[AND THEN.........A SINGALONG....]
A god's power is praise, yeah?
[steadies himself with his hammer, still shaky from his fight. But he sings--and its a little familiar to those who remember the days of the Old Sabra la Tau. before this cave, before things were bad, and when people worshiped the gods not because they were forced]
Sing to me oh Weaver Kolotha, oh Queen of the Gods, and Lady of Truth. Pull back the curtain on this brief life and let me see the holy pattern beyond. Let me fathom only the tiniest threads you weaves. I pray you let this fool speak other than foolishness. I invoke thee in the name of truth.
Sing to me as well, oh Storyteller, oh many-tongued. Let my words be sweet. Let the telling of this tale ease the suffering of all we sad mortals. Make clever my tongue and lovely my voice. Let this ham-fisted prattler sing a song worth hearing. I invoke thee in the name of beauty.
Let us sing of Ptou fair, the first to speak. All words are thin, crafted by thy tongue. We sing, for thou hast given us lyrics.
On the day of thy birth, thou took a beast of the sea and gave them to land, to trick and steal and to keep tidy the places we mortals besmirch. A hundred fingers they have, for hundreds are the thoughts you gave them.