Minmatar
Vherokior
0.23
Ven'cor En'sal
Last Active:
13 days ago
Birthday:
May 29, 2008 (17 years old)
Next Birthday:
May 29, 2026 (205 days remaining)
Combat Metrics
Kills
0
Losses
4
Efficiency
0.0%
Danger Ratio
0.0%
ISK Metrics
ISK Killed
0 ISK
ISK Lost
707.52M ISK
ISK Efficiency
0.0%
ISK Balance
-707,524,019 ISK
Solo Activity
Solo Kills
0
Solo Losses
3
Solo Kill Ratio
0%
Solo Efficiency
0.0%
Other Metrics
NPC Losses
0
NPC Loss Ratio
0.0
Avg. Kills/Day
0.0
Activity
Minimal
Character Biography
Ma Moiti\xe9
Being born in the Gallente Federation had its perks-especially for a Minmatar-long before the Great Rebellion. My father, a Gallente trader, and my mother, a Minmatar scientist, had both been born in the Federation. I had choices others of my blood could only dream of. With my parents blessing, I chose the stars. I drifted from system to system, region to region, chasing relics, whispers, and purpose.
I didn’t know it then, but when I set a course for the Hevak system, I was flying straight into my future.
At first, I was simply hunting. A relic site, barely touched. I expected old data fragments, maybe some salvageable tech. Instead, I found him-an Amarr lying in wait. He struck first, but I was faster. More desperate, maybe. After a few lucky well-placed hits, he surrendered. By blood rights I should’ve blown his broken ship and pod to bits, but something about him made me resist that urge. I towed his battered ship to a nearby station, he thanked me, left him with his life. We crossed paths a few more times without hostilities. He said he owed me. We kept in touch, Holo recordings turned into regular repeat messages, and those turned into something deeper. Over time, we spoke of more than spatial weather and anomalies. We spoke of music, memory, philosophy, and loss. We were from different worlds, yet... alike.
Then came the invitation. A formal gala on Astrin. I stared at it for days, uncertain. Why? Curiosity won. I went. That night changed everything.
It’s strange how quickly meaning takes root. How something that once felt impossible can, in a single evening, become inevitable.
My mother took more convincing. “If he truly cares for you,” she said, “he would undertake the Cleansing Rite.” She believed the rite was necessary to sever him from the chains of his bloodline, the echoes of Amarr oppression. He wasn't like the rest—didn't follow the faith, didn't uphold the traditions. His family were slaves in all but name, hidden by the prestige of a mid-level House. When the Empire needed subjects for capsuleer experimentation, his father volunteered him, hoping to give his son something more.
In time, we spoke of the Rite. Of what it meant, what we wanted for our life. He agreed. Not because he was ashamed, but because he chose. Chose us. Chose a future built on conviction. On love. In him, I found my meaning. My anchor in the void.
My future is known.
Ven'cor Ensal
Being born in the Gallente Federation had its perks-especially for a Minmatar-long before the Great Rebellion. My father, a Gallente trader, and my mother, a Minmatar scientist, had both been born in the Federation. I had choices others of my blood could only dream of. With my parents blessing, I chose the stars. I drifted from system to system, region to region, chasing relics, whispers, and purpose.
I didn’t know it then, but when I set a course for the Hevak system, I was flying straight into my future.
At first, I was simply hunting. A relic site, barely touched. I expected old data fragments, maybe some salvageable tech. Instead, I found him-an Amarr lying in wait. He struck first, but I was faster. More desperate, maybe. After a few lucky well-placed hits, he surrendered. By blood rights I should’ve blown his broken ship and pod to bits, but something about him made me resist that urge. I towed his battered ship to a nearby station, he thanked me, left him with his life. We crossed paths a few more times without hostilities. He said he owed me. We kept in touch, Holo recordings turned into regular repeat messages, and those turned into something deeper. Over time, we spoke of more than spatial weather and anomalies. We spoke of music, memory, philosophy, and loss. We were from different worlds, yet... alike.
Then came the invitation. A formal gala on Astrin. I stared at it for days, uncertain. Why? Curiosity won. I went. That night changed everything.
It’s strange how quickly meaning takes root. How something that once felt impossible can, in a single evening, become inevitable.
My mother took more convincing. “If he truly cares for you,” she said, “he would undertake the Cleansing Rite.” She believed the rite was necessary to sever him from the chains of his bloodline, the echoes of Amarr oppression. He wasn't like the rest—didn't follow the faith, didn't uphold the traditions. His family were slaves in all but name, hidden by the prestige of a mid-level House. When the Empire needed subjects for capsuleer experimentation, his father volunteered him, hoping to give his son something more.
In time, we spoke of the Rite. Of what it meant, what we wanted for our life. He agreed. Not because he was ashamed, but because he chose. Chose us. Chose a future built on conviction. On love. In him, I found my meaning. My anchor in the void.
My future is known.
Ven'cor Ensal