Final Crescendo Chapter 1, a Harry Potter + Warhammer Crossover fanfic

Final Crescendo

Chapter 1

Final Crescendo

Helltanz's Notes: Well its another mass cross by me, oh boy who exactly is surprised by that mainly I intend for the first dozen or two chapters to be back story in the warhammer verse, that's FB not 40k by the way.

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Do you I really have to do a disclaimer? You all are aware of the facts.

Story Begin

Chapter begin

If the creator of necromancy had been furious the last time his work had been interfered upon by non understanding mortals, well in this case it had been the Elves who had attacked him most recently, with uprooting his laboratory and moving to this far realm had cost him a large portion of his reserves and the expenditure from locating the specimen, the one unaffected by death, and pulling him from his native world, had not only drawn the attention of more of the blasted mortals, though in this case they were Human knights from the neighboring Duchies.

The ancient, he did after all predate the so called 'Empire', Lich Priest King's skeletal face contorted into a horrific grimace as he stared out over the supposed cursed land before turning his undead eye to the subject with the op mop of unruly black hair the babe was unlike many of its ilk, there was none of that useless caterwauling from the whelp, which was a small blessing.

The Necromancer cracked his joints as he thought, and he made his decision. Nagash strode past the curiously watching child and reached for a candle. The human knights were predictable he'd just have to pick up his experiment later once they were unaware of his activities.

Nagash was patient in that regard, he could afford to wait besides the subject might learn something he had not yet learned while in the care of the mortals, the world had changed much since he had last ventured out, and indeed, thought the first necromancer, it was time that those wretched Skaven pay for their crimes.

He initiated the ritual the world would be his, and the specimen would give him the knowledge he needed to achieve but if the humans were to take custody of him well he wouldn't have the time to educate the boy properly,

The First Necromancer grabbed twelve vials of Vampire blood, and a chalice filled with his own blood, and further materials to for the ritual, at least this way Arkhan would not have to train the boy from scratch in the ways of war.

His claw like hand wrought of Warpstone gripped the chalice and set it down, he should have just enough time.

"To think you are the very incarnation of what the Mortuary court sought, of what Settra himself sought, it is a pity that you were not born years ago truly you would have been of great help then boy," The necromancer ran his finger across the lightning bolt the only thing which marred the infant's skull, before laughing darkly, "You who is untouched by death, someone who can not stay dead once taught magic you will be powerful indeed those filthy Skaaven will be right to fear you, as will the others,"

He laughed darkly as he began the ritual to transform the young boy who he had displaced from his world to this one. The young boy's name was Harry Potter, the supposed savior of the wizarding world of his home 'world'.

Nagash was aware in the existence of other worlds of course, had been for a long time after all the lich king was quite old, but that wasn't something that interested him yet, there were to many things he had yet to learn in this world.

The ancient priest king only had a slight interest in such things, other worlds were to startling different than this one. Amongst these many differences was the fact time passed in different worlds at an uneven rate in a rate that was unorganized, not dissimilar to the passage of time in the Athel Loren.

What may have been one year in one world by stark contrast could be a lifetime of experience or more in another and then it could switch and reverse itself. Time was capricious. In his homeworld Harry Potter would be noted as missing, but time passed differently across a thousand different worlds, and this world was one of them. Time was not a constant across dimensions its rate of passage was always changing. Time was a river.

Nagash had his plans and had his plots and once he had achieved what he wanted on his homeworld he would move on. Harry didn't know it but he'd get caught up in all of this but for now he'd remain blissfully ignorant.

This era's final crescendo was beginning for this world and it would reverberate across dozens more, but this piece of music which radiated across countless souls would play for centuries.

Circa a decade later in the Duchy of Quenelles in the Kingdom of Bretonnia

Dark green eyes watched the speaker prance and hop about from one foot to the other as he recounted his tale. It was a tale the boy knew all to well, after all his father was amongst the men of whom the tale centered upon. The story was true, barely a decade old but it was one worth spreading about.

"The Noble Questing Knights assailed the foul creature's lair, many a brave soul lost their lives in the assault." The bard feigned being struck and stumbled about, "The Lord Baldwyn's own squire took to engaging one of the foul undead with an axe, he was unfortunately along with the Men at Arms among those brave peasants slain when the unholy scourge arrived in person ranting to his unholy self," He gestured to his head while continuing to dance around. "clearly the wizard was deranged afflicted with a terrible madness of the mind,"

The assembled listened attentively to the bard's rousing recount of the event of some ten years past with rapt attention for the most part.

Clad in gore red and purple tunic the heir of Baldwyn was the only one whose attention was not truly captured by the tale. He'd heard it before and really the stupid peasant made it no more interesting than any of the other times he had heard it.

Though Baldwyn was of a slightly elevated age, being more than forty, there was little doubt in the court's eyes, or any one else the child was the duke's own blood. After all their face's seemed to have been wrought and chiseled from the same mold, the given the youth's roving and quiet nature and unruly hair it was suspected one of the wood elves might well have been the mother. There was of course the fact that Baldwyn was a bastion of health and ruled over one fifth of Bretonnia's population.

Clad in his resplendent family decorated colors the boy waited fro the bard to finish his recital of the tale of those who had participated in the quest, or rather the only ones who mattered; the nobility; Only Sir Mallory and the Lord Baldwyn still drew breadth.

"…Verde Lord Verde,"
He really was beginning to detest that nickname. Green was a color that had two meaning in the land of Bretonnia, either the fae or the peasantry. The adolescent turned on his heel to greet the lady in waiting who was attempting to gain his attention.

Trailing behind her was young girl, easily recognizable was that she like him was of noble birth. Her blonde hair tied back in the usual fashion amongst the nobles, and like himself dressed in similar splendid clothing.

The boy didn't frown, to do so would indicate his displeasure, knights endured their trials, even if they were only in training.

"Soleil," He called to his childhood companion, the blonde turned.

Soleil was the son of Sir Francis, his family had long served Baldwyn's family, Francis had died during a particularly harsh winter two years previous dealing with a troupe of bandits led a by a rouge knight who were plaguing an outlying village. The young boy had boldly declared when he was a knight that he would make sure he eliminated all of the Tafurs, the bandits and rouge knights who had inflicted the wound which had claimed his father's life.

He along with Maurice, Corentin, Claude, Rene, Jacques, and Philippe were among those of the highborn status who attended the same Knightly tutoring under Sir Leon.

"This is lady Emilie," announced the lady in waiting gesturing to the girl, one learned politics quickly when one's father was a duke of Bretonnia.

Ah that explained it even better, this was not some daring Baron's daughter, her father was Stephen a Duke of equal standing, well not equal perhaps but of the same stature as his own father, an alliance between the two duchies could only be prosperous.

Of course it didn't stop the young heir from distrusting the other duke, but it was not his place to question.

It did not mean he had to like it though.

Besides girls were supposed to knit quilts and such things, the only thing they did that proper nobles did was read books, at least that was how it was supposed to be and his present experience with the ladies of the court indicated most didn't even do that preferring to babble incessantly about something or other that was going on, admittedly such was a good source of information. Of course such was the life of the nobility in a feudal society in a nutshell for the capital of a duchy.

Soleil did not hide his distaste; girls their age in his mind were icky. It was a sentiment that the Green Prince, as was his full nickname, though the Green Lord was another one of the Subject's, was quite sure he, Soleil, would grow out of it after all the other boy spent his times fantasizing about going off and rescuing damsels from perilous situations. His title 'the Subject' was one he didn't know about and was in full the 'One not subject to death' or by another name 'the boy who lived'.

Green Lord was a nickname he would hold in the future, but those days were long off and far away. Green was the color associated with the Fair Folk, the Elves who dwelled in the forest and given the rumors concerning his mother he wasn't particularly keen on being called the Green Lord.

Of course young Harry Potter just called Henri or just as commonly any number of nicknames would have a number of nicknames and titles as time passed for after all his destiny his curse was to live in interesting times.

But that was not the only reason Stephen was disliked, called a coward for using large formations of peasant bowmen in battle, ranged weapons were considered beneath those of highborn status.

Of course the duke had yet to step to far over the line, he hadn't brought the crossbows in to his army yet, those weapons were beyond even the contempt held for using bows that might well bring the wrath of the other Duchies onto his head.

Stephen was ambitious but he wouldn't do something so stupid, besides he wasn't alone, other wise the man likely would have been deposed however he did have allies and that was the problem for those who disliked him. Stephen was another duke, and because of that he had a great deal of power.

It had been the third day since the Lady Emilie had been introduced and at the moment the two highborn lads were showing her about the gardens, as they had been requested to, when they had been approached.

The two strangers were neither rogues nor were they of any recognizable house, at least none the educated young noble knew off the top of his head.

Soleil grinned, his blue eyes danced, he was getting a chance to start his reputation early with dealing with these interlopers.

"Stand aside boys," Ordered the lead stranger.

"I think not," The knight's son responded haughtily, "you can find your ill gotten gains elsewhere." He said fingering his knife before glancing to his friend.

Baldwyn's heir's eyes swept the open grounds of the estate, this did not bode well, but their duty was clear.

"As father is quite oft to remind me of, I am not quite old enough to wield a sword in battle," He announced swinging his arm on the back of his hand illuminated was a cross with a handle a beam of sunlight coalesced into a bolt of coalesced solar energy slammed into the lead intruder in the form of a lance, nearly identical in design to the one his father rode into battle with, save it was decorated with solar motives of an unknown ancient origin, the energy settled into tangible form the metal of the lance the color of desert sands.

The Subject of the Mortuary Cult's long search lunged to the side removing the lance from the intruder's side. Aforementioned intruder's eyes were wide with pain, and his side bled freely from the injury.

The lance carrying adolescent bellowed a call to the guards, who responded raising a cry of alarm through out the estate.

Peasant spearman charged down at the intruders, one of whom lunged for the young lady, Stephen's daughter Emilie.

Soliel took this opportunity to earn his share of the combat and stabbed the man in the thigh, the fine blade, one of the last gifts he'd received from his father, bit deep into the man's leg.

The grizzled Knight who tutored the boys, neither slowed by bulky armor that knights usually wore, dressed in his regular day tunic, and proving that he was immensely quick on his feet, drew his long sword and with a heavy two handed swing hacked the Intruder's arm off at the elbow as he reached for something in his pouch. The force of the blow sent the intruder careening and the man fell backwards.

If the Subject expected to sleep late the next morning he was sadly mistaken, not only had his father scolded him for not raising the alarm first before launching his attack he had thoroughly questioned him about anything he noticed over the night which now seemed suspicious.

The Lance after being examined by one of the Priests of Ulric, who was visiting from the Empire, the large nation to the west of the Kingdom of Bretonnia, along with Collusion with other religious authorities present the weapon was deemed to be holy in nature, which was good news indeed.

After the events the heir of Baldwyn would have liked nothing better than to sleep, his father however seemed to have different ideas.

So here he was in an early morning tutoring session, with the other boys, Soleil included, being instructed by Leon. Their tutor was as gruff as usual.

He was also currently bellowing at them at top of his massive lungs.

"What a blowhard," Maurice, the nephew of Baldwyn, remarked disdainfully of the Knight, pity that though many agreed with his remark he had been heard by the middle aged man.

Maurice was barely a hair taller than Henri, and his eyes were hazel, and lacked the refined facial structure, his face being a tad rounded, pudgy even, though his body was lean and strong from throwing himself into training.

"Oh," He roared, "You think you're ready to be a man Mary," The knight's scarred face bunched up into a smug expression.

Maurice growled and swung his training sword with both hands, his knuckles white from gripping the sword so tightly.

Their tutor looked bored at the attack and at most lazily swung his own practice blade still gripping the pommel, and sent the boy reeling with a blow to his ribs and arm.

"Well any more of you runts, perhaps you princess you want to prove your cousin right don't ya Holy Lad," Bellowed the large man as the boys, not just those of his usual study mates, moved behind the green eyed heir.

With a speed that seemed impossible for a boy his age, he not only closed the distance, but his sword came up in a flurry and knocked the sword from their tutor's grip, it spun through the air and landed in the grass, the next thing he knew a mailed gauntlet was in his gullet.

His breath left him, with a pained wheeze

"What now lad?" Smirked the big man before he felt a prick at his jugular. "Hah least one of you girls knows to keep his head. "Good job Henri," The compliment was promptly followed by knocking him across the courtyard; the boy skidded back across the hard dirt, his ribs burned with pain.

His cousin Maurice, older by merely a month, shot a dirty look at him he was clutching his own ribs.

This was training though they used blunt weapons there was little holding back, as in battle there would be no such luxury from the enemy best it was to prepare the future knights now.

Maurice's mother had been furious about a scar he had received in an earlier session of tutoring but most understood it.

This was the life Harry Potter would grow up in this was his adolescence. He would live as prince, but a prince of a society where every noble worked every day to learn the arts of war.

It had been shortly after the attempted abduction of the Lady Emilie in which the dreams began, and they weren't that kind of dreams either.

His dreams were the first step in Nagash's plans, but not simply that. Henri had a tiny connection now to another world, the world he had in fact been born in.

The heir of Baldwyn had decided to study further. His father the Duke approved, though only if he limited his studies of sorcery, it wasn't forbidden for knights to use magic, not expressly in any case. It was just frowned upon... officially, then again in Bretonnia it was preferable for one to use magic over the bow for war.

By far of course he preferred, due to upbringing, swords over magic in most cases, magic could be defended against with talismans and such besides magic had another flaw it could fail in situations best to really just rely on a sword... it attracted less attention anyway.

The now teenage subject swung his sword sending his opponent a Knight from the Empire crashing back wards.

The jousting tourney had gone well at least up until he had faced this one the Imperial Knight charged using his shield as a battering ram.

The Imperial Knight was older than him by two winters and of greater height and mass because of it, his speed was also rather impressive, especially considering he was on foot and in full armor, though his power was likewise impressive. The ritual wrought by the First Necromancer sixteen years prior made the Subject' more than human, beyond the strength of common vampires, though he had as of yet not been in a situation where his strength had reached the level of Master Vampires.

The other teen slammed his shield, Henri bent his and pushed flipping the teen across and slamming him into the ground, his placed his grieve on the young Imperial Knight's sword arm,

"Yield," the Bretonnia knight demanded of his opponent.

"I yield," Admitted the native of Sigmar's empire, the Subject extended his hand and helped his fellow teenage Knight to his feet.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

The returning tournament participants were quite pleased with their tasks though it had been amusing to see Soleil falter when told the Imperial Knight who was to be his semi final opponent was infact a Dame.

Their studymates, including Maurice, had been required to stay behind, something he was sure that his cousin had loathed. The others not so angry of their being left behind, sure they had desired to attend the tourney but with tensions in the homeland as they were there was little choice but for the mainstay of the knights to remain behind.

Upon their return home however home to Quenelles in Southern Bretonnia they had been assailed by beastmen. The Beastmen were feral creatures generally who took human like forms.

The heir of Baldwyn brought his two handed sword down shattering the beastman's skull blood leaked from the creature's head.

The attack had been sprung on them by the creatures when the knights had responded to a scream in the woods on the road home to the Kingdom Bretonnia, they were more than half way they having already passed what the Subject had identified as a fallen Elfin standing stone.

Soleil swung his own long sword catching the creature which sought to end him and send it's head flying from its body, his sword was his father's, and Sir Francis's sword was Dwarven wrought.

The Subject swung back his arm and slammed into another of the lesser creature's bodies, it shrieked and died as the mailed fist found its mark.

"You've haven't finished them off yet," Taunted his friend.

"Says the Knight who fell to an Imperial Dame," He responded amusedly, evading the feral monster.

"But it would dishonorable to harm a lady," Soleil replied with a smile burying his dagger into the back of a beast's neck, the creature dropped like a stone, the knight was ill used to using both at once but he could manage as his shield, already wrecked, was quite useless.

"It is a good thing the old men are not with us," Announced Corentin, the childhood study mate slammed his heavy two handed sword down with significant force into the minotaur.

Corentin, son Sir Giscard, was a massive fellow easily the tallest of his comrades his massive appearance and fierce, dirty red hair belied his generally genial disposition, though his size suited him, and he was the strongest arm, even surpassing the heir of Baldwyn's current level of inhuman strength, of the group.

That was not to mock the one who Death could not touch's strength the young knight swung with one hand his long sword spilling the guts of another of the beasts which assailed them.

The horde of beasts trickled and finally the highborn Bretonnians sheathed their swords, though their eyes remained keen for any sign that the creatures might have reinforcements might be arriving.

The Subject knelt before the assailed, his eyes studying her features she was likely their age though her face gave the indication of noble blood, her flesh was colored as the interior of tree bark a very light tan. His steel gauntlet brushed her hair aside, revealing pointed ears.

An arrow attempted to bury itself into his armor, and indeed it would have worked had the armor not been commisioned to the specifics of the Subject who had added his own enchantements, of course his work was not the best but with a few years he would have a grasp of the abilities and their employment.

The Elves's arrow hit the plate and stuck in the metal as if it were tar.

The elf who had been assailed by the beasts spoke up in their defense thankfully preventing any unneccesary bloodshed.

He allowed the heavy plate armor breastplate be removed, he had already removed his helmet his black hair framed his face.

The Empire's had been interesting to visit but it was good to be home, his father was growing old what was worse was the Stephen continued to agitate the situation both with in and with out the Kingdom.

He leaned back inhaling the pure air of his home, his hair flowed back revealing the victory rune, or lightning bolt depending on how one looked at it, like scar on his forehead.

"Ah the conquering prince returns," Drawled his cousin disdainfully.

"Maurice," Greeted the Subject, "I trust your temper has not started any feuds in our absence," He responded in an amused tone.

His study mate and kin snorted derisively, "Of course not, surprising though not a hint of a woman on you this time it must be a miracle, or they finally realized your nothing special."

To the annoyance of the elder teen no rise came from his taunt.

With his heavy armor removed the returning tourney participant stood in his day tunic with its gore red and purple coloring, his long sword still attached to his side.

These were troubled times, the issues with Stephen had prevented any kind of marriage arrangement, the duke in question over the years had steadily become more trouble making indeed he mobilized his army for no apparent reason a few years prior and marched them across his domain to and then proceeded to raid one of his own villages for the apparent sport of it, there were even reports of the Tarfurs in the errant duke's holdings.

Because of this fact Soleil was eager for the Duke to start a war so they could ride into battle and he could go about hunting down the knaves.

Unfortunately such a conflict would be troublesome as despite his odd behavior Stephen still had allies.

It had been a hundred years since Duke Merovech had slain the king of the time which had sparked an invasion of the land.

Henri turned his horse riding to Mousillon with the others had been a bad idea the cursed land was a blight on the kingdom but the possibility and rumor of a threat emerging could not simply be ignored.

There was also the increasing tension between the Dukedoms. It was possible Stephen intended to try and claim the crown though it could be said the man had never shown any outward signs of treason, though he did flit about the rules the nobility pracitced it was premature to call him a traitor, especially with out proof, but with those tensions it meant all available knights needed to be ready to ride to battle in the event of war, which meant the young nobles had been sadled with the task of investigation.

However something boded ill to the Subject.

Chapter Conclusion

Helltanz's Notes: Henri is the Middle English name from which Harry originates from and is still used in France today as a name.

Subject is used to referring to Harry's status as the Subject of what the Mortuary Cult was seeking, someone who can't die.

Right then cross wise Underworld, later on, Warhammer, Fantasy Battle that is, Soul Calibur characters are present but the blade may just get chalked up to chaos, and the Soul Calibur part isn't finalized yet.

Oblivion might get thrown in, well another Fantasy world its either oblivion Dungeons and Dragons or Magic the Gathering, so he'll have somewhere to pick up more skills after traversing the Warhammer world, possibly a DC verse for the barest of moments for Nagash to insult people or Harry to mock the Wizards of the Verse, course that may be a while in the coming.

But anyway Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the Hellmouth will be Harry's method of getting back to his verse when the time comes, might throw in Winx Club in the 'Home Universe' for shits and giggles and indulge the Bretonnian aspects, knightly stuff and such.

For now however the story will focus on the initial parts of warhammer, which will center on Bretonnia, okay so yes this is a cross over. As you can no doubt surmise Harry will eventually get back to his own world, not that he'll know its his, but for a get bit this story will involve lots of warhammer Fantasy mainly set in the old world and that hemisphere.