EXT: The Nameless Grave of Deacon Frost

There's a rotting mausoleum near the bottom of the hive

Where the oldest of the Cawdor stop to pray;

There’s no carving there to tell you who inside was once alive

And if the worms who gnaw him know, they’ll never say.

He was known as Deacon Frost; he was feared amongst the lost

And by those who saw House Cawdor as a taint.

But the faithful called him friend, to his sermons they’d attend, 

Even Kurtz the Preacher hailed him as a saint. 

He had just one secret flaw, this errant knight of House Cawdor:

The fact he loved a drink was plain as day.

Yes, he’d run up quite a tab at the bar below his hab,

One that no-one ever seemed to make him pay.

Even for the Underhive, that Low Bar was quite the dive,

Owned by spies and whisperers from House Delaque.

It became a breeding ground for the morally unsound

And Deacon Frost was soon the worst of all the pack.

See, Father Kurtz had felt an urge to perform a fiery purge,

A crusade to make the faithless hivers bleed:

And the Father’s stated plan had his Deacon in the van

To inspire the holy brethren and to lead.

Frost was there on the front line, you could hear his chainsword whine,

And the holy screeds he bellowed far and wide;

But of kills there was a lack - he’d been bought by House Delaque!

Through his debt, they’d turned the Deacon to their side. 

They thought Father Kurtz a fool, sent a murderous Nachtgul

Through the ducts to take the hellfire preacher’s life.

Kurtz feared no such low attack, thought his Deacon had his back - 

But when the ‘ghul struck, Frost just let it turn the knife. 

As he watched that deadly blow, Deacon Frost reached a new low

And he swore he’d never drink another shot

Until he’d burnt each louse from that sneaking, shiftless House

Who had forced him to be part of their vile plot.

So he fought a one-man war, burnt the Low Bar, burnt three more,

Burned all Delaque’s turf holdings down to ash,

Found the faceless ‘Ghul whose blade of Father Kurtz a martyr made,

Found and slew it with a vengeful chainsword slash. 

But here he found his end, for the Nachtgul had a friend,

And he stabbed the bloody Deacon from behind.

If you fight with House Delaque, then you’d better watch your back,

Is a truth the few who do most often find. 

There's a rotting tomb where Cawdor preachers sometimes stop and pray,

There’s a double-handed chainsword on the lid;

And Deacon Frost’s inside, who was once the Cawdor’s pride,

Though the local scummers say that his name was burned away

As revenge for all the murders that he did!

(with apologies to J Milton Hayes and his classic poem The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God; with further apologies both to Deacon Frost and Father von Kurtz of the Saints of Detritus, whose in-game histories have been twisted to better fit the metre and form of this parody)