1.40
- Kill
- 910
- +9 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Perdite
- 102
- +15 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Efficienza
- Efficienza ISK 89%
- ISK distrutti
- 780.40B
- +823.1M negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Attività
- Media
- 0,1 kill/giorno · ultimi 90 giorni
Scheda di combattimento
Numeri da eve-kill, di tutta la carriera
Combattimento
- Kill
- 910
- Perdite
- 102
- Indice di pericolo
- 98%
- Colpi finali
- 229
- Punti
- 913
ISK
- Distrutti
- 780.40B
- Persi
- 93.08B
- Bilancio
- +687.32B
- Efficienza ISK
- 89%
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 32
- Percentuale solo
- 4%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 2
- Quota perdite NPC
- 2%
- Attività
- Media
Danni inflitti221.4M
Rapporto danni · 95%
Danni subiti12.6M
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
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!!!