1.37
Lolth Chand Lazair
May 31, 2026
May 22, 2025(1y)
May 22, 2027(311d)
Combat
Kills4
Losses111
Efficiency3%
ISK
Destroyed350.42m
Lost24.05b
ISK Eff.1%
Solo
Solo Kills2
Solo Ratio50%
Final Blows2
Points4
Other
NPC Losses14
NPC Loss Ratio13%
Avg Kills/Day0.01
ActivityInactive
Amarr
Amarr
1.37
Lolth Chand Lazair
Last Active
May 31, 2026
Birthday
May 22, 2025 (1 years old)
Next Birthday
May 22, 2027 (311 days)
Combat
Kills4
Losses111
Efficiency3%
Danger Ratio87%
ISK
Destroyed350.42m
Lost24.05b
ISK Efficiency1%
Balance-23703005869
Solo
Solo Kills2
Solo Ratio50%
Final Blows2
Points4
Other
NPC Losses14
NPC Loss Ratio13%
Avg Kills/Day0.01
ActivityInactive
No data available
Bio
"They say I was born for war. They were wrong. I was born to profit from it."
I wasn’t bred by nobles or chosen by doctrine. I came up in the rust-choked veins of an orbital refinery—where sermons echoed louder than engines, and everything, even faith, had a price.
The Empire taught me structure. I kept the structure—then replaced the values.
On the surface, I’m Amarr: devout, groomed, diplomatic. I raise glasses at galas, quote the Scriptures, wear gold-trimmed lies. But robes don’t make saints. They make smuggling easier. Every bishop I toast is a customs gate that waves me through.
Because I don’t traffic in hope—I traffic in hardware.
Boosters? I supply fleets. Slaves? I supply labor. Relics? I sell ancient death wrapped in promises of power. And the minerals... oh, the minerals.
I mine the rarest cores from the deepest shadows of wormholes—Arkonor, Bistot, rock-embedded royalty no empire dares chart. I don’t just dig riches from the void—I move them, refine them, convert them into missiles, reactors, promises. And my deliveries? Always on time. Always complete. Always paid for—one way or another.
You don’t fight empires with fleets—you unbalance them with logistics. I sell what you need to win.
I’m not a warlord. I’m the quartermaster of chaos.
Life? It’s a ledger entry. Death? It’s inventory. Every corpse is a reclamation opportunity. Every addiction is a contract. Every asteroid is a shipment waiting to change hands.
I don’t lead with threats. I lead with options. I don’t run from war—I invoice it.
Fear is a business strategy. Reputation is a product line. And peace? Peace is the slow season.
Code \xa71.1: "Contracts are sacred. Even lies must be honored—until you’re paid."
Code \xa72.4: "No ship is ever truly yours. It belongs to debt, duty, or destiny."
Code \xa73.2: "Explorers are not targets, unless they act like predators."
Code \xa74.6: "Cargo is currency. Life is overhead."
Code \xa75.9: "You don’t need a fleet. You need leverage."
Code \xa77.7: "Smugglers pray. Miners plot. Only brokers win."
Code \xa78.3: "Trust no silence. It’s either stealth or death."
Code \xa79.1: "The wormhole doesn’t care if you're ready. Only if you're worthy."
You want to survive in New Eden? Find someone like me.
You want to thrive? Be me.
I wasn’t bred by nobles or chosen by doctrine. I came up in the rust-choked veins of an orbital refinery—where sermons echoed louder than engines, and everything, even faith, had a price.
The Empire taught me structure. I kept the structure—then replaced the values.
On the surface, I’m Amarr: devout, groomed, diplomatic. I raise glasses at galas, quote the Scriptures, wear gold-trimmed lies. But robes don’t make saints. They make smuggling easier. Every bishop I toast is a customs gate that waves me through.
Because I don’t traffic in hope—I traffic in hardware.
Boosters? I supply fleets. Slaves? I supply labor. Relics? I sell ancient death wrapped in promises of power. And the minerals... oh, the minerals.
I mine the rarest cores from the deepest shadows of wormholes—Arkonor, Bistot, rock-embedded royalty no empire dares chart. I don’t just dig riches from the void—I move them, refine them, convert them into missiles, reactors, promises. And my deliveries? Always on time. Always complete. Always paid for—one way or another.
You don’t fight empires with fleets—you unbalance them with logistics. I sell what you need to win.
I’m not a warlord. I’m the quartermaster of chaos.
Life? It’s a ledger entry. Death? It’s inventory. Every corpse is a reclamation opportunity. Every addiction is a contract. Every asteroid is a shipment waiting to change hands.
I don’t lead with threats. I lead with options. I don’t run from war—I invoice it.
Fear is a business strategy. Reputation is a product line. And peace? Peace is the slow season.
Code \xa71.1: "Contracts are sacred. Even lies must be honored—until you’re paid."
Code \xa72.4: "No ship is ever truly yours. It belongs to debt, duty, or destiny."
Code \xa73.2: "Explorers are not targets, unless they act like predators."
Code \xa74.6: "Cargo is currency. Life is overhead."
Code \xa75.9: "You don’t need a fleet. You need leverage."
Code \xa77.7: "Smugglers pray. Miners plot. Only brokers win."
Code \xa78.3: "Trust no silence. It’s either stealth or death."
Code \xa79.1: "The wormhole doesn’t care if you're ready. Only if you're worthy."
You want to survive in New Eden? Find someone like me.
You want to thrive? Be me.
Dashboard
Stats
Kills0
Losses24
Efficiency0%
ISK Destroyed0
ISK Lost12.93b
ISK Efficiency0%
Solo Kills0
Solo Losses9
NPC Losses0
Blob Factor0
Active TimezoneUSTZ
Final Blows0
Points0
Activity Heat Map (EVE Time)
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Intel Profile
PlaystyleSolo (0 kills)
Avg Fleet: -
Typically Loses
Groups Flown With
Top Fleet Partners
