Godstadt: The Fatherstream

It was said that Yndar Volkiv was one of the last dwarves - and so the last of any race - to know the art of Taleweaving. They said Dwarves were uncultured, or that their culture was one of stone and steel. They knew nothing of Taleweaving. "They" could go to the nine hells.
Because when Yndar was to appear at a gathering to perform the art, you did not reject your invitation.
The King was dead, and it was a time to celebrate. Forget the coup everyone knew was coming. Now was the time to eat, drink, and remember the Last True King of the Dwarves.
Yndar sat cross-legged on a raised pedestal, at the head of the hall. He had journeyed far, from the southern coast of the Eastwing, to be here. To tell a single Tale. One all in the hall had heard countless dozens of times since their childhood. For the Elders - those approaching three centuries - like Yndar himself, they had likely heard it at least a thousand times.
Taleweaving was an art of a bygone age. Of the age before the arrival of humans, and before their conquests. In front of Yndar sat a wrought iron brazier, low to the ground and small. Three sticks of fragrant wood-incense burned in small flames. Around the brazier sat six wide bowls, filled with colored powders - black, grey, white, red, green, orange.
The hall was silent, waiting. Yndar breathed, his nostrils flaring and wrenching at the pungent scent of the incense. He dipped one hand into the green powder, the other into the white. With a sudden flourish, he brought both hands over the brazier, and sprinkled the powder that clung to his hand into the flames.
Scents and colors exploded from the flames, briefly forming the shape of a bird in flight.
"In The Beginning, Moraed and Kreian were formed from Verndari's Bones. Like the other Gods, Kreian's first motivation was to explore, and she acted accordingly. Moraed, however knew his calling and purpose: to build."
Yndar flicked orange, grey, and more green powder into the brazier.
"Emerging from the shoulder of Verndari's left wing, Moraed was the only one to look behind him, from whence he came. The other gods only looked to the world ahead. What Moraed saw was a great mountain; an utterly invincible fortress, a home whose beauty surpassed any able to be built by intelligent hands, a place to create, a place where his creations could live in plenty."
Orange and red powder entered the brazier, along with a snow white feather drawn from Yndar's hair. The flames leapt, golden, upwards, in the shape of a gateway.
"And so Moraed began to build. For seven hundred seventy seven days and nights he built. Hollowing the mountain, building on it. When he had finished, he had built his fortress so high as to reach the heavens, where he looked around him, to see the stars, the moons of our Promised Land far below him. But there was one problem."
Grey powder, white powder.
"As Moraed watched his people, the dwarves, far below, tending to the land, imitating their creator, building upwards to the stars, he realized he had made one mistake in his great fortress. There was no spring of water. Without this critical feature, he knew his fortress - and his people - would fall to the sieges of any other race."
A massive scoop of white powder, causing the flames to leap upwards, blue, the shape of a winding river.
"So Moraed Created. One last time, he took his great hammer, and carved a furrow, beneath the mountain from which he had first emerged. That furrow became a stream, the stream a river, a river that flowed through all of Moraed's creations, into the heavens, where those that find it can join him forever, to Build into the stars infinite."
The room was silent, as Yndar paused, and breathed. He took a small pinch of black powder, sprinkling it like a seasoning over the dwindling flames.
"Godstadt. The River Within Us. If we can find it, we can join Moraed in the heavens. When we pass to the next life, we will drink from it. That is why we, the dwarves, do not fear death ... and it is always why we never build a fortress without a spring of water beneath it."