5.00
- Creato il
- …
- Prossimo compleanno
- …
- Ultima attività
- …
- Security status
- 5.00
Scheda di combattimento
Numeri da eve-kill, di tutta la carriera
Combattimento
- Kill
- 667
- Perdite
- 878
- Efficienza
- 43%
- Indice di pericolo
- 100%
ISK
- Distrutti
- 1.20T
- Persi
- 54.47B
- Efficienza ISK
- 96%
- Bilancio
- +1.15T
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 9
- Percentuale solo
- 1%
- Colpi finali
- 58
- Punti
- 667
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 0
- Quota perdite NPC
- 0%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
- Attività
- Inattivo
Danni
Danni inflitti72.6M
Danni subiti5.5M
Rapporto danni93%
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
Bio in gioco
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.