'Twas a week since the patch, and my mates were all cloaked
The better to gank some carebears, we had joked.
With my main in his covops, and an alt docked nearby
I hoped Tech II hulls would soon be espied.
As Local was quiet; we were barely awake
And our battleship pilot was on bio-break.
When what should appear in the latest intel
But a cruiser with blasters and shield tank from hell!
Our bait frig on d-scan was taking a gander
At a fit with nine reindeer and cargo expander.
It was rigged with extenders against our rail guns
And his hardeners, frankly? A bit overdone.
To my mates an unknown and a bit of a mystery,
But I'd just checked out his employment history
And I stared with surprise which his portrait engendered
At a well-known old face that was beautifully rendered.
He was dressed all in robes that hung straight to the floor
While his killboard was longer–this dude was hardcore!
The curl of his lip was a fright to behold
And his eyes were as black as the ore in his hold.
Word had it, he showed up this late in December,
And left behind wrecks in his wake, we remembered.
Klaus Siinter's the pirate all eggers despise
Wherever the crafty, white-haired bastard flies.
He was quick, and I saw that he'd surely escape
If no tactically sound battle plan would take shape.
No time! He was here and then suddenly gone,
Having fitted for speed and stealth rather than brawn.
We knew how it was he'd so quickly arrived:
That was no faction 'burner, but microwarpdrive!
Evading our webs, he flew straight for the gate;
Our battleship locked, but by then 'twas too late!
Our fleet felt the smartbomb he'd timely ejected,
And awoke in our clones, which was most unexpected.
But we'd heard him on comms as he vanished and sneered,
"Happy Yuletide, you n00bs, and I'll kill you next year!"