Elys was a world in a state of prosperity, with all the trials and tribulations that brought.
Global warming from green-house gas emissions, rivers polluted due to run-off from potion factories. The countries of the world becoming less and less meaningful in the face of the worlds greatest corporate conglomerates. Meanwhile, some areas of the world had been left behind in the squalor of the past- only now making a desperate bid to catch up with the modern era.
Dead nations walking.
In the town of Albrech, the modern era had begun to erode at the stagnation of centuries.
The town's oldest pub, the kings arms, once a place where heroes and scoundrels rubbed shoulders- was now frequented by a very different crowd.
Tourists.
From more advanced nations they came and marvelled at the 'quaint ethnic lifestyle' and the 'true historical feeling' and other such phrases that simply showed how much they appreciated being visitors and not residents.
Victor, the proprietor, could scarcely imagine the days of yore when this had been a place where warriors spoke of their accomplishments- and yet he forced himself to vomit forth far-fetched tales and stories for the visiting crowds. His best though, was one he'd inherited from his father. He'd made a deal with a particular touring company to only share it with groups they brought along, and he'd had years of practice in it's retelling.
Today was one such day. He sighed and dimmed the flame in the lamps. They looked like candle lanterns, but they were really just imitation electrics.
"It was a little over two centuries ago now. My family has always held the kings arms- but it wasn't always known by that name.
My great, great, great, great grandfather had just inherited it from his father.... when He came.
The greatest Hero. Magnus Magnusson. He was Fearless, Peerless, with fists of justice and a brow that could break the sky! That day, Magnus Magnusson had just exchanged blows with the Blue Dragon, Niflsora. Then the dragon had been terrorising the kingdom and demanding tributes- until he arrived." He gave a dark and knowing grin- an expression that he'd perfected over countless re-telling's, and filled up eighteen mugs from the tap in quick succession, sliding one to each of his listeners.
"These days you'd know her by another name. Azura, the media mogul."
Several guests choked on the drinks they'd unsuspectingly raised to their lips.
This was a legend right? Wasn't it just too far-fetched to imagine that someone who had a percentage share in the world media that was measured in the double digits, once had a brawl with a hero?
"He was bloodied by the experience but bright and fierce as anything. He asked my grandfather for a drink. My grandfather poured him his best, but was astonished! Magnus drained it in an instant. He was wondering what to do, when who would come through the door, but a beautiful woman dressed in blue and covered in wounds!"
On cue, sixteen customers jaws dropped as they always did.... well with the exception of two serious looking gentlemen who looked rather out of place with the rest of the tourists.
"It came out that they had fought to a draw- and Azura was angry that he'd left before they'd fought another round. Magnus Magnusson, did he argue with the wyrm he'd just fought to exhaustion?"
Victor pounded his fist on the counter. There was a slight indent from the hundreds of times he'd brought his fist down there.
"He laughed! He offered to buy her a drink. But neither dragon nor man was satisfied with a mere mug. Each took a barrel and smashed in the top, drinking deep from within. That too became a contest, as each drank down mead and ale as if it were air. But when their contest was done, and they woke from deep unconsciousness, my great ancestor was livid- For neither of them had a single coin in their pockets! The dragon had transformed into a human, so naturally she was bereft of possessions on her person, and she revealed her lair had collapsed due to their fierce battle.
But the hero, Magnus Magnusson, he didn't falter. He laughed. He asked how much he owed- and on hearing the sum, presented his gauntlets. Weapons of ancient magic and tremendous power! Worth more than the drinks, the pub- worth more than anything. He handed them over and said he'd return with the money to pay what he owed. He clasped hands with the dragon, and promised on that day, he would give her a rematch, a decisive battle that would see all things settled...."
Victor pulled out an ancient bottle filled with amber liquid, and poured himself a tiny shot, gulping it down as if to steel himself before continuing. Needless to say, while the bottle was old, he periodically topped it up with cheaper spirits.
"That was the last time Magnus Magnusson was seen in this world! But such a man would not be easily vanquished! And so my great ancestor charged his son. Keep this place open. Honour the man, and be here, for when he returns to pay his debt.
Since then, our name changed, we were the Kings Arms in honour of the greatest of heroes- and those gauntlets behind me.... they are his weapons. Still waiting for his return."
The eyes of his audience were drawn two crossed, black metal gloves. They weren't fullplate, but segmented metal fitted onto unknown materials. They shone darkly and looked worthy of a relic of a time of epic tales and earth-shattering clashes.
The eyes of two of the patrons shone with a very different light.
One of them pulled out a briefcase made of ballistic plastic and opened it upon the bar with a resounding thud.
The interior was lined with stack after stack of notes. Each wad had a bright 100,000 sparkling on the band binding it together.
"Old timer. We're prepared to offer six million."
Victor had been wondering what their game was, but to think it was this.
".... HAHA! Really. After what you just heard, you want to buy them off me? Do you really think you're the first? Do you really think you've even offered the most? Perhaps, I should share another tidbit. Seventy five years later, Azura herself showed up, hoping to purchase them as a memento. My family refused her, as we will refuse everyone from here until the day that Magnus returns!"
The men scowled. It hadn't been easy to find this lead, to find this relic resting in a forgotten corner of the world, being used as a showpiece for gormless tourists.
In fact, what Victor had said was inaccurate. The hero had been sighted several times after that day, but crucially, all such depictions showed him barehanded. Thus, they'd come to deduce that this absurd, fanciful tale had a grain of truth, and he really had left his gloves here.
Such an artefact, did it's worth even need to be discussed? It was at a level where even if they paid top dollar for it, they could make it back a hundredfold.
And yet this old fool wasn't selling!
Power surged through both the men. Underneath their suits, they had sturdy bodies and ex-military magical assault vests. An intimidating aura seeped from the both of them.
"Oi- Don't think you can intimidate-" The men ignored Victor, one vaulting the bar, the other leaning over and grabbing Victor's head and slamming it against the wood with incredible speed.
The tourists, who'd been stunned by the appearance of the money, now screamed.
"Bag it and let's go!"
The man on the other side of the counter casually walked up to the gloves and his hands closed around them-
BANG
His body was propelled backwards, blackened and smoking, over the counter and into a table.
"Serves you right you ba-" Victor was once again ground into the counter by the man's partner.
"Status?"
"Nominal. My 'ware is intact.... Strange, that felt more like touching a security ward than some kind of artifact backlash." The man got up from where he'd fallen and adjusted his sunglasses.
His body had some superficial wounds, but, the clothing around his left arm where he'd touched the gloves had been torn away completely, revealing chromed steel beneath.
"Old timer, if that was a security ward, I'm sure it was good enough a hundred years ago, but, this is the modern era. What's the deactivation sequence!"
SLAM!
It wasn't the head of Victor meeting the bar, it was the door to the pub. The tourists and tour-guide shrinking back in fear, Victor, the two thieves, they all looked towards the figure outlined by the bright midday sunlight.
Victor's eyes widened. He knew that figure. He'd described it so many times he saw it in his dreams. Tall, broad, nearly two meters from his feet to his messy shock of hair and with features that could've been chiselled from stone. His clothes were bright blue- where there once might've been sleeves there was nothing but tatters. His boots were caked in mud and around his neck, a bright red scarf flapped in a nonexistent breeze.
"I'm Back!" He laughed heartily and added "Come on out Niffy, we'll have a drink and then we'll scrap!"
One thought crossed the crowd's mind.
Niffy?
The story was still fresh in the minds of everyone present- and there was a sudden suspicion that perhaps something had been lost over the years.
"OI? Niffy? Ey...." his bright eyes fell upon the scene inside the bar, "Where's Foster?"
He stepped inside, each footfall carrying with it a majesty that couldn't be denied.
The men who had been robbing the place stood transfixed- they knew what they thought was happening was impossible and yet, it felt hard to breathe.
"Look mate, if you're going to brawl, you do it on this side of the bar-" He reached the man holding Victor down, and with one hand, broke his grip on victor, and with the other, lifted him bodily off his feet and threw him over his shoulder.
"You, keep- you're not foster, but you're the only one here not dressed funny. Who's this lot then?"
Victor stood and pointed behind him.
"Mmmm Magnus? Have you come for your weapons?"
"Well yeah. But what're those things? Besides, I said September didn't I? The sun looked right for September.... Sure feels like September."
Victor swallowed.
"Well, you're not wrong."
"Great then! Now, where are my gloves? I tell you, I missed them more than I thought I would. And where's Niffy? Figured she'd be here early! Ahaha!" his laugh seemed to set the world at ease. The aura of power and confidence he gave off made the tourists feel relaxed- despite the circumstances.
Reverentially, Victor got out an axe from underneath the bar, and started swinging at the floor-boards.
After a good half minute of chopping, a hole had been opened up, and an ancient looking chest was hauled out by a sweating Victor. He grabbed the bottle he'd been drinking from earlier, drained it into some empty mugs, and then shattered it on the counter. A corroded silver key was fished from the glass wreckage and inserted into the chest....
The tourists and even the now recovered thieves craned their necks to see the true form of the Heroes Weapons.
They were bright orange, glossy and bulky. The right side glove went all the way up to his elbow- and the thieves blanched. That was not the depiction that artists told, that was for damn sure!
"My Pals! Ah! Right, can't forget!" Deliberately, Magnus fished into his pocket, and brought out two gold coins and five silver ones.
"There we go, the debt is settled!"
Victor swallowed. He had to ask. He couldn't not ask-
"Honourable Hero, Ser Magnus, Mightiest of Men, Magnificent-"
Magnus waved the words aside as he slid on the gloves and flexed his fingers.
"No need for any of that."
"But, I have to ask you one thing, if I could."
"Ask away!"
"It's.... where have you been for the last two hundred years?"