Minmatar
Brutor
3.79
morayx
Last Active:
4 days ago
Birthday:
Aug 2, 2023 (2 years old)
Next Birthday:
Aug 2, 2026 (270 days remaining)
Combat Metrics
Kills
238
Losses
126
Efficiency
65.4%
Danger Ratio
65.4%
ISK Metrics
ISK Killed
341.47B ISK
ISK Lost
6.42B ISK
ISK Efficiency
98.2%
ISK Balance
335.05B ISK
Solo Activity
Solo Kills
8
Solo Losses
37
Solo Kill Ratio
3.4%
Solo Efficiency
17.8%
Other Metrics
NPC Losses
10
NPC Loss Ratio
7.9
Avg. Kills/Day
0.3
Activity
Medium
Character Biography
*"Pilots come and go, just like the seasons in space. Fleets form, dissolve, and scatter across the stars. I’ve been here long enough to watch new names appear in comms… and then vanish like they were never there.
People remember the fights. I remember the quiet moments in between — the hum of my ship’s capacitor, the distant crackle of fleet comms, the nervous breathing of someone whose shields are almost gone. And then… the sigh of relief when I lock them up and the reps land.
I don’t fly for killmails or glory. I fly because someone has to be there when the sky starts falling. Someone to whisper, ‘You’ll be fine,’ even if I’m not entirely sure yet. It’s a strange way to live — never being the star of the story, but always making sure the story can go on.
I’ve seen rookies panic and warp off too soon. I’ve seen veterans forget to broadcast for reps until it’s far too late. I’ve saved pilots who swore they’d quit the game the next day… only to see them log in a week later with the same ship, same fit, and the same bad decisions. And every time, I’m still here — ready to save them again.
Like Frieren once said about her companions, you start to realize how short your time with each person really is. In EVE, that’s doubly true. A corpmate who feels like family today might be gone tomorrow. You can’t hold onto everyone… but you can make the time you have with them matter.
Support flying is a quiet life. If you do it well, most people won’t notice you were ever there. And that’s fine. Because the point isn’t to be remembered — it’s to make sure someone else gets the chance to be.
New Eden is a place obsessed with destruction. I’ve just chosen to be stubborn enough to hold things together.
So I’ll keep undocking. I’ll keep locking you up, cycling the reps, and keeping you alive long enough to write another page in your story. And when you finally wander into trouble again — because you will — I’ll be here, smiling, and wondering how you ever survived without me."*
People remember the fights. I remember the quiet moments in between — the hum of my ship’s capacitor, the distant crackle of fleet comms, the nervous breathing of someone whose shields are almost gone. And then… the sigh of relief when I lock them up and the reps land.
I don’t fly for killmails or glory. I fly because someone has to be there when the sky starts falling. Someone to whisper, ‘You’ll be fine,’ even if I’m not entirely sure yet. It’s a strange way to live — never being the star of the story, but always making sure the story can go on.
I’ve seen rookies panic and warp off too soon. I’ve seen veterans forget to broadcast for reps until it’s far too late. I’ve saved pilots who swore they’d quit the game the next day… only to see them log in a week later with the same ship, same fit, and the same bad decisions. And every time, I’m still here — ready to save them again.
Like Frieren once said about her companions, you start to realize how short your time with each person really is. In EVE, that’s doubly true. A corpmate who feels like family today might be gone tomorrow. You can’t hold onto everyone… but you can make the time you have with them matter.
Support flying is a quiet life. If you do it well, most people won’t notice you were ever there. And that’s fine. Because the point isn’t to be remembered — it’s to make sure someone else gets the chance to be.
New Eden is a place obsessed with destruction. I’ve just chosen to be stubborn enough to hold things together.
So I’ll keep undocking. I’ll keep locking you up, cycling the reps, and keeping you alive long enough to write another page in your story. And when you finally wander into trouble again — because you will — I’ll be here, smiling, and wondering how you ever survived without me."*