Most don't know too much about Father Phaestus,
They know He had to leave, didn't even know how He blessed us.
Last they heard He was some god of the forge, God of making weaponry.
It's so far from the truth. I'll tell you if you listen to me.

This is the story about the Smith.
Someone you really could laugh with.
I'll tell you now, He could drink that Ale.
Even the Garden could tell THAT tale!

For the Dwarven nation He sacrificed His will.
To grant the same to His children, He'd make his own nil.
He tought the world every craft they have known.
Did you think you had learned that all on your own?

I remember advice, and a loving Father's guiding hand.
I remember words of wisdom. He hardly ever gave a command.
Showed us how to work hard, at everything we ever do.
He played a hand in Creation. I hope you realise that, too!

This is a short story of a Great God.
Who ruled by the heart. Not by the rod.
I'm hoping you'll seek out more about Him.
He was more than someone who partied on a whim!

Someday you'll wish that you'd known him more.
Like those who met Him, before Grima pushed Him through the door.
I remember the days we had everything.
Now my tongue can't be stilled again.

-The Prophet of the Smith, Mayapple

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Valnuary, in the year 409 AF.