Some stories use Dreams, a homemade tool.
Very inspired by Lost Odyssey's "A Thousand Years or Dreams" (watch an example), this plug-in allows us to show our own stories with an unusual and more immersive presentation.
To enjoy these "dreams", please take your time, put on your headphones or turn your speakers on.
This story uses sounds and animations. Learn more about Dreams.
The tavern is nearly empty. Harska and Skold are having a glass of some cheap alcohol. They take a moment to rest after a long day walking.
Someone comes in. A farmer, by the look of him. He looks tired and lost. The two dwarves notice the man carries a shoulder bag, and the head of a little golden statuette sticks out of it.
He goes straight to the counter, asking for a strong drink. He needs something to get back on his feet.
The innkeeper pours the farmer a tall glass.
"You got trouble?" he asks. "Looks like you've had better days."
The farmer doesn't answer. He takes a large mouthful.
"It's a disaster," he finally says. "I own the farm up north. My crops are dying, and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm afraid I won't be able to harvest anything this year."
"What are you going to do, then?"
The man sighs. He opens his bag, takes a golden statuette out and places it on the counter. "I'm going to sell it."
The statuette represents an old man holding a sword. The farmer looks to him in the eyes.
"It's my grandfather. He brought it back from one of his travels. It was a reward for... Well, it doesn't matter now. I can't believe I'm selling it, but what choice do I have?"
The innkeeper doesn't say a word.
"Fer somethin' that nice, maybe we can help ye." Harska and Skold comes up to the farmer. Skold slowly approaches his hand to the statuette, just to be able to touch it, but the man pulls it out of reach.
"What do you want?" he asks with a suspicious tone.
"Don't ye worry," reassures Harska. "We just want tae help ye. Ye have a problem, we take care o' it, and ye pay us with this nice item o' yers. What do ye say?"
The farmer gets irritated. "And how do you plan to do that? That's not like you can make my crops magically heal."
Harska grins. "What if I can?"
The farmer is astouned. The dwarven woman opens her bag and takes out a little sachet. She throws it at the man who barely catches it.
"See this? Ye plant 'em this day, and ye get ready tae harvest tomorrow. Take 'em, if it works - and it will - ye come back here and ye pay us. We got a deal?"
The man hesitates. He knows better than to trust some Dark Iron strangers, but he has nothing to lose anymore.
He puts his statuette back into his bag and leaves the tavern.
All the way back to his farm, he can't get his eyes off the sachet Harska gave him, wondering what to expect.
"I guess this can't get any worse," he sighs, opening the sachet. Even if the farmer can't really identify its content, he's firmly decided to try his luck.
The man works in his field until the end of the day, when the sun no longer allows him to work properly.
He hopes for the best, he hopes those Dark Iron dwarves he met were telling the truth.
That hope accompagnies him as he goes to sleep.
When the sun comes up, the farmer hastily opens his window to see the crops.
He can't believe his eyes.
The crops that were still dying yesterday are now full of life.
He runs to his field to be sure he's not dreaming.
It's real. It's very real. It will be the best harvest he's ever done. The man bursts into tears, feeling like he has never been so happy in his life.
Without further ado, he grabs the bag holding the statuette and runs to the tavern.
When he arrives, Harska and Skold are already there, sitting by the counter.
The farmer kneels before them. He thanks them, again and again, so moved he barely makes sense. The two dwarves look at each other, a grin on their face.
Skold gets on his feet and approaches the man.
"I'll take what's ours now," he says, opening the bag.
The farmer gets his breath back. "Of course, of course, it's yours. You've earned it. My grandfather would have been proud to know people like you."
Skold smiles, his rotten teeth clearly visible. "I'm sure." He takes the statuette and puts it in his bag.
Harska joins her companion. She looks at the farmer one last time, with a smirk on her face. "Pleasure doin' business with ye."
Watching the two Dark Iron dwarves leaving the tavern, the farmer lets out a sigh of relief. His troubles are finally over. He needs a drink to celebrate.
As he approaches the counter, someone bursts into the tavern. A big, angry-looking man walks right to the farmer and punches him in the face. "You thought you could get away with this?" he yells. "You thought you could uproot my own crops and plant them in your field?"
The farmer is astouned. "Why do you think..." he starts, then he realises. As he wipes the blood coming out of his mouth, he stutters. "The dwarves, it was the dwarves..."