Vincenzio Vallah Le'Murzen absently opened his manuscript, his fingers
searching automatically for the worn bookmark as he reflected pensively
in the deep night's silence.

Statues dear to Phaestus had crumbled, a rock slide had plagued the
Southern Vashnars, Cyrene's ale had turned sour, and even the clock
tower bells had chimed with a grating sound, suffering from the Smith's
low spirits. Curious lightweavings had appeared in those locales,
casting off their comforting light. A strange little dwarven bard was
also spotted throughout the city on several brief occasions, never
staying for too long before moving on, an enigma even to the Phaesteans.
They had all foreshadowed the remarkable events yet to come.

Grinning, Vincenzio set quill to parchment, picking up from his last
entry:

"On the 8th of Daedalan 581 AF, the dwarven bard showed up once
more at Centre Crossing, showing interest in our Lord Patron's
state and asking how it might be reversed. Sefton suggested the
splendid idea of a Concert to raise our Lord's spirits, and things
were quickly put into motion. The dwarven bard decorated the
Dancing Boar Tavern with beautiful streamers of silver and blue,
while Faur graciously provided the refreshments: nothing more
appropriate for the occasion than flagons and flagons of ale, of
course.

The impromptu concert in honour of our Lord Phaestus, held at the
Dancing Boar, was a grand success and a moment that will surely be
cherished by all who were present! Our Imperiate Chryseas was a
charming host and the performers Karyia, Sefton, Harley, Mindry,
Chryseas, Fendo, Makaela, Elaina, Blackharp, and Calithandir
selflessly lent their grand talents and love to mend our Lord's
spirits. What an excellent job they did. Before long, everyone
could proudly toast their filled flagons to our Lord Patron with
tasty ale, and the city bells rang true. The ashen fog surrounding
him was carried away by an intensely hot breeze that washed into
the room: his longing joy rekindled!

The dwarven bard also performed, amazing everyone present as she
spoke of Divine sparks, rippling beams and binding light, all while
she dexterously crafted a wondrous lightweaving of a snow leopard
and gifted it to our Lord Smith. Such a rare gift deserves one in
return, said our Patron. Materials for the craft were gathered in a
hurry: a branch of a cherry tree by Camande, a rare seashell of
marble by Liliana, and before long, our Imperiate Chryseas returned
triumphantly with shimmering strands of unicorn hair after
negotiating with Rurin. All was set!

Our Lord Patron went to work, soon completing a lovely mandolin,
asking the audience gathered if he should play it. Naturally,
everyone agreed! Our Lord Patron laughed, however, and said that he
would not, not with his hands, but that there was another who
ought. He called out for that someone to come home, and that his
audience awaited. Expectant smiles crossed the faces of the crowd.
Could it be?

The answer came ringing through the ether on a resonating harmonic,
with the long-absent voice of Scarlatti, God of the Arts. The Great
Bard spoke that nothing troubled his soul more than that of a
Divine whose heart aches, that our Lord Smith's joy is his joy,
and now the song must continue on. Lord Scarlatti soon arrived in
our presence, amid warm welcomes and cheers, as many more folks
gathered into the tavern. All watched in awe as the dwarven bard
was momentarily concealed by a blinding brilliance, dimming to
reveal her true form as Ferenthal, the Muse of Lightweaving.

So give thanks, Cyrene! For our Lord Smith's spirits have been
rekindled and our Lord Bard has returned home! May this joyous
month of Daedalan give way to many, many more!"

Leaning back, Vincenzio released a pent-up sigh, his feverish fury of
scholarship soothed by the reassuring sight of his thoughts set to
vellum; memory turned to history. Reaching for his tankard, a frown
wrinkled his pale brow. Nary a drop of moisture remained! Away he
stumbled, searching for a spot of ale to slake his thirst.

That ink-stained quill found its slumber on the open page for but a
brief moment. Stepping forth from the shadows, a tall figure bent over
the volume, perusing the text with a rich, baritone chuckle. Swift
fingers took up the feather, lips curved into a ghost of a smile, and
the elegant script soon yielded to subtle strikes and occasional
additions.

Against the shivering dawn hues, a winged silhouette glistened ebon for
only a moment before the attending harmonic dissolved, and along with
it, the Great Bard, returned to Sapience after two centuries of silence.

Penned by My hand on the 25th of Phaestian, in the year 583 AF.