- Fondata il
- …
- Membri
- 7
- Tasse
- 100%
- Attaccabile in guerra
- No
Scheda di combattimento
Numeri da eve-kill, di tutta la carriera
Combattimento
- Kill
- 0
- Perdite
- 41
- Efficienza
- 0%
- Indice di pericolo
- 100%
ISK
- Distrutti
- 0
- Persi
- 102.96B
- Efficienza ISK
- 0%
- Bilancio
- -102.96B
Solo
- Kill in solo
- 0
- Percentuale solo
- 0%
- Colpi finali
- 0
- Punti
- 0
Altro
- Perdite contro NPC
- 0
- Quota perdite NPC
- 0%
- Kill medie/giorno
- —
- Attività
- Inattivo
Attività
Cosa vola la corporazione e dove combatte
NaviUltima settimana
Nessun dato in questo periodo.
SistemiUltima settimana
Nessun dato in questo periodo.
I più preziosi
Chi incontra
Chi uccide, da chi viene uccisa e cosa perde
ClassificheUltimi 90 giorni
Scafi persi
Perdite suddivise per classe di scafo.
Battaglie
Le ultime registrate da eve-kill
Nessuna battaglia registrata.
Storia delle alleanze
Le corporazioni attraversate, dalla più recente
Descrizione
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.