[center][b]Voligan Week[/b][/center]

	Just past the foothills that caressed the Garden’s western border was a veritable range of mountains and crags. Among this range was a clade of ancient spires that were named the Frawkian Mountains by a small kingdom of Dwarves some odd centuries ago — but that’s not important right now. What is important is that among these sister mountains, defined by their wind-scarred heights and sparse vegetation, was a lonely cliff face that faced the dangerous sea to the north.

	Broken into the cliff face was a window, a symptom of the vast burrows and tunnels long since bored into the body of the mountain, and from this window, one could watch the crashing waves and witness the churning mists of the darkest and deadliest sea the Galbar had to offer. Though anyone else might feel a sense of dread or even doom at the sight of the infamous sea, one particular man felt no such thing, but rather used it as a pleasant view for his morning tea.

	This man was more of a dwarf than a man, and was named Frawk — not to be confused with the great hero that founded the kingdom this cliff sat in — Frawk (this Frawk) was a hermit. He lived alone, or so any other dwarf would tell you. They would also say he spends all his hours and all his minutes crafting simple arts that were useless to the pragmatic, but he always did so with a gentle smile. 

	His face was about square, his nose was pocked with age, and his cheeks were rashed. In total, he looked more like the face of a fruit than a man — or dwarf. While his visage might be considered homely, whatever his hands created was anything but. 

	Frawk sat at his dining room table. It was carved of stone and yet it was done so fancifully, it could have been mistaken for wood — as could his chair. Simple runes decorated the edges of the furniture, black as if it was burned into it — but again, that was simply the trick of his skill. On the table was a kettle of glass, which was actually once again just stone, shaved to such a small width that it was translucent. It matched his tea cup, but not his tea plate — which he had curiously carved his own bubbling smile onto.

	He sat by his window, feeling the ocean air coming pushing in and out of his small little home, but he didn’t sit alone. Across from him sat his wife — an identical cup of tea cradled in her hands, though the liquid was untouched and cold. One might wonder how a hermit who lives alone could have a wife, but this one did — if not with a catch. Oh no, nothing disturbing or dangerous or uncomfortable — his wife was very much alive and very much inlove with Frawk, and by her own will, I’ll add. 

	To get back to the story, she sat there across from him, a simple content smile on her face — and what a face it was. She was the definition of beautiful. Frawk’s wife was the most stunning Eidolon woman anyone might have ever seen. Her body was curvaceous and her face marked with freckles in all right spots so as to highlight her gentle cheeks and coaxing eyes. She wore a gown that seemed half as graceful as she was whenever she moved, despite its superior quality. One might notice though, after hours upon hours of study and after hours upon hours of being lost in her beauty, that she too was of stone — another artwork set by Frawk’s own hand.

	Despite all this, she loved him just the same and he loved her. Her name was Gala, and while she herself couldn’t open her mouth to enjoy the tea along with her husband, she very much liked to hold the cup and pretend. Gala found it much more intimate if she could at least make believe she had certain capabilities she didn’t have, and oftentimes it was as simple as holding a cup.

	“Have you heard about what’s been happening in the valley?” Frawk asked Gala, knowing very well she rarely went that far from home. The stone woman was silent for a moment, before reaching out with a hand.

	“Could you hand me my thoughtful face, dear?” Her voice was liquid silk. 

	Frawk slapped a pile of stone masks onto the table and began to hastily filter through them, until he found one that mimicked Gala’s face if not adding a cocked brow and thoughtful purse of the lips. He handed it over and the woman gently placed it over her visage.

	“Hmm,” she thought out loud. “No, I can’t say I have.”

	Frawk sipped at his tea and leaned back in his chair. “They say an entirely new group of people have arrived.”

	“Ah yes!” Gala dropped her thoughtful mask, opting for her natural gentle smile. “The Ekotone.”

	“No, no!” Frawk waved a hand, and Gala quickly slapped on a mask of surprise. “Newer than Eidolons, even! They were brought in on giant machines and now dwell in the garden with the brooding warrior.”

	“Oh my,” Gala swapped back to her thinking mask. “That certainly is a big change. I didn’t know the brooding man was interested in any company.”

	“Other than the small child that he had brought there that one time.”

	“I believe that was his daughter, dear.” Gala corrected.

	Frawk tilted his head in suspicion. “That’s merely our assumption, of course.”

	“Of course.” Gala agreed, making sure to wear a mask that contained an eye roll. 

	“There’s more though,” Frawk continued. “I took it upon myself to take a stroll down there the other day.”

	“Was that three days ago?” Gala sat up straight. “I had wondered where you went off too for so long, and when the dishes needed to be done as well!”

	“Dear, please,” guilt etched on Frawk’s face. 

	Gala crossed her arms, but not before putting on a stern mask. “Dear, please, nothing! You’re doing the dishes tonight, then!”

	“Fine, fine, but can I finish my story?”

	The stern mask dropped and Gala sat back in her chair, bringing her cup to her stone lips with a clank. “Of course, dear.” 

	“Infection!” Frawk all but blurted, not sure how to enter this part of his story.

	A confused mask found Gala’s face. “Infection?”

	“There are rumors jumbling about, that the people there are infected with some sort of incredible disease. I heard it from one of them while I was sulking about, looking for stones by the shore.” Frawk placed his empty cup down. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but from the sounds of it, a lot of the people are feeling strange pains in their stomachs and hearts — and their skin itches. Some are saying that they stopped feeling the pain altogether, but are feeling something else, something new.”

	Gala fumbled her pile of masks. “Oh, shit.” she cursed as she sorted through them all to find one struck in suspense. Clearing her throat (well you get what I mean) she slapped the suspenseful mask on. “Something new!?”

	Frawk held his mouth open, but no words came out. The sly smile of a storyteller found his plum cheeks and he sat back in his seat. “I guess we will just have to wait and see.”


[hider=Summary]

Oh boy. I’m actually very disappointed you’re reading this for a post like this. But anyway, the only important bit here is that there are rumors spreading around the Garden of Hevel that the humans there are infected with a strange disease that is potentially causing pains in various organs only to suddenly stop hurting in the more developed patients. 

Also we meet Frawk and Gala, a lovely husband and wife — dwarf and golem.

[/hider]