Amarr
Amarr
5.00
Tanya Spade
Last Active:
about 1 month ago
Birthday:
Mar 6, 2008 (17 years old)
Next Birthday:
Mar 6, 2026 (177 days remaining)
Combat Metrics
Kills
3
Losses
34
Efficiency
8.1%
Danger Ratio
5.8%
ISK Metrics
ISK Killed
859.40M ISK
ISK Lost
3.24B ISK
ISK Efficiency
21.0%
ISK Balance
-2,376,202,708 ISK
Solo Activity
Solo Kills
1
Solo Losses
14
Solo Kill Ratio
33.3%
Solo Efficiency
6.7%
Other Metrics
NPC Losses
9
NPC Loss Ratio
26.5
Avg. Kills/Day
0.0
Activity
Low
Character Biography
Should curiosity be stirred, I may, in due course, furnish a link to my brief Biography.
To Whomever May Be Listening,
I am not in the habit of writing personal missives, most capsuleers aren’t I suppose. We trade kill reports, contract logs, fleet pings, and the occasional boast over comms, but rarely anything more human. And yet, tonight, docked in some half-forgotten station on the edge of Khanid space, I find myself possessed of a sentiment which, for want of a proper confidante, I am compelled to broadcast out as zeroes & ones — even if it never reaches another soul.
Truthfully, life as a capsuleer is lonelier than I ever imagined. Not in the dramatic sense — there are always people, of course, in local channels and public frequencies, and in the ebb and flow of ships docking and undocking around me. But real connection? That seems harder to come by out here. I feel perhaps Immortality and power have isolated us more than they free.
I oft fly alone; dead-end constellations, low-sec routes, the dead-silent wormholes of Anoikis. Pray, do not mistake my meaning, I do value the quiet — I need it, in truth — but even still, I find myself longing for increased companionship. Not a crowd, not an alliance of a thousand voices barking in fleet command. Just a few kindred pilots. The sort of capsuleers who’d watch a gas giant rise together whilst mining, or share a story after a successful route traversed through a wormhole or three. Those who don’t need to prove anything — who are content just to be, out here in the dark and cold, with someone else who understands.
Perhaps I’m foolish for hoping. Us Capsuleers are rarely known for our sentimentality. But I do solemnly believe — or want to believe — that there are still some among us who remember what it is to be human. Who at times feel the ache of silence, even with a purse bursting with ISK and a killboard glowing green.
If you’re out there listening to this, somewhere between the stars — maybe scanning ghost sites, diving through acceleration gates, or just waiting for something more — I’d welcome the chance to meet you. No contracts. No expectations. Just honest company.
Until then,
Tanya
To Whomever May Be Listening,
I am not in the habit of writing personal missives, most capsuleers aren’t I suppose. We trade kill reports, contract logs, fleet pings, and the occasional boast over comms, but rarely anything more human. And yet, tonight, docked in some half-forgotten station on the edge of Khanid space, I find myself possessed of a sentiment which, for want of a proper confidante, I am compelled to broadcast out as zeroes & ones — even if it never reaches another soul.
Truthfully, life as a capsuleer is lonelier than I ever imagined. Not in the dramatic sense — there are always people, of course, in local channels and public frequencies, and in the ebb and flow of ships docking and undocking around me. But real connection? That seems harder to come by out here. I feel perhaps Immortality and power have isolated us more than they free.
I oft fly alone; dead-end constellations, low-sec routes, the dead-silent wormholes of Anoikis. Pray, do not mistake my meaning, I do value the quiet — I need it, in truth — but even still, I find myself longing for increased companionship. Not a crowd, not an alliance of a thousand voices barking in fleet command. Just a few kindred pilots. The sort of capsuleers who’d watch a gas giant rise together whilst mining, or share a story after a successful route traversed through a wormhole or three. Those who don’t need to prove anything — who are content just to be, out here in the dark and cold, with someone else who understands.
Perhaps I’m foolish for hoping. Us Capsuleers are rarely known for our sentimentality. But I do solemnly believe — or want to believe — that there are still some among us who remember what it is to be human. Who at times feel the ache of silence, even with a purse bursting with ISK and a killboard glowing green.
If you’re out there listening to this, somewhere between the stars — maybe scanning ghost sites, diving through acceleration gates, or just waiting for something more — I’d welcome the chance to meet you. No contracts. No expectations. Just honest company.
Until then,
Tanya