Amarr
Amarr
-1.72
Token Reeves
Last Active:
almost 8 years ago
Birthday:
Jun 15, 2013 (12 years old)
Next Birthday:
Jun 15, 2026 (276 days remaining)
Combat Metrics
Kills
1,636
Losses
185
Efficiency
89.8%
Danger Ratio
0.9%
ISK Metrics
ISK Killed
1240.40B ISK
ISK Lost
14.45B ISK
ISK Efficiency
98.8%
ISK Balance
1225.95B ISK
Solo Activity
Solo Kills
109
Solo Losses
71
Solo Kill Ratio
6.7%
Solo Efficiency
60.6%
Other Metrics
NPC Losses
27
NPC Loss Ratio
14.6
Avg. Kills/Day
0.4
Activity
Low
Character Biography
To all potential recruits:
http://i.imgur.com/Dg8fAly.png
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AG-KFbY9UC8&feature=youtu.be
Memorable Quotes:
I'm a car salesman fucker not a dirty hipster
- Gregor Bukandara
Why does facebook make me hate my friends? All your memes, and lame jokes, and unsubstantiated articles, selfies, duck faces, pictures of your kids, play this game, like this page... Fuck all of you.
- Gregor Bukandara
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
-Lord Byron
http://i.imgur.com/Dg8fAly.png
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AG-KFbY9UC8&feature=youtu.be
Memorable Quotes:
I'm a car salesman fucker not a dirty hipster
- Gregor Bukandara
Why does facebook make me hate my friends? All your memes, and lame jokes, and unsubstantiated articles, selfies, duck faces, pictures of your kids, play this game, like this page... Fuck all of you.
- Gregor Bukandara
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
-Lord Byron