The Holder and the Poet
Preface
The Holder and the Poet is a piece of Player Created Fiction written by Herko Kerghans as one of his many Children's Tales. Originally published in the EVE-online forums [1].
The Holder and the Poet
They tell, but perhaps it’s not true (for only God knows Everything, and only He is Eternal), that once one of our proud Admirals was patrolling the lower regions of our mighty Empire, where our mighty Navy does not set foot. For even when the heretic and the faithless (may they find the light some day, for God loves all His creatures, or may they rot in Hell forever if they choose to remain blind) declare that the Might of Amarr is incapable of guarding its own borders, the pious know that God, in his infinite Wisdom, has seen it fit to let those areas be guarded by those who defend the Emperor and the Empire by their own free will, and not because they are commanded by others to do so.
The Admiral’s chase let him after one of those wretched so-called posthumanists, who defy the Lord sometimes in action and always in thought. In his cunning cowardice, instead of honoring the battlefield in combat, the infidel decided to turn the aft of his frigate from the Admiral’s mighty Armageddon, pride of the Amarrian fleet, and proof of the Amarrian power.
Not lowering himself enough by running, the infidel also decided to hide in terror inside a CONCORD station.
The Admiral promptly docked his mighty Battleship, and spoke to his crew:
“In his great wisdom, the Emperor (may he lead us to the light, for he is truly the Chosen among us Chosen) has decided that it’s in the interest of the Empire to respect this station as neutral. I want this s****searched for, and I want this s****found, but no action will be taken without my direct knowledge and approval. Understood?”
“Aye, sir!”, answered his crew and darted to find this infidel s****among the infidel s****of the station.
The Admiral was finishing fitting his uniform, his colors and shoulder boards clearly showing him to be one of those who defend the Empire by their own free will, when his intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Ensign? Have you found the heretic?”
“Aye, Sir”, answered the Ensign, a faint trace of doubt in his voice.
“Is there something wrong?”, asked the Admiral.
“Nothing wrong Sir. It’s just that… we found him in the “Police Brutality”, that scum-ridden bar on the second level… he just… he just looked at me, maybe he smiled (I’m never sure with Deteis, Sir…), and he said… well…”
“He said?”
“He said, to me not the barman, “I’ll have some YR80 vintage, please”… those were his exact words, Sir…”
The Admiral chuckled low enough to avoid the intercom picking it up, and replied: “Excellent work, Ensign. You shall proceed to his hangar and post a guard near his vessel. The minute he gets close I want to know immediately. No action shall be taken without my knowledge and authorization. Understood?”
“Aye Sir!” snapped the Ensign.
The Admiral proceeded to the sixth level towards the Immelian, perhaps the best known restaurant in the system, for the Admiral knew not only duty and faith, but also how to enjoy the small gifts that God gives us.
“Good evening Admiral, and an honor having you again”, bowed the Head waiter with a slight Gallentian accent, “your table is ready, and the wine you requested awaits you. You are expecting company, are you not?”
“I am indeed”, replied the Admiral while sitting down and nodding slightly to the white haired Deteis waiting on the far end of the restaurant, who approached to the table.
“The Admiral’s taste is still the best, I see…”, smiled the posthuman with a look at the bottle.
“Perhaps it is, infidel scum. Please sit down, and have a glass yourself. A pity it will soon be frozen in space as your pod is torn apart… but at least your clone will have a good memory, if somewhat second hand, of the taste of Amarrian justice”.
The Deteis chuckled, for even if his bloodline seems incapable of a hearty laugh, their wit is sharp and they love irony and subtle humor, and their insight is deep, and some enlightened few have even turned away from their blindness to Isk and have embraced the True Light of the Lord.
“Perhaps the Admiral would be so kind so as to also allow me to mouth some words along with this superb wine, as we posthumans seem so apt to do?”
The Admiral laughed. “But of course, infidel. Killing you is my business… keeping you silent, a task only fitted for gods”.
“Very well then,” said the posthuman as he served them both a glass, “by any chance, Admiral, do you like stories? I've just remembered… They tell, but perhaps it’s not true …”
They tell, but perhaps it’s not true, that once a Holder said,
“Hmmm… Delicious!!”
He was tasting long limb roe for the first time, prepared for him with Tash-Murkon herbs, and Hedion spices.
The Holder’s poet sang a song in praise of the long limb roe, which brings pleasure to the mouth and strength to the body. (And, so they tell, but perhaps it’s not true, also such a vitality so as to allow the eater legendary prowess in the bed chamber)
“From this day onward”, said the Holder, “Long limb roe I shall have for every dinner!”
First day he said “Delicious!”, the second he said “Great!”, the third he said “It’s good”, the forth he said “Again?”, the fifth he stood in anger, away he threw his plate, he had his Cook beheaded, and on a pole he stuck his head.
The Holder’s poet spurred a furious poem against the long limb roe, which numbs the palate, weakens the intestines, and fills a man’s head with impure thoughts and murky lust.
The Head of the Guards muttered loud enough to be heard, “A few days ago, you described the long limb roe as a pleasure to be found only in Heavens… and now, it is a torment worse than the lower Pit of Hell?”
The poet promptly settled things right. “My friend”, he said, “I am the poet of the Holder… not the poet of the long limb roe”.
The Head Waiter approached the Admiral’s table with a mixture of distress and panic.
“I’m most sorry Admiral, I told him you were not to be disturbed but he just stormed in!”
“Admiral!”, almost cried the Ensign pushing the waiter aside, “he has escaped!”
The Admiral raised his eyes from the glass.
“Ensign… please calm down. Who is “he”? And how did “he” escape?”
“But… Sir!?!!”, burst the Ensign, “what do you mean, “he”? The posthuman, of course!”
“Are you shouting at me, Ensign?”, asked the Admiral mixing in his voice some Deep Space Ice and a trace of something only a Deteis would have recognized as a smile.
The Ensign took a deep breath. “Sir, no Sir! Please excuse my outburst, Sir.”
“But of course you weren’t, Ensign. These fancy places are so quiet that even when we whisper it seems we are talking too loud. Now, details about the posthuman, please”
“Right, Sir. As per your instructions, we stood guard by this scum’s vessel. A few moments ago he showed his infidel face, crawled onboard and undocked. As per your instructions we… hummm…”
“You…?”
“Sir, we tried to contact you but… I’m sure it’s a malfunction of some sort, of course, but it seems that your intercom is… humm… o-off?”
The Admiral checked his intercom with a gesture of surprise painted in his face. “Oh, by God! It is indeed off! How sloppy of me!”
“Uh… Sir...”
“Can we still pursue this infidel scum?”
“I’m afraid not Sir… by the time it took me to find you, he must be at least two jumps away by now… Sir, please excuse my delay, I did not know you were here and…”
“Ensign, please!”, interrupted the Admiral, “I will have none of that! Not your fault in the least! On the contrary, you proceeded exactly as commanded, and you will be praised for that!”
“Well… thank you Sir!”
“Besides”, continued the Admiral, “it is obvious that God, in His infinite Mercy, has allowed this infidel to live another day… who are we to question His Wisdom?”
“Only He is Eternal, and has a Plan for each one of us”, bowed his head the Ensign.
“Indeed he has. But He also enjoys giving us free will. Now, I just loathe things half done. Please honor me and help me finish this bottle!”
“Uh…” stammered the Ensign, “but of course, Sir.”
“Excellent!”, said the Admiral as he poured them both a glass, “Ensign, by any chance, do you like stories? Because I just remembered… you see, they tell, but perhaps it’s not true …”