Indice di pericolo
- 96%
ISK
- Distrutti
- 14.29T
- Persi
- 64.82B
- Efficienza ISK
- 100%
- Bilancio
- +14.23T
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 34
- Percentuale solo
- 0%
- Colpi finali
- 741
- Punti
- 12.832
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 15
- Quota perdite NPC
- 4%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
- Attività
- Molto alta
Danni
Danni inflitti129.9M
Danni subiti5.4M
Rapporto danni96%
Profilo operativo
Come combatte, con chi e contro chi — ultimi 90 giorni
Attività
Cosa vola e dove combatte
I più preziosi
Chi incontra
Chi uccide, da chi viene ucciso e cosa perde
ClassificheUltimi 90g
Scafi persiUltimi 90g
Perdite suddivise per classe di scafo.
Carriera
Le corporazioni attraversate, dalla più recente
Veni Vidi Vici IncDal lunedì 19 giugno 20234058 Kill106 Perdite
Pator Tech SchoolDal lunedì 19 giugno 20230 Kill0 Perdite
Unforeseen Consequences.Dal martedì 24 maggio 20168378 Kill210 Perdite
Guardians of EdenDal sabato 3 gennaio 2015170 Kill7 Perdite
Sebiestor TribeDal sabato 3 gennaio 20150 Kill0 Perdite
NullOcular OrderDal giovedì 25 luglio 20131361 Kill15 Perdite
Burning-TechnologiesDal domenica 10 marzo 20130 Kill0 Perdite
Tech 9 industriesDal mercoledì 10 agosto 2011348 Kill15 Perdite
StimulusDal giovedì 7 luglio 20110 Kill0 Perdite
I Heart ChaosDal martedì 1 marzo 20110 Kill0 Perdite
Burning TechnologiesDal venerdì 8 gennaio 2010113 Kill14 Perdite
Solidline EnterpriseDal mercoledì 22 giugno 20050 Kill0 Perdite
Casus Belli.Dal domenica 27 febbraio 20050 Kill0 Perdite
Red FactionDal venerdì 10 ottobre 20030 Kill0 Perdite
Bio in gioco
'We shall fight on the TCUs, we shall fight on the ihubs, we shall fight in the battleships and in cruisers, we shall fight in the reinforcement timers; we shall never surrender.' W. Churchill
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori. W. Owen.
I've been in more alliances that you've had hot dinners, boy. They've all burned like Rome; did I kill them? Maybe, or I'm just cursed!
Class of 2003.
Farewell little Susmy, farewell little Charlemagne, farewell Barbarossa you will always be loved.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori. W. Owen.
I've been in more alliances that you've had hot dinners, boy. They've all burned like Rome; did I kill them? Maybe, or I'm just cursed!
Class of 2003.
Farewell little Susmy, farewell little Charlemagne, farewell Barbarossa you will always be loved.