Beyond The Holders
|Log in | Register|
A Day in the Life of a Holder
So, with the advent of the Internet, all of us Holders are being allowed to post instructions on how to get our objects. I've been looking at some of your reactions to other Holders' posts, and let me tell you: You're all a bunch of crybabies! You seekers may think you have it rough, with all the mutilation and mind-screwing and everything, but we Holders have it much, much harder than you. Take me for example:
I'm writing to you from a mental institution. Why did it have to be a mental institution? I'm perfectly sane! If it's a creepy atmosphere they wanted, I would very much have preferred an an isolated, abandoned mansion or a castle in the middle of nowhere. But, alas, the Powers That Be decided that a mental institution would be perfect symbolism for sanity slippage, which they described as the "overarching theme of the story of a seeker's journey," and that entailed locking me up in a tiny room in the back of some old, forgotten halfway house that only seekers ever visit.
It wouldn't be a problem if I had anybody at all to talk to, but they wouldn't even give me that! No, they decided to make my room as hard to reach as possible. They went out of their way to bend the laws of physics in such a way that anyone who wants to visit me winds up exhausted by the time he or she reaches my door. That's not an exaggeration; that's really the requirement: the complex spells they cast on this godforsaken mental institution made the distance between the front door and my cell a variable directly dependent on the current seeker's stamina. When my visitors get here, they're too tired to talk, and I'm obligated to kill them for not asking my question in time thanks to the lousy Holder's oath.
Of course, that's assuming that my seekers get to me at all. You see, all that spellcasting that went on when this halfway-house was formed managed to attract all sorts of demons and hell-beasts that now roam the halls looking for food. Sure, they might have some exploitable weak points; I think it was something like "Not being able to sense you if you hold your breath the whole way," but really, how the hell are you supposed to figure that out? Even ignoring that most people can't go for that long without breathing, I'd wager that eight out of ten visitors who come looking for me don't know that there are hell beasts in the hall at all, especially since they have to close their eyes the whole way.
Oh, yeah. I didn't mention that, did I? The walls of this institution are lined with paintings that can break your mind if you barely glance at them, so you need to keep your eyes shut on the way here. You might be thinking, "That just proves things are harder for us seekers!" But you're wrong. The paintings and hell beasts don't just keep you from getting to me; they keep me from walking around! I can't navigate that stupidly long hallway any more easily than you can!
Nope! I'm just stuck here in my cell for all eternity, right next to the cell of some guy who just won't shut up. He's not even talking to me, because I would appreciate any form of conversation at this point. No, he just continuously chants ominously in ancient Sumerian 24 hours a day, seven days a week. When he does stop chanting, it's because he's off to kill some poor, unsuspecting seeker for some stupid reason like stepping on the wrong floor tile on the way here, thus depriving me of conversation yet again.
In the last eighty years, I've had exactly one person reach my lair with enough breath in him to ask my question. I was so delighted that I went on for hours talking about my object and the past seekers who failed my trial and about deep, metaphysical concepts related to my object... Only to find out that he had gone insane within the first ten minutes. I found out later that the Powers That Be cursed my voice to drive people insane. That's great, really. That means that if anybody wants to get my object and leave alive, they are required to ignore me. I'm sure they just did that to spite me; I can't think of any other reason to do that.
So, yeah. Uh... My object is number... something out of 538. Please come to find me soon. I really want some company.
Categories: | Parodies |
|Last modified on 2010-11-23 19:36:32Average Rating: 4.88 / 5 (8 votes)Viewed 13604 times|