- Kill
- 0
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Perdite
- 0
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Efficienza
- Efficienza ISK 0%
- ISK distrutti
- 0
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Attività
- Inattivo
- 0 kill/giorno · ultimi 90 giorni
Scheda di combattimento
Numeri da eve-kill, di tutta la carriera
Combattimento
- Kill
- 0
- Perdite
- 0
- Indice di pericolo
- 0%
- Colpi finali
- 0
- Punti
- 0
ISK
- Distrutti
- 0
- Persi
- 0
- Bilancio
- +0
- Efficienza ISK
- 0%
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 0
- Percentuale solo
- 0%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 0
- Quota perdite NPC
- 0%
- Attività
- Inattivo
Attività
Cosa vola, dove combatte, le ultime kill e perdite
I più preziosi
Le kill più costose del periodo
Chi incontra
Chi uccide, da chi viene ucciso e cosa perde
Ultimi 90g
Uccisi
Ucciso da
Scafi persiPerdite suddivise per classe di scafo.
Bio in gioco
Drattle
“The Doctrine of Steel”
Forged in recoil, baptized in capacitor fire—Drattle is what happens when a miner learns that patience cuts both ways. He began among asteroids, measuring silence and yield. But ore veins turned to firing lines, and before long, his harvests were wrecks.
He speaks in vectors and falloff, in the geometry of damage. Rails taught him mercy—clean range and restraint. Blasters taught him truth—close, brutal, decisive. Missiles gave him reach, drones gave him memory. Between armor and shield he found balance: Gallente faith welded to Caldari logic. Every rig, every hardener, every heat cycle is a vow to precision.
To fleets he’s doctrine incarnate. Align. Anchor. Ammo switch. Heat two. Break. Each command strikes like punctuation in the liturgy of war. He measures victory not by killboards but by silence—the moment after the volley when the grid exhales and nothing moves.
Drattle flies to understand the mathematics of order. His fits are scripture, his tactics sermons. He doesn’t seek glory; he seeks pattern—the perfect intersection of range, timing, and will.
Those who’ve flown beside him say the fight changes when he lands on grid. Drones orbit tighter, voice comms go calm, and the chaos of battle bends into form. Afterward he thanks the dead with salvagers, cools his guns, and names his drones aloud before recalling them.
He knows war cannot be won, only practiced/refined into art through discipline and design. And in that art, he has found peace. For Drattle, every engagement is a meditation, every wreck a verse, every silence the closing of a prayer.
“War,” he once said, “isn’t what you do to enemies,it’s what you do to chaos.”
“The Doctrine of Steel”
Forged in recoil, baptized in capacitor fire—Drattle is what happens when a miner learns that patience cuts both ways. He began among asteroids, measuring silence and yield. But ore veins turned to firing lines, and before long, his harvests were wrecks.
He speaks in vectors and falloff, in the geometry of damage. Rails taught him mercy—clean range and restraint. Blasters taught him truth—close, brutal, decisive. Missiles gave him reach, drones gave him memory. Between armor and shield he found balance: Gallente faith welded to Caldari logic. Every rig, every hardener, every heat cycle is a vow to precision.
To fleets he’s doctrine incarnate. Align. Anchor. Ammo switch. Heat two. Break. Each command strikes like punctuation in the liturgy of war. He measures victory not by killboards but by silence—the moment after the volley when the grid exhales and nothing moves.
Drattle flies to understand the mathematics of order. His fits are scripture, his tactics sermons. He doesn’t seek glory; he seeks pattern—the perfect intersection of range, timing, and will.
Those who’ve flown beside him say the fight changes when he lands on grid. Drones orbit tighter, voice comms go calm, and the chaos of battle bends into form. Afterward he thanks the dead with salvagers, cools his guns, and names his drones aloud before recalling them.
He knows war cannot be won, only practiced/refined into art through discipline and design. And in that art, he has found peace. For Drattle, every engagement is a meditation, every wreck a verse, every silence the closing of a prayer.
“War,” he once said, “isn’t what you do to enemies,it’s what you do to chaos.”