DISCLAIMER: This poem was written as a response to this blog by Subtank, reporting her passing on as an Administrator of Halopedia. HOWEVER, she is still going to remain active on Halo Fanon as both an admin and in writing fanon, so do not fear! I myself was unware of this as I wrote this poem, and as such treated one passing as part of another, as so many others of our remembered former admins had done. So, the moral of this story is, be thankful for this silver lining! And please, turn off your panic alarms. - Revision as of 01:03, September 30, 2010
EDIT: Yep. 03:15, December 1, 2011
There are stories told in this sacred fold by authors both far and wide.
Some who craft fine tales, some with pure details, and some whose works we’d rather hide.
Some rely on help, and like the great Elbe it flows from one true bank.
Where the mysteries lie there watches the eyes of our admin Subtle Tank.
Now Subtle Tank, if we shall be frank, was a queer one to say in the least.
All her work was good, but could not be understood? And seemed darkly, cryptically pieced…
When on a talk page, her response was sage, and a shadow it would imbue.
Then she’d flash a grin of something dark within and scream, “Rabbids FTW!”
While the macho males scoured all noobs’ tales and remained flexing and on the prowl
Then pull out their swords and their demon hordes and charge in with nightmare howls
It was Miss Subtank who would stay by the flank to clean up the last blood pools.
For as every teacher knew, not the headmaster who, but the secretary that rules the school.
Yet should she spot flaw breaking canon law, her response would be one slice.
And make a wound so small you could hardly see it at all and yet that one blow was so precise.
End that fic’s heartbeat, leave nothing more than meat, with her one blow to the neck.
Like a shuriken coming round the bend, worse than any ghoul from heck.
Yet she would not gloat once she sank your boat, but rather act as a lifeguard.
When the tide rose high, she’d help get you by whenever the times were hard.
Though she’d remain aloft thanks to Microsoft any requests to her were grant’
And she would not stoop to treat you like poop and tell you, “Writing? No, you can’t.”
But not all her job was roping up the mob, for she too wrote her own additions.
Some technology, some cryptology, and of course her sibylline Transmissions!
Subtle Tank’s own ‘verse was far from the worst, but compared to others seemed oddly small...
But that presidium, named Elysium, stayed the most bewitching of them all.
Then the rumors came, of the end of her reign, but we ignored and begged them false.
But this was for naught, leaving us distraught, so distraught that I couldn’t think of any word that could possibly rhyme with false.
Forget that, back to the poem!
Subtank’s time was end? We could not comprehend! That such a tragedy was so!
It came as a bomb, though she told us calm, that it was time for her to go.
How it rend our minds! The death of mankind! Upon hearing of this loss!
All our soul but wailed, feeling torn and nailed, as though driven on a cross!
Then sanity kicked back in, and with deep chagrin, we decided ‘tis for the best.
Though long had she stayed, working shifts unpaid, she had earned herself full rest.
Every students knows when the master goes that BOTH’S training is but done.
So as the student leaves to face the world at sea, they tell Master: “Sir, you have our leave to go have fun.”
So as this poor band in place gives her one last embrace, we true wish her journey well.
Though Subtank’s depart leaves holes in our heart, her command we SHALL impel.
While left with her dearth as she'll roam this earth, we know full she will excel.
Forgive redundancy, from rhyme diff’culties, but Subtle Tank, we Halo Fanon...
--written by user Tuckerscreator