Vondrakenhof here. And I'm here with a new story. Well sort of. This could quite possibly be the weirdest thing I've ever written. But towards the end of A Week Without Ronshine it appeared in my head and wouldn't go away. So here I am with my first ever crossover, one between Disney's Kim Possible and Games Workshop's Warhammer.
Now normally I don't like crossovers, in fact I tend to avoid them like the plague. Which makes it all the weirder that I'd actually write this but I have read MrDrP's story Kim Possible: The Next Generation which I liked because it put the characters in that universe, and made it feel like they belonged there. So I've tried to do that here, putting Kim and Ron into the very dark world of Warhammer. So really this is an experiment and in the interest of science I'm going to need feedback. Good, bad, indifferent or any other which way, please review. If there's enough interest I might even continue.
Oh about the names, according to google translator Möglich is German for Possible. In the same way Haltbare is part of the German for Stoppable. The Empire always seemed vaguely German so I figured it would be a good idea to change the names. If there are any German speaking people reading this I apologise if I've just butchered your language. Please don't hate me for it. Enjoy!
The road to Nuln was well-travelled but there was only one coach making its way toward the great city. It was a simple affair, a cheap enough way for folk to travel the roads with less risk of danger than riding themselves. The driver was a loud and uncouth man, spitting and swearing no matter whose company he kept. He didn't care what any of his passengers thought of him. Save one who was currently in the coach. Last thing he wanted was to get on the bad side of someone like that.
His attention was caught by something moving on the road ahead. An old man, bent double, wearing an old ragged cloak that covered him entirely. He was hobbling into the coach's way.
"Move you old pillock," the driver shouted, not slowing his horses, "or I shan't hesitate to run you over." The old man didn't reply, but stood in front of the coach as it drew closer. "Right," mumbled the driver, "you can't say I didn't warn you."
As the driver raised his whip the man cast off the cloak, revealing an old handgun. The driver's eyes widened as he saw the black powder weapon levelled at him. "Keep that hand where it is," said the man, who definitely wasn't old. "And I won't have to pull the trigger." As he spoke two more men came out of the trees at the side of the road, riding on horseback and each wielding a pistol. The pair took opposite sides of the coach.
The driver was about ready to relieve himself in his breeches. Just let them take what they want; he thought desperately, I ain't ready to see Morr yet.
The highwayman on the right of the coach steered his horse closer to the door. "Open up," he said, rapping his pistol on the window, "This is a robbery."
The door to the inside of the coach opened a fraction. The man, pistol in hand, leaned over to open it. "Give up all your valuables, coins and weapons and no-one'll get hur-"
He was cut off by a loud bang, and a ball of lead travelling through his forehead.
"Gunther!" shouted the man with the handgun, who raced toward his fallen comrade, the gun aimed at the cabin. A gloved hand bearing a pistol emerged from the coach and pulled the trigger before he could even get the shot off. The man went down clutching his bleeding neck. The third man raced around the coach, weapon at the ready. He was surprised when the figure inside hurled a pistol at him, striking him square in the face. The shock made him pull the trigger, firing his shot harmlessly into the woods, and fall from his horse.
As the beast fled the last man saw his assailant emerge from coach. Great Sigmar's bollocks, he thought as the figure walked towards him. Black hat, long black leather coat, silvered sword in hand. We tried to rob a Witch Hunter! It was his last thought before the sword pierced his heart.
The driver tried to control his breathing as the Witch Hunter went to retrieve the thrown pistol. It wasn't easy. He'd just been staring down the barrel of a loaded rifle for Sigmar's sake! It didn't help that he was sitting in his own piss. Finally he'd settled himself enough speak.
"Thank you," he said over his shoulder. The Witch Hunter paused in stepping up into the coach. "Thank you," he said again, "I reckon they would've killed us, if not for you. So thank Sigmar for you, miss."
"Templar," the Witch Hunter looked up. Her face was lovely, the driver noted, but her green eyes were cold with fury. "That's Templar to you driver. Templar Möglich."
The driver swallowed. He quickly averted his gaze.
"Now hurry along. I want to reach Nuln before nightfall," she said before climbing into the coach.
"Right," the driver mumbled as he whipped at the two horses, "I shan't be making that mistake again."
The sunset was just reflecting off the Stir when the coach made it to the great city of Nuln. Hundreds of cannons from the Gunnery School adorned the walls, as well as thousands of crew and handgunners. Smoke rose from countless chimneys within the city as factories all over mass-produced weapons for the Empire's war effort. Gunfire could be heard from practice ranges nearby where the guardsmen and the city's troops both trained.
Kimberly Anne Möglich looked out the coach window without expression. There's no place like home, she thought ruefully. In truth she didn't want to come back. Her parents were both dead and she barely spoke to her brothers in the College of Engineers. They'd always gotten on her nerves what with their ceaseless experiments and pestering pranks. In fact, Kimberly fancied she could hear the explosions from their latest inventions from the coach. She just knew that if she went to see them they'd foist some unstable contraption onto her that would be as likely to explode in her face as kill whatever Chaos-spawn she was aiming it at.
No, she told herself, best just find out what your superiors want Möglich, then leave. Kimberly huffed. She was so close to finding a lead on the vampires. But she'd been recalled to the chapter house before she could act. And of course, no one ever kept Templars waiting. Not even other Templars.
When the coach came to a stop it was just at the edge of the Stir. There, where the river bisected the city, spanned a great bridge. It was so long it defied convention, so wide that numerous carriages could cross it side by side. It was one of the few sites that could offer hope to Kimberly Möglich. After all, she mused as she alighted from the coach, if man can do that, surely we can one day conquer Chaos, and all else that plagues the Empire.
A rather cynical voice from the back of her head told her she was being a silly girl. There would always be Chaos. And magic. And the undead. And the twisted Beastmen. Even if there wasn't, where would that leave her?
Kimberly sighed and turned away from the river in order to head to the chapter house. As she walked by many people made the sign of the Hammer. It was supposed to be a sign of their faith in Sigmar. But really it was a sign of their fear of her. People saw the black leather, the hat, the weapons and they saw death. Painful, horrible death. The Witch Hunters did terrible things to those they suspected of cavorting with the Ruinous Powers. Being burned at the stake was the least of their worries.
Still some though did not ward themselves in her presence. These were the simpletons who stared, confused. After all, who ever heard of a woman being a Templar?
So be it if they don't believe who I am, Kimberly told herself, it makes it easier to catch them in the act. A loud voice from ahead interrupted her thoughts.
"People like him shouldn't be allowed near civilised folk!" the person shouted. It was a woman, about Kimberly's age with short brown hair. She grimaced as she recognised the Rockwaller girl she'd been schooled with years earlier. She was arguing vehemently with a large blond man, who looked vaguely Orcish. "He belongs in the wilds with the other rabid beasts. Did you smell him? Did you see his clothes? And he kept talking to that rat!"
"Love," said the man, clearly exasperated, "What do you expect me to do about it? If he is what you think he is then I ain't gonna have anything to do with him. No sane man messes with their ilk."
"You coward," accused Rockwaller, "If you were a real man-"
"Is there a problem here?" interrupted Kimberly. She allowed herself a small moment of satisfaction that the man, who was at least a foot taller than she was, stepped back and made the sign of the Hammer. Rockwaller clutched at her necklace, a golden hammer. Kimberly had one just like it beneath her shirt.
"Yes," said Rockwaller, stepping forward, "There is a vagrant in the tavern. A scoundrel, a beast. And I am sure he dabbles in such things what man was not meant to know."
Kimberly nodded. Turning towards the establishment she strode quickly and with purpose, barely sparing a glance for the sign which bore the legend "Hello Stew" above a picture of a steaming bowl of food. If there was a sorcerer or some kind of warlock inside the tavern she was duty bound to investigate. As she pulled open the heavy oaken door she was assailed by the smell of stale smoke, worse beer and surprisingly appetising food. As she stepped inside, all conversation ceased. Every person in the tavern went still, eyes on her.
There was one exception. Seated at the bar a man was still eating his stew as if he hadn't eaten for a week. He was obviously the man Rockwaller had been talking about. He wore tattered brown robes, covered in dirt. His blond hair too, was wild and filthy. Within easy reach of the man was a wooden staff. It rested against the bar and its head was adorned with a goat skull. On the bar beside the man a hairless rat was gnawing on a block of cheese.
Kimberly placed a hand on her pistol, prepared to speak as the man finished his meal.
"Take your hand off your gun Templar," he spoke before she did. "I've done nothing wrong."
How did he know I was here? She thought. How does he know who I am? He hasn't even seen me. She didn't remove her hand.
"I'm a licenced Wizard of the Colleges of Magic," he continued. He gave a short whistle and the rat beside him looked up. After a moment it scampered up his robe before dashing toward Kimberly. It stopped just out of stomping range. The Templar saw it had something in its jaws. It was a golden brooch in the shape of an arrow. Apparently satisfied that she'd seen it, the rodent ran back up to its masters shoulder. "I'm on business here. I won't be in the city long."
Reluctantly Kimberly let go of her weapon. She hated wizards. But the golden brooch had all but confirmed the man's story, that he was a licenced practitioner of the Amber Order. It was no wonder he looked so wild.
"Thank you for the meal Ned," said the man as he rose. Kimberly saw that he wasn't much taller than she was. Tossing a few coins on the bar he continued to address the man who was now greedily collecting the money, "Using minced beef? Genius. It makes me wish I could spend more time in the city."
Grabbing his staff the wizard finally turned to see Kimberly. With surprise she noted that despite the dirt and patchy hair on his face he looked quite boyish. The freckles and oversized ears were deciding factors. She also noted that he seemed surprised too. But a moment later the look had passed and he was pushing passed her to get to the door.
"Excuse me miss," he said to her. And then he was gone, out the door before she could reprimand him.
Kimberly seethed. Miss? She was a Templar of the Church of Sigmar, not some wench he could brush aside. She took a deep, calming breath, once again taking in the aroma of the tavern. Her stomach reminded her that breakfast had been at dawn.
"I'll have one of those stews."
The wizard paced quickly away from the tavern. He was trying not to show it but he was shaking. He wouldn't have put it past that Witch Hunter to put a bullet in his back. He'd heard stories about them and they were all unpleasant. He'd even met a couple before, but never alone and he'd never had his back turned to them. Even if she was a woman, he didn't doubt that she was capable. He'd heard tell of warrior women of the north, and met a damsel in Bretonnia who was more skilled in spell-craft than he. It had taken all his courage to act nonchalant and not run from the room. Of course when he'd finally turned around and seen her face that courage had been surprised right out of him.
"Rufus," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "you could have told me she was beautiful!" The little rat on his shoulder squeaked and tilted its head. The wizard sighed. The beautiful face he'd been confronted with had shocked him. He'd expected a homely woman, with a scarred visage. Instead he'd found flawless skin, gorgeous long red hair and exquisite emerald eyes. He shook himself. He shouldn't have been thinking this way. "Come on, we're already late."
The man set quickened his pace to a jog as he set off down one of the many side streets of Nuln. Several times he nearly slipped on the city's cobbles that had been slick with dirt. Even these side streets were crammed with people, all talking and yelling and selling wares. It all reminded him why he preferred to stick to the wilds.
He came to a stop outside what looked to be a small chapel, but it had no markings as to which God it was dedicated to. He went inside and then through the entrance hall.
As he pushed the second door open he was hit with a wave of heat. What appeared to be a thousand candles lined the walls and the pews. The wizard had to shield his eyes. The rat on his shoulder retreated to within his robes.
When his eyes had adjusted the wizard saw an older man standing beyond the benches. He was wearing white robes, a white cap and a full beard.
"Katz you old fool!" announced the wizard, striding in to meet him. The man blinked.
"Ronald?" he asked, "Ronald Haltbare you young wastrel!" The two men embraced like old friends. "It has been far too long Ronald. I see you are keeping well," said Katz with a smile on his face.
"I manage," shrugged Ronald, "How are you? Katz, how is my family?"
The older man's smile lessened somewhat. "They miss you Ronald. You should come back and visit."
"I will," promised the young wizard, "I'm just so close! He's heading east, I can feel it."
Katz nodded. "It is actually this business of yours that brings me from Altdorf." At this Ronald grew still, fixing the older man with a look imploring him to continue. "We have some new information. About Fiske."
Kimberly was apprehensive as she strode through the halls of the Nuln chapter house. The moment she had entered she had been informed that she was to report to the study immediately. Pausing outside the sturdy door she knocked twice.
As she did Kimberly saw the hulking figure of Templar Barkin stand up from behind his desk. The large man was her direct superior and the one who had overseen her training. He was one of the few in the Church who had looked beyond the fact that she was a woman. He'd seen how competent she really was. "Möglich," he greeted her.
"Templar Barkin," she said with respect. She knew the man could single-handedly hold the reputation of the Templars up if need be.
"I've been reading over your reports," said her superior, gesturing at the scrolls that littered the table. "You've been doing good work," he admitted. He then fixed her with a steel gaze. "You still on that fool quest after that Necarch and his consort?"
"Yes," Kimberly growled as her face flushed, "sir." She fixed him with a hard gaze of her own. "I can do anything sir, and I can do this."
Barkin smirked. "Good. In that case I have some new information for you: there have been reports of them in the company of a rogue wizard. He goes by the name of Montgomery Fiske."
"Oh boy," said Ronald, scratching the back of his neck. "I really did not want to have to go up against vampires."
Wizard Katz cast a sidelong glance at the younger man. "Ronald no one would blame you if you stopped hunting him." He put a hand on Ronald's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault."
"I was there Katz," said Ronald. He recognised what the older man was doing. It was probably the wise thing to do. After all, he was a trusted advisor to many powerful people in Altdorf. Ronald shook himself. "No, I have to do this. It's my duty."
Katz shook his head. "What happened to the Reikland boy who wouldn't lift a finger if he could avoid it?"
"He grew up," said the man simply.
Katz allowed himself a small smile, though it vanished as quickly as it came. "There's something else," he said, "You're going to have to work with someone." He made sure Ronald was listening before he continued.
Ronald swore when Katz told him who it would be.
"Get a good night's sleep Möglich," ordered Barkin, "You leave first thing in the morning."
"Yes sir," said Kimberly as she turned to go.
"Oh, and one more thing," said Barkin, stopping her in her tracks. "We're cooperating with the Colleges on this one so you'll be travelling with one of the Amber Orders own."