The hour was near to midnight, and darkness swathed the lands in its
inky cloak as the Wardens of the Cerulean Spire puzzled over a giant
ilvaite rock adorned with alien glyphs and sigils in the courtyard of
their estate.

As Daklore Le'Murzen-Sparrow examined the glittering facets of the
massive blue stone, he recognised the Uruz rune and sketched it upon the
ground, where it flared with golden flame. More runes were discovered
upon the sparkling surface of the stone, and through trial and error,
the runewardens traced the runes Uruz, Inguz, and Isaz upon the ground
in quick succession. As the last precise stroke of the rune Isaz was
drawn a cascade of lightning leapt from the glyph and collided with the
ore. The ilvaite exploded, a thunderous sound that shook Cyrene to its
foundations. At the same moment a second explosion rocked Sapience. Far
to the north, over the village of Inbhir Ness, a golden arc of energy
illuminated the sky before fading back into the darkness.

When the dust settled, the knights surveyed the bits of rock littering
the Spire and made a curious discovery: a broadsword broken in two.
Intuitively sensing a connection between what had transpired in their
estate and the explosion to the north, a band of the Wardens trekked to
Inbhir Ness with the blade fragments. They were not the only ones racing
northward, of course. All of Sapience was aware of the thunderous
explosion, and many curious pilgrims descended upon the Ness to see what
had happened.

The explosion's source quickly became apparent. For nearly a century, a
mithril statue of Lord Phaestus stood in the small temple. Believed by
the Phaesteans to be created by the Smith as a repository for His
essence before He fell into a deep slumber, the statue was now riddled
with cracks, with golden radiance seeping from the fractures. Said
Drokan Bitterale, a besotted dwarf found near the statue, "As I live and
breath, Father Phaestus farted golden fire right in my face!"

What this meant or how it linked to the Wardens' sword remained a
mystery. Unrelenting in their search, the Wardens presented the blade to
a forge priest nearby, who remarked that the blade was unlike any metal
he had seen before. After nearly a month of study he concluded that,
while it might be reforged, the task was far beyond his skill. Faced
with a new challenge, the Wardens reclaimed their shattered sword and
departed the Ness, wondering, what smith could best the priests if
Phaestus?

~* * *~

The Phaestean cleric Jerh'mias hurried along the marble tiled corridors
of the Smith's temple in the Vashnar mountains. An awful clamour had
awoken him from his rest, and he sleepily wondered what could be the
source of the commotion. Visitors to the temple had picked up once word
spread that Lord Phaestus's statue in Inbhir Ness was cracking, but did
the pilgrims have to be so loud?

Rounding the final hallway, Jerh'mias stopped, his eyes wide in
disbelief. Before him stood the temple's statue of Phaestus, but the
hammer it once grasped had fallen, and now floated just inches above the
floor. Jerh'mias called out to those still serving in Phaestus' Order,
and they congregated in the temple to ponder the hammer that none could
wield.

Speculation spread through Phaestus's Chosen. Was this a sign from their
God or a cruel trick? For one hundred years they had waited for their
slumbering Father and now they barely dared to have hope. Some thought
the hammer should be brought to Inbhir Ness, to shatter the cracked
statue. Others, knowing of the Wardens' broken blade thought the hammer
had a role to play in the weapon's repair. But no one knew how either of
these things could be true if the hammer would permit no mortal to wield
it. Jerh'mias counseled patience. The cracked statue, the fallen hammer,
and the broken blade: some thread must connect them, argued Lord Savras
LastGoodbye, a Warden knight and Phaestean. It was the unseen link that
eluded them. Agreeing, Jerh'mias kept vigil with the hammer while the
Phaesteans waited and prayed.

~* * *~

Whistling a cheerful tune, the dwarf Norfan Bladeshaper tromped through
the streets of Cyrene. Over his shoulder he carried a burlap sack nearly
bursting with its contents, though the burden was light as a feather.
With ease in his step, Norfan moved himself through the crowded streets
of the city, soon encountering an atavian only barely taller than
himself. Dame Aikou Alexandrian was eye-catching and radiant in her
fullplate, so Norfan did the only sensible thing he could think of: he
flirted with her.

Happily Norfan learned his companion was a Warden, one of the very
individuals he had come to Cyrene to do business with. Joined by Dame
Ariettie Dawyn, the pair of lady knights accompanied Norfan to the city
brewery, where he ordered himself a tankard of ale, gave a knowing wink
to the waitress, and sat back on a bench to enjoy the afternoon.

Several months earlier, Norfan related, he had engaged in discussions
with Sir Vendros Sparrow-Fitzneale and Lord Metzger de'Nakat about the
possibility of reforging the Wardens' broken blade. The problem, he
explained to the two lady knights, was one of heat and density: the
exotic metal would require high amounts of both. Hefting the bag he
carried with an impish smile, he explained the heat was covered. Calling
in a favour, he had acquired a bag of phoenix feathers that would burn
hot as the sun once kindled. Only one problem then remained: finding a
hammer dense enough to shape the heated metal.

As this last piece fell into place, Sir Cirdan of the Wardens was
dispatched to the Temple of Phaestus. Explaining all he knew to
Jerh'mias and Solar Stormcrow, they agreed that the hammer should be
taken to Norfan. Bearing the hammer, Solar journeyed to the Cyrenian
forge, where the Wardens had gathered along with the industrious smith.
The kindled phoenix feathers burned white hot in the forge, and Norfan
solemnly accepted the broken hilt and blade from Ariettie. Norfan
reached for the hammer Solar had delivered, and gingerly wrapped his
hand around its rawhide grip.

The moment Norfan's fingers touched the hammer's shaft a deafening
explosion and a golden brilliance erupted in the skies over the north.
Pilgrims to the Smith's temple at Inbhir Ness would later report that
the statue of Phaestus suddenly exploded with fiery radiance, the energy
contained within surging forth in triumph after its long confinement.
The small group huddled over the roaring Cyrenian forge, however, knew
nothing of the occurrence, focusing intently upon the work of a single
dwarf.

A strange nimbus began to surround Norfan as he worked, the powerful
hammer shaping the white-hot metal as it submitted to his will. With
each blow he landed, the dwarf's form became less distinct, overlapped
by the image of a second, larger man. Slowly the greater form became
dominant, and a gasp of disbelief struck the assembled Wardens as they
witnessed Phaestus, Lord of the Forge, standing before them where Norfan
had laboured moments before.

Finishing His work, the God quenched the completed blade in a barrel of
water. In grave silence, Phaestus presented the broadsword to Vendros,
who accepted it with reverence. His task done, the Smith finally spoke,
proclaiming, "What was broken I have remade. You have called Me from my
long sojourn from these lands. For over a century I have dwelt apart
from My essence, living within Norfan Bladeshaper. Like the sword, I too
was divided. No more."

Across the land, word travelled faster than the wind, and just as
quickly did the Chosen arrive in Cyrene to behold the return of their
lost Lord. Merriment ensued and ale flowed freely as the Chosen and the
city of Cyrene erupted in celebration at the return of Phaestus.

Penned by My hand on the 20th of Glacian, in the year 479 AF.