5.00Pilota
Aldar Roanaok
GallenteGallente
- Kill
- 8
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Perdite
- 205
- +3 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Efficienza
- Efficienza ISK 1%
- ISK distrutti
- 473.3M
- +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
- 8
- Perdite
- 205
- Indice di pericolo
- 71%
- Colpi finali
- 3
- Punti
- 8
ISK
- Distrutti
- 473.3M
- Persi
- 36.47B
- Bilancio
- -35.99B
- Efficienza ISK
- 1%
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 1
- Percentuale solo
- 13%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 59
- Quota perdite NPC
- 29%
- Attività
- Inattivo
Danni inflitti56.2K
Rapporto danni · 5%
Danni subiti1.1M
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
White Horses
Wolf Alice
I could just wander always, like a leaf on the southeast breeze
I do not need no rooting, I carry home with me
To be a nomad floating on the waves of the Channel Sea
Sea-Fever
John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Outward Bound
Helen Hunt Jackson
The hour has come. Strong hands the anchor raise;
Friends stand and weep along the fading shore,
In sudden fear lest we return no more,
In sudden fancy that he safer stays
Who stays behind; that some new danger lays
New snare in each fresh path untrod before.
Ah, foolish hearts! In fate's mysterious lore
Is written no such choice of plan and days:
Each hour has its own peril and escape;
In most familiar things' familiar shape
New danger comes without or sight or sound;
No sea more foreign rolls than breaks each morn
Across our thresholds when the day is born:
We sail, at sunrise, daily, "outward bound."
Wolf Alice
I could just wander always, like a leaf on the southeast breeze
I do not need no rooting, I carry home with me
To be a nomad floating on the waves of the Channel Sea
Sea-Fever
John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Outward Bound
Helen Hunt Jackson
The hour has come. Strong hands the anchor raise;
Friends stand and weep along the fading shore,
In sudden fear lest we return no more,
In sudden fancy that he safer stays
Who stays behind; that some new danger lays
New snare in each fresh path untrod before.
Ah, foolish hearts! In fate's mysterious lore
Is written no such choice of plan and days:
Each hour has its own peril and escape;
In most familiar things' familiar shape
New danger comes without or sight or sound;
No sea more foreign rolls than breaks each morn
Across our thresholds when the day is born:
We sail, at sunrise, daily, "outward bound."