Failed to return from the battlefield where the Harts fought against tainted ancestral avatars at the Gathering of 1116.
Obituaries
A sad, sad thing have I to sing,
About an empty grave, O,
For I fear none know where he’s gone,
The rat they called Depravo.
He grew up quick, learned many tricks
Before he learned to shave, O,
And Karl his dad was glad he had
The son he called Depravo.
Sometimes it’s true, I own to you,
That he would misbehave, O,
But on the whole pure was his soul,
That cheeky rat Depravo.
His world was tough, and true enough,
No cushy life he craved, O,
But every block aside he’d knock,
Intrepid young Depravo.
Then one fell day he joined the fray
For always he was brave, O,
And when ’twas done, the battle won,
No-one could find Depravo.
We called his name, but no-one came,
We fear his life he gave, O,
Through treachery and perfidy
They slew our poor Depravo.
But they will pay on a judgment day
And vengeance now we crave, O,
And we’ll cut the life out with a knife,
Of the ones who took Depravo!