Harry Potter and the Last Dragonborn
…
Chapter 1: A Grave Mistake
The College of Winterhold.
The Dragonborn sliced through another magical anomaly with his sword. The anomaly seemed to scream in pain as it was bisected in half by the blade of his sword, and it fell to the snow in a pile of steaming magical goo. The warrior panted slightly and took a moment to observe the battlefield briefly. Members of the College, both novices and masters were engaging the magical anomalies in battle, blasting out streams of fire, lightning and frost at the anomalies that flew about, slamming their eldritch bodies into the college members. This had all started when Ancano, the Thalmor advisor (read: toady), had taken control of the Eye of Magnus and was using the artefact's insurmountable power for his own ends.
The Psjic Monks had informed the Dragonborn that he was the only one who could stop what was happening. A meeting with the Augur of Dunlain had the warrior travelling to Labyrinthian, the ancient Nord city ruin nestled deep in the frozen mountains, to recover the Staff of Magnus that would have the power to close the Eye before it could potentially destroy the world.
After a long battle with legions of undead and the Dragon Priest Morokei who commanded them, the Dragonborn had recovered the Staff and immediately made his way back to the College. It had devolved into pandemonium as Ancano's reckless misuse of the Eye had caused magical ruptures to split the borders between realms, spilling forth magical anomalies that had begun attacking everything in sight.
The warrior participated in the battle, helping his fellow college members as best he could, slicing apart the anomalies with his sword and providing healing and magicka potions to anyone who was injured in the battle against the anomalies. Mirabelle Ervine urged him to end the insanity and that was what the warrior intended to do.
Tolfdir volunteered his services to aid the Dragonborn in reaching the College and the warrior gratefully accepted the offer of the elderly but powerful wizard's help. Once the anomalies in the town had been dealt with, the pair then traversed the walkway leading to the college and they soon reached the magical barrier that barred the way. Pulling the staff of Magnus from his back, the Dragonborn raised the eldritch staff in front of him and unleashed the power of the staff onto the magical barrier barring entry.
Immediately eldritch energy shot forth from the crystal head of the staff and the stream of magic collided with the barrier in a shower of magical sparks and arcs of lightning. There was a great screaming sound as though the barrier itself were in pain but that didn't stop the warrior as he focussed on bringing the barrier down. Finally, after a tense nerve-wracking moment, the barrier was brought down, and it cracked and broke like splintering glass as 'shards' of magic fell around the College like broken glass.
Putting the staff away, the Slayer of Alduin then charged into the college with his sword at the ready and Tolfdir following closely, his hands wreathed in arcane flames.
Barging through the large oak and iron bound doors, Dragonborn and the Tolfdir entered the Hall of Elements where they found Ancano standing before the Eye of Magnus, his body enveloped in arcane magic.
"Ancano! Stop this madness! You don't know what you're doing!" the Dragonborn shouted. Ancano turned around to sneer dismissively before he replied.
"Foolish whelp! I know exactly what I'm doing!" boasted the Thalmor agent. "With the Eye at my command, the Thalmor has all it needs to wipe out both the Stormcloaks and the Imperial Legion from the board!" he declared.
"Ancano, please! Listen to reason!" Tolfdir cried "There are magics we were never meant to meddle with!" he yelled.
"Pathetic old man!" Ancano sneered, "I tire of your prattle!" Ancano then waved a hand and Tolfdir fell to the ground paralysed.
"No! Damn you!" shouted the Dragonborn as he blasted out a stream of lightning at Ancano but the magical aura surrounding the Altmer easily absorbed the lightning. Ancano waved another hand and it was only lightning quick reflexes that saved the Dragonborn from being struck by a paralysis spell. The hero of Skyrim then drew the staff of Magnus from his back. Ancano's eyes flashed with recognition as he saw the staff in the warrior's gauntleted hands.
"The… Staff of Magnus? You found the Staff of Magnus?!" screeched Ancano.
"I did!" the Dragonborn declared "And with it, your schemes are over!" he said as he pointed the staff towards the Eye and blasted a stream of energy at the Eye. The stream of energy collided with the Eye and the Eye closed. As the Eye closed, Ancano's magical aura faded away leaving him vulnerable. Almost immediately, the warrior was upon the Thalmor agent, his sword flashing. Ancano barely dodged each strike, trying to raise his hands to cast a spell.
The Dragonborn kept to trying to get in close so that the Thalmor lackey wouldn't be able to use any magic. Ancano in an act of desperation drew his dagger and slashed at the man who blocked the strike with his sword, but this provided Ancano with enough time to hit the Dragonborn with a telekinetic pulse which forced him back. Ancano then stretched his hand towards the Eye and cast a spell on it. The Eye opened and Ancano was then covered in magic once again.
Ancano then began throwing lightning bolts and fireballs at his foe for all he was worth. It took all of the Dragonborn's agility to avoid being hit by the destructive spells and he aimed the staff at the Eye and cast the magic of the artefact into the Eye. The eldritch magic of the staff collided with the Eye, and it began to close again. Ancano screamed in rage as he cast a counter-spell at the Eye for it to remain open. But as Ancano's counter-spell hit the Eye, it began to froth with energy and arcs of energy and lightning lashed out and there was a great cracking sound as above the Eye a tear in the fabric of reality opened and began to suck everything in.
Ancano was the first to be sucked into the blackhole and the Thalmor agent screamed in desperation as he scrambled to hold onto solid ground. The Dovahkiin acted quickly; he used his Thu'um to Shout Ice Form to anchor Tolfdir to the floor ensuring he wouldn't be sucked into the blackhole. The Dragonborn then thrust the blade of his sword deep into the ground and held on tight. The warrior's body was raised into the air as the blackhole sucked everything in the room into its gaping maw.
The Slayer of Alduin held on as tightly as he could but before he could react, his sword came free of its from its anchor and the warrior was sucked into the blackhole. The Dragonborn yelled in frustration as he was sucked into the wormhole and he struggled to try and make his way back to the Hall of Elements but as he was sucked into the blackhole, the tear sealed itself. The Dragonborn roared in disbelief as he was now cut off from his own world.
Then there was nought but darkness as the Slayer of Alduin found himself floating in a near all consuming void. The darkness seemed to stretch on forever as far as the warrior's eyes could see.
"So, this is how it ends?" the warrior said dryly before giving a grunt and adding, "Had a good run at least."
Then something or rather someone walked into view and it was a familiar sight. A tall gangly looking man wearing a finely tailored outfit coloured purple with grey-white hair and near whited-out eyes and a grin that never seemed to leave his face walked into view.
"Well, now, isn't this is a coincidence?" asked the strange man with a toothy grin on his lips.
"Sheogorath. To what do I owe this pleasure?" the Dragonborn asked tiredly having dealt with the Daedric Prince of Madness before.
"Well, I was out for a stroll and saw you were in a spot of wee bother here," the Mad God replied. "Or are you not in trouble?" he asked quizzically.
"You could say that," the Dragonborn admitted dryly. "And I suppose you're here to gloat?" he asked lightly.
"Now, what kind of man do ye take for?" Sheogorath said in mock hurt. "After the time you helped me reunite with my servant, while cutting me holiday short mind you, I think I owe ya one," he added. "Unless you want to stay here that is?" the Mad God then asked blandly.
"Where is here, exactly?"
"Och, nowhere you want to be, that's for certain," Sheogorath said. "Would you like a lift?" he then asked with a friendly grin on his lips.
"Some assistance would be nice," the Dragonborn replied with a nod of his head.
"All ye had to ask was ask," Sheogorath replied as he waved his hand before the Dovahkiin could tell him where he wanted to be dropped off.
…
Pont Vanis. Kovir.
Drizzling rain pattered gently down on the many rooves of Kovir as the citizens made their way through the winding streets of Pont Vanis. One individual in particular walked slowly through the water sodden streets, carefully and calmly avoiding the local denizens. She was a reasonably tall young woman with a slender hourglass figure and deep fiery red hair in twin low buns were hidden beneath the large hood she wore to keep the rain off her head. A pair of bright emerald green eyes were looking ahead, focused on her destination.
This young woman was named Triss Merigold of Maribor, a powerful sorceress who formerly belonged to the Lodge of Sorceresses, a political and magical cabal of the world's most powerful mages who had been involved in more than their share of cutthroat political backstabbing and the like. So much so, that it had led to the mass killings and witch hunts in the Northern Kingdoms by Radovid the Stern, King of Redania.
But much of that was in the past now due to individuals who had brought about an end to the insane Radovid, not to mention the business with the Wild Hunt.
Initially, Triss had set up shop in Novigrad but was quickly forced into hiding due to the Church of the Eternal Fire declaring all mages to be witches and traitors and with eager assistance from Radovid, they had started exterminating anyone who so much as had a whiff of magic or even the slightest modicum of learning about them. Triss found herself the head of an underground movement looking to free all the mages of Novigrad and with some help from Novigrad's underworld bosses and the assistance of the Witcher Geralt of Rivia, Triss had spirited away the mages of Novigrad to Kovir where they were given sanctuary by King Tancred.
Geralt…
Geralt was a… complicated subject for Triss to put it lightly. For years she had been in love with the Witcher, unhappily so. When Geralt had been found outside Kaer Morhen with no memory of his past, Triss had, ashamedly, taken advantage of the man's amnesia, and also partly due to the belief that Geralt's other half, Yennefer of Vengerberg, was presumed dead, to pursue a relationship with him.
But as time went on, Geralt's memory came back to him and Yennefer was revealed to be alive and subsequently, the pair had gotten back together and were now more in love than ever. Of course, Geralt had forgiven Triss for deceiving him and taking advantage of his amnesiac state as he too had believed Yennefer to be dead.
But still, it was a bitter sting to Triss's heart that Geralt and Yennefer had now gotten their happily ever after. Last Triss had heard, Geralt had been given a vineyard of all things as part of a hefty reward for a monster contract in Toussaint.
But in all respects, Triss didn't have too bad either herself; she no longer had to hide her magical abilities, was in service to a sympathetic king who had given the mages shelter and the whole mess with the war with Nilfgaard and the Wild Hunt was now over.
Still, Triss did often think about her life with Geralt before. To tell the complete truth, she was lonely. The house she had received in Pont Vanis was a tad empty of human company, despite some of the servants who tended the estate and as bad as she felt, Triss felt herself pining for company.
Sighing to herself, Triss made her way through the streets as she neared a brightly lit tavern. She had decided to get out of the house and spend an evening at a tavern, hoping the mood and nearby presence of people would cheer her up. At the very least, she could get blind drunk and stumble back home with someone.
Entering the tavern, Triss felt the warm air brush over her as she lowered her hood and took in the sights of the tavern patrons, eating, drinking, singing or other such activities one would partake in a tavern. A troupe of troubadours were in stage playing a lively and merry tune and some space in the middle of the floor was cleared away for patrons to dance.
Sitting herself in a small but cosy booth, Triss gave her order to a serving girl who came back moments later with a bottle of fine Est-Est and a glass. Murmuring her thanks, Triss poured herself a glass and sipped slowly; giving a small hum of appreciation of the fine wine, Triss settled back in her seat to observe the crowd. She spotted some young couples dancing together or enjoying private intimate moments with each other; her heart panged at the sight.
Sighing heavily, Triss took another sip of her drink, hoping the alcohol would kick in and she could forget about her own heartache for a while.
"Excuse me, lassie, but is this seat taken?" a voice suddenly asked, and Triss looked up to see a rather peculiar man standing before her. He was clad in the most garish ensemble of orange and purple clothes, but they looked to be finely tailored and fit the man like a well-made glove. He had windswept silver-grey hair and his eyes where a pale silvery colour that almost made Triss think he was blind. An almost manic looking smile was on the odd man's lips as he looked at her expectantly.
"Um, no, not at all, feel free," Triss said to the odd man who gave a wide grin and sat opposite her.
"Ah, thank ye, very much, lass. I've travelled quite a long way here," he said as he leaned back in his seat and pulled out from his jacket a large wedge of orange cheese and bit into it. "Would you like some?" he offered the wedge to Triss who shook her head in response. "Hmm, more for me than," he stated as he took even larger bite of his cheese.
"Who are you, sir? What made you want to sit here?" Triss then asked, curious as to why this odd fellow wanted to sit her booth when there were others that were available.
"Well, I saw ye sitting there alone, looking like the loneliest bairn in the world and I thought I'd come sit a spell with ye," the man replied with a grin. "As for who I am, I am called Sheogorath Cheeseman, Lord of the Never-There," he then said with a bow of his head.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Cheeseman," Triss said, feeling a little baffled at this odd man's name. Was this man a sorcerer? If he was, she'd never heard of him before. And as for his title, Lord of the Never-There, it sounded quite made-up, yet there was a little feeling that told Triss that it sounded like a real place. "I am…" she then tried to introduce herself to Sheogorath who cut her off with.
"I know who you are, lass. Triss Merigold of Maribor, the Fourteenth of the Hill and former member of the Lodge of Sorceresses," he said with a knowing grin.
"My reputation precedes me it seems," Triss said dryly. "But I must say that I've never heard of you before, nor have I heard of any place called Never-There," she added.
"Oh, but everyone does know me, lass," Sheogorath said with a mysterious grin. "I lurk in the back of everyone's mind, beneath the surface of every rational thought I wait, and I can bring to one brilliance or their wit's end," he added.
Triss raised an eyebrow at this; this conversation had taken a very strange turn indeed. This Sheogorath seemed to be brimming with madness and she had half a mind to cast a spell to calm the man down and bring him to a doctor.
"I wouldn't bother trying to cast one of your spells on me, lassie. Ye'd only annoy me, and you really don't want to annoy me," Sheogorath said with a grin and another bite of his cheese.
"Telepathy?" Triss asked in a guarded voice as she mentally threw up some defences around her mind.
"Oh, ye could say that, little lass," Sheogorath said with a secretive little grin. "The mind is a specialty of mine," he added.
"What is it you want from me?" Triss asked, staring at the odd man with a flat look on her face. "You obviously have a reason to be sitting here when there are other booths available. So, what is it that you want from me?"
"Truth be told, I'd like to play a game with ye," Sheogorath said.
"Gwent?" Triss deadpanned, wondering if the man before her was just plain insane.
"Oh, nothing so trite as that, bonny lass," Sheogorath said a cackle. "But if ye play this game of mine, ye could learn more about yerself and, dare I say it, perhaps even find love," he offered.
"And if I'm not interested?" Triss asked lightly, playing devil's advocate.
"Well, ye cannae do much worse than ye are right now, can ye?" Sheogorath said to her. "It's all in good fun and you might find yerself enjoying it," he added.
Triss thought about it for a moment before shrugging and said, "Well, what harm could it do?"
"Knew I liked ye for a reason, bonny lass," Sheogorath smiled as he waved his hand at Triss before she could even say anything, and she felt herself be pulled from the world and fell backwards into a void.
…
Little Hangleton Cemetery.
In a darkened graveyard, Harry Potter, the fourth and unwilling participant of the Triwizard Tournament, and just now a hostage/torture victim of one Tom Riddle styled Lord Voldemort, all around Dark Wizard and murderer of countless innocents, including Harry's own parents, in his mad quest for power, conquest and all other things that tiny minded tinpot dictators wanted, stood unsteadily on his feet.
Harry's arms and legs shook from the pain and stress of the Cruciatus Curse he was forced to endure and the wound from where the Acromantula had struck him burned like the fieriest pit of hell. Staring at the blood red eyes of the monster who had ruined his life, Harry held his wand in numb fingers; Cedric's body lay a few feet away, cold and lifeless, and the Triwizard Cup lay just a few feet beyond that.
In all honesty, this seemed like it was the end of the line for the Boy Who Lived; he was running on fumes basically, injured and exhausted beyond human capacity. It was frankly a miracle he was standing on his feet, perhaps a testament to the determination Harry had in himself, to spite the Dark Lord. Deep down inside, Harry was terrified for his life and he wished that someone, anyone would come rescue him.
As Voldemort smiled cruelly and raised his wand to deliver the Killing Curse and his gang of cronies watched in anticipation, a sudden blinding explosion of light filled the space between the Dark Lord and his prey. The swirling coalescence of light and colour slowly took shape in the form of two people. Everyone stared dumbfounded at what they saw.
The first figure was an imposing individual, clad in black armour with an equally dark helmet covering the entirety of his head. A sword was gripped in one gauntleted paw as the figure looked around at his surroundings. The second was a woman with thick hair red as blood and wearing an outfit that looked both elegant and practical; her looks were almost breathtaking with a small button nose that sat squarely in the centre of her gorgeously youthful face, a smattering of pale freckles adorned the bridge of her nose and a pair of bright emerald green eyes that shone with warmth gazed around curiously.
The first figure, the knight Harry absently thought, looked around, his stance of dispassionate disinterest before looking at the woman. His armour clinked a little as he tilted his head to the side and he spoke, his voice rich and deep in sound. "Who are you?"
The woman glared up at the knight and replied, "I could ask you the same thing, sir." She placed her hands on her wide hips.
The knight hummed in thought before he suddenly noticed Harry who stared back bewildered by what was happening. The knight stared at Harry for a long moment before looking behind him to see Voldemort and his cronies who were flabbergasted by what they were witnessing.
"It seems that we have both been brought here to intervene in this matter," the knight said to the redhead who looked at Harry, frowning a little before looking at Voldemort for a moment, and her expression turned into a nasty scowl.
"This reeks of a forbidden ritual, dark and twisted magicks!" she uttered in utter disgust. She then glanced at the knight and said to him, "I know this might be an annoyance for one I have never met, but would you dispose of them?" She flicked her head at the Death Eaters. "I will deal with that thing there!" she promised as she fixed Voldemort a distasteful look, as though she had seen something thoroughly disgusting.
"Gladly," the knight replied as he turned to face the Death Eaters as their master shrieked the order to kill the two strangers.
Harry was then privy to what could only be described as a pure slaughter as the knight effortlessly cut down Voldemort's sycophants and followers, while the redhead stalked towards the Dark Lord, the palms of her hands wreathed in arcane flames. The fact that she wasn't using a wand at all indicated to Harry and everyone in the graveyard that she was no mere witch.
Death Eaters hurled curses and hexes at the knight that seemed to bounce of his black armour or were deflected with the flat of his sword before said weapon sliced the casters to ribbons. Harry watched the woman and gaped at what he saw.
Voldemort hurled curse after curse at the woman, but she weaved her hands in intricate patterns, deflecting the curses as if they were nothing but bothersome midges. Pure magic seemed to grow and rise around her, making her seem like an otherworldly being which she could very well have been as she flowed like liquid towards Voldemort who uttered a shriek and Nagini slithered into view rising up behind the woman. Harry gave a strangled cry of warning, but an invisible tendril of magic grabbed Voldemort's familiar and flung the herptile over at the knight who casually sliced the viper into four pieces.
Voldemort screamed as his familiar was killed by the intruders and he shrieked out the killing curse at the woman. As the jet of jade green light shot towards the woman, Voldemort allowed himself a sneer of triumph as there was no magic in all the world that could block an Unforgivable Curse.
But the Killing Curse was seemingly caught by the woman's magic, turned around and flung back at Voldemort who was too stunned to react in time. His body crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap. The woman approached the Dark Lord's corpse, a look of utter contempt on her face as something angry and dark permeated the air.
Harry felt himself be scooped up into the arms of the knight who hurriedly ran over to one of the mausoleums and kicked the door down, getting them inside as the woman gave a primal scream and what Harry could only describe as pure magic pulsed through the area washing over him.
After the effect subsided, the knight helped Harry to his feet and walked him outside. The sorceress was panting, seemingly out of breath as the body of Voldemort was nothing but a charred husk that still smouldered and glowed with hot ashes. She then turned to look at the two men, her green eyes looking tired and determined.
"That was quite a bit of magic you just did," the knight remarked. "May I inquire as to why?" he asked.
The sorceress looked at the charred corpse disdainfully and replied, "This… thing made soul jars. A foul corrupted bit of magic that takes one's soul and tears it to pieces. Such magic should never be and is only used by the most desperate. Whatever this creature was in life, it tried to cheat death itself. The idiot!" She then delivered a swift kick to the ashes of Voldemort's corpse before sighing and looking at the two men.
"Now that that's done, who are you two?" she then asked, her expression morphing to a much warmer friendlier one.
"I am called the Dragonborn, my lady," the knight replied.
"That's it? No actual name?" the sorceress asked.
"I was never given one," the knight said simply.
The sorceress raised an eyebrow before shaking her head and looked at Harry. "And who are you, young man? How did you end up in this grim place?" she asked kindly.
"Harry, Harry Potter," the Boy Who Lived panted out in pained gasps. "The Cup! It was a portkey! It took me and Cedric… oh, God, Cedric?" Harry looked at the lifeless corpse of Cedric Diggory. "He wasn't supposed to die!" Harry lamented unhappily.
The sorceress looked at the dead boy, her face changing to one of remorse. "A handsome boy, such a pity," she murmured gently. "But where are my manners? I'm Triss Merigold," she introduced herself and then asked, "And this portkey? Could it take you back to where you started from?"
"I think so?" Harry offered uncertainly as he made to walk over to the Cup, before nearly collapsing on the spot. The Dragonborn was quick to help him up.
"Easy there, boy. You're wounded," he pointed out. "No sense injuring yourself anymore than you already have," he said firmly.
Triss Merigold appeared to examine the portkey, speaking aloud, "It seems like this portkey can take us to its point of origin," she noted. "How does it work?" she asked looking at Harry.
"We all have to be holding onto it, I suppose," Harry said as the Dragonborn deposited him next to Triss and the cup, before hefting Cedric's corpse in his arms gently.
"Are we ready?" Triss asked everyone who nodded in response. "Three, two, one!" Everyone grabbed onto the Cup and Harry felt the sensation of something yanking him by his midriff and it was a whirlwind before he felt himself hit solid ground.
"Gods! What the bloody fuck was that?!" Triss yelled as she panted as though the wind had been driven from her. "Is this how you all travel from place to place?" she asked looking at Harry.
The Dragonborn rose to his feet seemingly unaffected as the Headmaster of Hogwarts and several others approached them, followed by the dull roar of a crowd.
Dumbledore was quite puzzled to say the least when saw two strangers arrive with two of his students, one of whom was dead. The female of the strangers, a stunningly beautiful redhead was already taking charge of the situation, asking questions that cut to the chase while the male dressed in black armour held Harry Potter in his arms and refused to relinquish the boy to anyone, save a healer.
It was a strange procession as Dumbledore led the strangers and Harry to the Hospital Wing. The woman, Triss, had stopped to glare at Moody in a manner that made the grizzled auror make an excuse to check on the security and leave the room.
After being assured that Harry would be given the best of care under Madame Pomfrey, Albus Dumbledore then took the two strangers to his office to speak with them privately, so as to ascertain how they had arrived in this world. But that was quickly turned around when Triss and the knight began an inquisition on the Headmaster about Voldemort.
"Did you know that this… Voldemort had created soul jars?" Triss questioned Dumbledore.
"Soul jars?" Albus parroted a little confused by the vernacular.
"Shards of one's soul placed into containers," Triss clarified for him.
"We call such things horcruxes in this world," Dumbledore then said.
"So, you're aware of what they are, then," Triss said nodding her head at that. "Did you know this Dark Lord had done such a thing?" she asked getting back to her original question.
"I… have been aware of such a fact," Dumbledore admitted reluctantly. "I even have reason to believe that Tom had made more than one," he then said with great reluctance.
"More than one?" Triss echoed in disgust. "Bad enough to do it once, but multiple times? Just how many are there?" she demanded.
Dumbledore sighed as he sagged in his chair. He had a feeling that as soon as this was over, he was going to be nursing a large pint of firewhiskey or some other strong liquor.
With an air of bitter shame and sadness, Dumbledore proceeded to tell the two strangers of what he knew of Voldemort's indiscretions and crimes.
TO BE CONTINUED…
A/N: There! First chapter of this is done and dusted! I apologise for taking so long to write and publish this but I was kinda waiting on the poll results concerning this story to reach a high enough number. Regarding the poll itself, first place is tied between the Witcher series, Fallout, World of Warcraft and Cyberpunk, and in second place it's a tie between Lord of the Rings and For Honor, and last place has Deadlands and The Outer Worlds tied. So, now that this first chapter is done and dusted, maybe the poll results will change to something where one choice/setting for the story is in the top spot? Feel free to cast your vote if you haven't already.
And in other news, I have a couple of ideas for some other crossovers, this time to do with Resident Evil; the first crossover is a Red Dead Redemption 2/Resident Evil 4 Remake crossover where Arthur Morgan ends up in RE4 and helps Leon in his mission. The second RE crossover is with Elder Scrolls and Fallout where the Dragonborn from Skyrim and the Courier from Fallout New Vegas help Leon in his mission. Now these are just ideas at this moment in time, but do they sound like good ones? Would either of them be something you'd all read? Let me know in a review or a PM if such crossovers are something you'd be interested in reading.
And that's about all I have right now, so I'll leave this here and catch you all in the next one.
Be kind to one another,
Angry lil' elf.