- Kill
- 0
- +0 negli ultimi 90 giorni
- Perdite
- 15
- +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
- 15
- Indice di pericolo
- 100%
- Colpi finali
- 0
- Punti
- 0
ISK
- Distrutti
- 0
- Persi
- 686.0M
- Bilancio
- -686.0M
- 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 la corporazione, dove combatte, le ultime kill e perdite
I più preziosi
Le kill più costose del periodo
Chi incontra
Chi uccide, da chi viene uccisa e cosa perde
Ultimi 90g
Uccisi
Ucciso da
Scafi persiPerdite suddivise per classe di scafo.
Battaglie
Gli scontri nella finestra scelta, dal nostro archivio killmail
Descrizione
As a capsuleer, I navigate the endless cosmos of New Eden as if it were my home course. My ships are my clubs, each with its own purpose: a covert ops frigate for precision work, like a putter for that final decisive stroke; a marauder when I need raw power — my driver for the long game.
Every journey starts on the tee box, ready for the drive, with my route carefully charted in the navigation system. Do I warp straight to my target, or play a safe lay-up with a midpoint in a neighboring system? Plotting a course is like reading a green: every system has its slopes and traps — gatecamps are the space bunkers, and bubbles feel like water hazards you’d rather avoid.
Sometimes I need to chip — subtle and tactical, like approaching an anomaly without drawing aggro. Or I have to scram, like putting just the right backspin on the ball to stop it near the hole.
Exploration is my short game: with finesse, I maneuver between relic and data sites, my scanner like a precision wedge landing me right on the jackpot. Sometimes I need a mulligan — a second chance when I get lost in a wormhole or forget to reload my probe launcher. And yes, there are always hazards. A cloaky camper is like that unexpected gust of wind that knocks your drive off the fairway.
But no matter what you’re playing — solo or in fleet, lowsec or nullsec — it’s all about course management. Sometimes you take the risk, go for the eagle with a gutsy gatecamp run. Other times you play it safe for par, just happy to make it back with your loot and your ship intact.
And at the end of the day, as the sun sets behind a gas giant and I dock up at my home station, I feel it: EVE is like golf. A game of patience, precision, nerve — and sometimes, pure magic.
Grip it, rip it, cloak it – and remember:
in space, no one can hear you scream... FORE!
Every journey starts on the tee box, ready for the drive, with my route carefully charted in the navigation system. Do I warp straight to my target, or play a safe lay-up with a midpoint in a neighboring system? Plotting a course is like reading a green: every system has its slopes and traps — gatecamps are the space bunkers, and bubbles feel like water hazards you’d rather avoid.
Sometimes I need to chip — subtle and tactical, like approaching an anomaly without drawing aggro. Or I have to scram, like putting just the right backspin on the ball to stop it near the hole.
Exploration is my short game: with finesse, I maneuver between relic and data sites, my scanner like a precision wedge landing me right on the jackpot. Sometimes I need a mulligan — a second chance when I get lost in a wormhole or forget to reload my probe launcher. And yes, there are always hazards. A cloaky camper is like that unexpected gust of wind that knocks your drive off the fairway.
But no matter what you’re playing — solo or in fleet, lowsec or nullsec — it’s all about course management. Sometimes you take the risk, go for the eagle with a gutsy gatecamp run. Other times you play it safe for par, just happy to make it back with your loot and your ship intact.
And at the end of the day, as the sun sets behind a gas giant and I dock up at my home station, I feel it: EVE is like golf. A game of patience, precision, nerve — and sometimes, pure magic.
Grip it, rip it, cloak it – and remember:
in space, no one can hear you scream... FORE!