He-Mon and the Monsters of the Omniverse

[Skeletor]

Skeletor wandered through the frozen wilderness with a bitterness festering in his heart. The parting with Wiess had been long overdue, as the girl still clung to a notion of heroics despite the darkness that was clearly growing within her. Perhaps in a few more years, she would be more willing to join his kingdom. For now, the heavily wounded prime needed a place to lay low, a lair from which to plan his next attack against Nebula. That idiot doctor had not yet found the main lair from which Nebula was orchestrating these attacks, and until such a time, Skeletor felt no compulsion to further risk his own neck. He needed minions, spies and pawns that he could send to do these things FOR HIM. What a sorry state he was in if he needed to fend for himself in this strange world.

These dark thoughts hovered over his brooding as Panthor trudged through the snow, too grumpy to do more than sullenly march on. The snowstorm was as strong as ever, and to the travelers’ dismay it seemed to be getting only more powerful as they travelled farther into the verse. Skeletor scowled up at the weather. In Eternia, this paltry snowstorm would be a simple trifle to banish, or at least to mold around himself without obstructing his travel. Yet here in this accursed prison he could not be so frivolous with his power.

Through the blinding snowstorm, Skeletor thought he could spy the crumbled remains of some delapidated structure, a shelter from the storm if nothing else. As he and Panthor drew closer it became clear that this ruin was part of a larger collection, indeed a veritable city that had been claimed by the snow. Skeletor dismounted, but didn’t use enough care while doing so, and his leg nearly buckled as a jolt of pain shot up his leg. The Warlock grimaced, “That nimrod Nebula will pay for this!” he muttered to himself slamming a fist against the nearby wall. The action dislodged a buildup of snow from the roof which swamped the injured prime, and caused Panthor to leap away in surprise.

“Blasted SNOW! I will not be made a mockery!” Skeletor fumed, purposelessly. This was why he never chanced real injury if he could help it. The rightful ruler of Eternia needed rest, he needed a chance for his wounds to mend. Even a prime’s advanced healing wouldn’t be enough after the beating he had taken in saving this wretched flurry-infested verse. But getting that rest would require him to abandon his revenge, halt his schemes, wait for time to pass him idly. He-man and the Masters of the Universe thought him a coward for fleeing conflicts as quickly as he did. In truth Skeletor simply had better things to do than deal with the aftermath of a mistake.

The warlock struggled inside of the most intact building he could find, and paused, noting the very intact campsite that he had stumbled into, its inhabitants seemed tribal, and it looked like all five of them were away at the moment. In that snowstorm, he could probably have been within striking distance and not even have known they were there. The fireplace’s embers were still warm, and it was only a simple spell for Skeletor to reignite the blaze. Panthor lumbered into the building after him, squeezing through the doorway and immediately settling next to the fire, completely unconcerned with any new scents she could detect.

Skeletor also elected not to concern himself with the owners of the camp, confident that if it came to blows they would know his power. He sat near the fire, and with no better recourse to divert his attention began fiddling with his scanner. He had accepted the item from Dr. Regal with barely more than a moment’s thought, quite sure that the Imperial scientist had been concerned only with securing the safety of the world. Now that he stopped to think about it, there had been little to no questioning to his intentions with the devices, especially given that there had been mention of the power that the scanners could contain. His own stolen power seemed to be nearly gone, expended to destroy the villains of Nebula. And he hadn’t gotten any more out of it! The mistake continued to gnaw at Skeletor, as he sat by the fire. Panthor had fallen asleep, now snoring quite lazily in the flame’s glow. But Skeletor’s mind was in tumult, so deeply emmeshed that he almost didn’t realize that the camp’s owners had returned. Skeletor rose to his feet, wincing as imperceptibly as possible. Four hunched figures with large tusks and even more prominent mohawks had entered the building, spears in hand, and a large creature that Skeletor didn’t recognize hanging from a pole between two of them. Their largest, whom Skeletor expected was the leader took a step towards him.

“That’s a big cat, ‘Mon. Wha’chu doin here, eh? You wanna axe!”

[Skeletor]

Skeletor remained seated as the four trolls slowly edged closer, clearly not looking to underestimate a new prime, or his large pet. The leader of the trolls eventually crossed to sit across the fireplace from Skeletor, his three companions staying on guard, watching uneasily as a dozing Panthor stretched its massive form.

“Are you one’na Deathwind’s fellas? He’s not welcome by Zul’jin no more, you know that?” the lead troll asked, watching Skeletor carefully for any signs of aggression, trying to gleam any hint as to the warlock’s plan. Skeletor was just enjoying the fear that seemed quite evident amongst the trolls. They understood the power he possessed and afforded him the respect that he deserved because of that fact.

“It is more likely this Deathwind you speak of would be one of my lackies! I am Skeletor, the rightful ruler of Eternia. At present I have been trapped by the elders in this pathetic backwater. I assume your Zul’jin suffered similar fate.”

The trolls looked towards each other and conversed quickly in their own tongue. Skeletor leaned back against a sleeping Panthor. In spite of himself, he was having a surprisingly good day. For once this pathetic shame of a prison was beginning to show some upsides. Without He-man, or those dratted Masters of the Universe to show up, he could form a power base that he could strike back on with force.

“You new ta these parts, mon? you don’t seem to understand what’s going on here.” The tone was not especially accusatory, but it grated against Skeletor, sparking his indignations. Who were these mongoloids to challenge him?

“You should come meet Zul’jin, mon, he’ll set you straight on what da tribes be doin’ here. Kul’Shar be taking you to Zuil’Gurand if you wanna meet da boss.” The troll continued, missing Skeletor’s baleful gaze as he pointed towards one of his companions.

“And what are the rest of you doing here that is so important?” the Warlock demanded, more interested in delaying his return to the cold than he was in the details of what some petty minions were doing.

“These be the ruins of Zul’Drak, mon! We be looking to scalp some longbeards, they always be trespassing in our sacred temples.” The troll said with a gleam in his eye. Skeletor was sure the trolls were quite willing to use any excuse that was convenient at the time. The ruins might not even matter to them, beyond as a reliable hunting ground.

Still, perhaps Skeletor should speak with this Zul’jin, get a sense of whether or not he could be a proper minion for Skeletor’s conquests. Skeletor got to his feet with a slight sigh, and kicked Panthor awake.

“Get up you mangy beast! We’re leaving!”

The panther snarled at him angrily, but also rose, stretching grumpily as it shook off its sleep. Their guide Kul’Shar was clearly the runt of the group, with the wary shifty glance of one who skulks in corners. He was the least formidable of the hunting party, and probably got stuck with these kinds of jobs often. It was good to see that these trolls were able to enforce social heirachy properly, but Skeletor could not help but feel some trepidation as to their tactical abilities. They thought that leading him to their leader was an unimportant chore for their weakest member.

He tried not to take the insult personally as he followed the troll out into the snow yet again.

[Skeletor]

Kul’Shar led Skeletor and Panthor through the storm with an uneasy shuffling. Skeletor chuckled slightly, realizing how nervous the troll was. The runt had been sent back out immediately after returning to their camp, and hadn’t even been given the chance to eat a hot meal.

The Trolls were correct to fear his impatience, but in their haste to appease him, they had made it quite painfully clear just how little regard for their own tribesmate. Perhaps Skeletor could capitalize upon this misstep. He had lost all of his minions to Darkshire’s blasted walls, and it could be advantageous to get himself some supporters before meeting this Zul’jin. The patrol had been cowed easily enough, but their leader might prove a challenge to overthrow without allies of his own. Blast this weakening Omniverse!

Skeletor nudged Panthor to move faster, and the great cat lazily moved in beside the trudging troll. For the supposed runt of the group, he was well-nigh six feet tall, though Skeletor suspected the blue mohawk made his height seem somewhat exaggerated. Yet he was clearly a fighter, well-built and confident, but light-footed enough that he could likely defeat a larger foe if it came down to it. The troll didn’t look exceedingly bright, but that was difficult to do when you hunched forward with five-inch tusks, and he showed enough fear of Skeletor’s power that he would be sufficiently willing to take orders.

“How much farther is it to the Troll camp. I must speak with your leader Zul’jhin!” he inquired with a sort of bored irritation, just to be extra grating on the troll.

“It’s going to be two days trip, Mon! Don’t start wit’ that already!” the hunter snarled at him, but the front the troll was putting up was easy enough to see through. If the trolls weren’t terrified of Skeletor, they would have let Kul’Shar at least rest first.

“Two days? How slow do you trolls walk?” Skeletor asked incredulously. The troll snorted out a laugh before his reply.

“You wanna go over the mountains, mon? Zul’gurand is on the shores of the frozen sea. We have to go around the peaks if we are getting yourself to make it there in one piece.” Kul’Shar spoke with a twinge of pride, and now it was Skeletor’s turn to laugh.

“Do you think I cannot climb so small a height? You are dangerously underestimating my power. If you have a faster way to get to Zul’gurand, you will take me by that avenue. Any challenges the route possessing will be immaterial compared to spending too long with one of your intellect.”

Kul’Shar stared at Skeletor with his naturally slack-jawed expression, his tiny troll mind slowly grinding its way through what Skeletor had just said. He spoke up before Beast man would have, but slower than Trapjaw or Triclops. Passable enough.

“Your panther won’t make it.” He said finally. No protest at the slight, interesting. Skeletor wondered if he had missed the insult or just chosen to ignore it. The Warlock leapt from Panthor’s saddle, landing in the snow with a spray of powder. He sank to his knees and the snow was icy daggers against his bare shins. Skeletor allowed a small amount of his vast Eldritch power to flow, melting any snow that dared to come too close.

“I don’t need Panthor for a stroll like this! Get out of here, you mangy beast!” he shouted, then began strolling away, snow sizzling pleasantly under his feet. It was nice when things knew their place. Panthor growled softly, then her ears perked up and the great feline bounded away down the slopes into the wooded tundra below their trail. Kul’Shar shrugged.

“Your funeral mon.” he said and began to lope through the snow on long and muscular legs.

“Is this how most of your hunting party gets to Zul’gurand?” Skeletor asked, and to his glee the troll shook his head.

“Nah, they be taking the long way around. This is my shortcut; the others be saying it’s too dangerous.” He pulled a coil of rope and a bladed grappling hook from where it hung at his side. “I be saying otherwise though.” He said, with a wild grin. There was definitely pride in the troll’s voice now. He had conquered this trail on his own, and claimed it as his own. Good, this would be perfect for Skeletor’s purposes.

“The other trolls don’t think you have what it takes in a fight.” Skeletor stated more than asked, and the Troll’s grin dropped instantly, the mohawked hunter turning and starting to trudge his way faster along the path.

“What’s the strongest thing you’ve killed?” Skeletor asked, not that he really cared.

“Winter wolf,” the troll mumbled from up ahead, “big one, bigger than your cat. I got its pelt hanging from me wall in town. It jumped me a year or two back, nearly tore me two throats mon. But I got him good in the head wit’ me axe, and after than it was all over.” Skeletor nodded.

“And your hunting party, they send you on an escort mission for someone who is doesn’t need it?”

“They send me on this mission so that my brothers don’t riddle you with spears, mon!” The troll shot back, clearly unsettled by Skeletor’s prodding. He was suitably unsatisfied with his lot as well. Excellent. Their path had left behind slopes and was now winding between clefts of snow-capped rock and ice. Skeletor’s magic kept him warm, despite the ice borne wind that whipped through their path. Skeletor paused, as a sharp ravine cut straight across their path, dropping dozens of feet into the rock below.

“Did you take a wrong turn, Tusky?” he asked, but Kul’Shar just gave him that wild grin again, then began to spin the grapple, before flinging it across the expanse. It lodged into the ice with a solid thud, and the troll gave it a couple of tugs to test its placement. It held firm.

“Watch this Boneface!” he spoke with glee, then leapt, swinging down a good fifteen feet to the other wall of the ravine. He began repelling up the rope with practice, moving with an almost spider-like speed. He was across the ravine in next to no time.

“You gonna be able to make it, mon?” Kul’shar asked snidely from the other side, “You need a hand?”

Skeletor cackled, and backed up from the edge. His eldritch power flared out, searing away a clear path to the lip of the ravine. Skeletor ran, insanely strong muscles building up speed before he leapt, eldritch power adding enough energy to send the Warlock arcing over the expanse, to land beside the slack-jawed troll. Skeletor enjoyed the incredulous response as he set off again.

“Is that all there is to this route? Your so-called friends are a bunch of sissies!” Skeletor cackled. Things were going perfectly, he had shown his superiority to the troll’s current allies, and sown seeds of dissonance with his current lot in life. Now he had only to showcase just how much better the troll’s life would be under his employ, and the fool wouldn’t even need to be coerced into following him. Simpletons all.

The path continued to snake through the mountains for several hours, and Skeletor made two more similar leaps, utterly stunning Kul’shar into silence as they travelled. At last the troll stopped and pointed. Though their trail continued along the edge of a sharp and spiky cliffside, Kul’shar’s gaze was fixed upon a rocky outcropping some thirty feet above them on the other side. Skeletor looked at the expanse in surprise. The cleft between their trail and the point Kul’shar was watching was over twenty feet wide, and yet the troll was winding up his grapple, though Skeletor noted his focus was much more intent this time. This was most definitely the hardest throw he had to make on the trail. The most personal moment of triumph.

Kul’shar let fly the grapple, the blade arcing up and away into the air, the rope coiling away beneath it. All it took was two small nudges of magic, one to edge the axe away from the cleft it was aiming for, sending it skipping off the cliff face, and the other to slip the end of the rope past the trolls three fingers. Kul’shar let out a cry of alarm as the rope trailed the metal away into the frosted depths. Skeletor watched as the troll sank to his knees.

“…We just died up here, mon.” he spoke dully, eyes fixed on the rope, snagged around a shard of razor sharp ice nearly the full way to the bottom of the ravine. Yes, see what you have lost.

The warlock pulled forth his sphere of Omnilium, focusing his energies onto a complex design. Now see just how much better I can give you.

Within moments, Skeletor’s wish became reality, and he tossed the contraption at the surprised troll. It was a metal backpack, with two long extensions that strapped to the troll’s wrists like gauntlets.

“You aren’t going to let such a paltry problem defeat you, surely? Put that thing on, and you will have no trouble scaling that mountain. It will be mere child’s play.” The troll looked confused, but in his current state didn’t argue, which was more than enough for Skeletor. He pointed one arm at the top of the cliff, and pressed a button on his gauntlet. A wire cable shot from the casing, sailing straight as an arrow to embed itself into the ice with a very satisfying thunk.

“now press the other one.” Skeletor said with a touch of self-satisfaction. It was good to see that the elders had not been able to impinge upon his brilliant mind, whatever other limitations they had placed on him. Kul’shar pressed the other button, and with a jolt, the cable started to retract, pulling the shocked troll off of his feet and across the expanse with ease. He reached the far side and scrambled up to the top. Turning down to face Skeletor, the troll let out a whoop of excitement.

“That be somethin else entirely, Mon!” he shouted down. That’s right, and remember who you got it from.

“Now get me up their too! I don’t have all day!” Skeletor replied. The cable zipped back and Skeletor grabbed hold, streaking through the air up to join the troll, who had braced himself on a rocky outcropping. It was quite useful, Skeletor had to admit, you’d never need a bridge or a ladder… hmmm…

“Neeheheeheehehe! That was no problem after all.” He said as he looked down the slope at the buildings of Zul’gurand, the city built into the base of the mountains below them “Lead the way, Trollbridge!”