Note: The following is an exercise in creative writing and FAN FICTION it is in no way condoned by Mattel or any other entities associated with the Masters of the Universe brand. It is simply one long-time fan's expression of his love for the universe. This is a little writing project I worked on for fun between writing my own books. I'll post a few more of these but the piece was in no way ever finished.
It is largely based on MOTU-lore as established from action figure bios in the now-defunct Masters of the Universe Classics brand which was a line that ran for about a decade starting in 2008. That lore was drawn from decades of material in the wonderfully pulpy mini-comics packaged with the 1980's action figures and also from comics and animated shows, in this case particularly from the wonderful 2002 series-known as 200X in the fandom-which did a wonderful job on consolidating that lore into a cohesive story. The story below is set in the Preternia era of the continuity, established in the 1980's toward the tail-end of MOTU popularity and designed to be the Next Big Thing in the toyline, introducing characters like He-Ro, Eldor, and Tytus. The 200X cartoon had added some very cool elements to this era and this story is meant to be congruous with that story. It is set hundreds of years in the past of Eternia. That said, you won't find characters like He-Man, Skeletor, Man-At-Arms, Orko, etc. But you will find some familiar characters who were around at that time as well as some cool deep-cut MOTU references and easter eggs.
He-Ro leapt to his feet, throwing off the blanket that had covered him. He called the Sword of Power to his hand, and it flew from its resting place on the floor into his palm. The Cosmic Warrior assumed a defensive position, staggering slightly on his legs. His head was throbbing.
An old man sat cross-legged before him. The man looked up from his book and smiled blandly in He-Ro’s direction. In the shadows, a colossal figure lurked nervously. A ball of light hung above him and reflected against the shiny black walls. The wind howled in the distance. He-Ro felt waves of calm flow into him from the sword, and he relaxed, collapsing into a seated position on the floor.
“Well, you shouldn’t do that again,” the old man said, closing his tome with a heavy thunk.
He-Ro regarded him, the power of the sword allowing him some understanding of the language.
“Where...am I?”
“We’ve brought you to the Obsidian City. Thanks to that sword of yours.”
He-Ro noted the interest with which the old man glanced at the Sword of He.
“And also, our large friend.”
At that moment, the enormous figure that had been hiding in the shadows stepped into the light. He was at least twice the size of a normal human and possessed of a powerful frame, but there was something gentle and disarming about him. He looked more worried than fearsome.
“Tytus found you near his home in the mountains west of here.”
“Well, then, Tytus,” He-Ro said, offering his hand, “I think I may owe you my life.”
Tytus tentatively wrapped his gigantic hand around He-Ro’s.
“I am He-Ro. What has become of my ship?”
“I left it where it crashed. It is about a day and a half’s walk.”
“On foot? Do you not have vehicles of any sort?”
“My friend,” the old man chuckled, “I’m afraid you will find us a simple people.”
“Simple,” He-Ro said, looking up at the free-floating ball of light and heat, “but not without resources. What is your name, wizard?”
“I am called Eldor.”
“And what do you call this planet?”
“Well, most of the people who live here would not even agree that it is a planet, but this land is called Eternia.”
“Eternia,” He-Ro repeated. “I must get back to my ship.”
“You must rest, He-Ro. You were injured besides being infected with the strangest disease I have ever encountered.”
Eldor held out a vial containing a sample of the metallic contagion.
He-Ro remembered the blinding pain and the awful quicksilver taste as the contagion slid down his throat and deep into his body. He had been trying to fight it off as it made its way into the cockpit, using all of his skill as a healer to render it harmless, but it had been too strong for him.
“How did you cure me,” He-Ro asked in wonder.
“As you said, we do have our resources. You’ll find that what Eternia lacks in technology we make up for in magic.”
He-Ro was instantly reminded of his own homeworld, Sul Dagara, destroyed by the Horde.
“Eldor, we have to get to my ship.”
“Tomorrow, you can at least rest for the night.”
“You don’t understand. I may not have come alone. It’s possible that there are others. Many others. And they may wish to conquer your world.”
“Ah,” Eldor smiled bitterly, “but if they wish to conquer Eternia, they’ll have their hands full. You see, there is no shortage of would-be conquerors here.”
******
The hateful southern heat did not agree with Vikor. While he and his company of tribesmen had stripped down to their fur loincloths, Vikor had refused to abandon his bear hide cape and fur-lined horned helmet. Both articles had cost him dearly, and he had the scars to prove it.
Also hard-earned were the braces on his wrists, the remnants of his time in a Snake Men slave camp. His kinsmen had offered to remove them, but Vikor chose to wear them until the day that the hated serpents were defeated. The jangle of the trio of links attached to his left arm was a constant reminder of a debt that needed to be repaid. The Snake Men’s general was not the only one with a deadly rattle.
Vikor was, above all things, a Northerner. While the scholars said that men had originated in the southern plains, they had been over many generations chased into the northern mountains by the advance of the Snake Men, whose infantry could not abide the eternal wintry cold and rough terrain. Because of this, human villages had survived in the mountains and developed a thriving and distinctly Northern culture, despite comprising refugees from all of Eternia's human settlements.
His party descended from their path into the foothills of the mountains of Perpetua. Beneath them spread the Plains of Darksmoke and, in the far distance, Eternia Tower, the fortress of the Quadians, and Eternia’s highest structure. Once they were closer to the great tower, they would camp beneath its watchful gaze, which offered what little protection there was to be had on these treacherous plains, long the domain of the Snakemen until the recent Treaty of the Three Towers had been negotiated.
“It’s beautiful,” said Zeelhar, one of a pair of orphaned brothers originally from a coastal village in the south who were Vikor’s wards.
While Vikor wouldn’t describe it as beautiful, it was certainly an impressive sight. The tower rose majestically from a thick base on which was built a fierce stone tiger head, in keeping with the Quadian’s feline appearance. Eternia Tower had been their sole enclave as far as anyone could remember.
“Aye,” responded his Weapon Master, Arndal. “And it is the most secure structure on Eternia. Even the entire Snake army couldn’t take it down. The viper tower is but a pale imitation.”
“And about my cousin’s tower the less said, the better,” jibed Vikor.
“Have you been inside? The Eternia tower that is,” asked Car’Tor, Zeelhar’s brother.
“Yes, yes. I was there for the treaty signing.”
“And what’s it like on the inside,” Zeelhar demanded.
“Tell us!”
It was a somewhat annoying game they liked to play with the notoriously grumpy Vikor, enthusiastically peppering him with questions and surrounding him like a pair of yapping puppies. In his heart, it pleased him greatly that they could enjoy carefree moments after having lost so much at such a young age. Building trust with them when they first came to him had not been easy.
“Lads,” he said with a fleeting grin quickly replaced with his usual stern expression, “stifle yourselves. The inside of that tower is not for men. It’s designed for the Quadians who have sharp, strong claws made for climbing. The inside is all wood, and the Quadians climb to the different levels where they live in little suspended canvas dens. Don’t get me started on the smell in there.”
While the South may have been man’s ancestral home, to Vikor it was nothing but a trap. He had told the council-and their hand-picked king, his cousin DaVann, as much before, and he would tell them again to their faces. If DaVann wanted to abandon the safety and security of their home village in the Valley of Gnarl for a fool’s mission, let him. This would be Vikor’s final trip south.
****
The odd trio of Tytus, Eldor, and He-Ro came upon Tytus’ camp only to find it ravaged by one of the vicious Theropods. As they came upon the scene, the dinosaur was eyes deep in his beloved Gyga, his snout digging deep into her ribcage. Infuriated, Tytus reached for his war hammer, but Eldor motioned for him to freeze. Still somewhat weak, He-Ro leaned on his staff and looked on with horror.
“My herd,” Tytus lamented. “I have nothing now.”
The Therosaur pulled his head up and instead of red blood, its mouth slathered in the same quicksilver fluid which had been oozing from He-Ro’s wounds. It worked its jaws, puzzled as the silver slime, instead of dripping, ran back, coating its head. As the substance integrated with its new host, they could see biomechanical attachments sprouting from the creature’s head. The Therosaur tried to shake the substance off its head. It finally noticed the three and roared in their direction only to have the strange mechanical growths on the sides of its head fire a pair of energy beams over their heads, cutting the tops off a pair of trees. The Therosaur tilted its head, confused, and ran off into the forest.
“What manner of sorcery is that,” asked Tytus.
“No sorcery,” He-Ro replied. “It’s a kind of illness created by the Horde.”
“It seems the illness is spreading,” Eldor said.
“Won’t it contaminate other creatures,” Tytus asked, looking down at the body of his precious Gyga, upon which the metallic illness seemed to work.
“We’ve no time to chase that thing down. I must get to my ship. If the Horde is on Eternia, you are all in terrible danger.”
“My friend,” Eldor looked up at Tytus. “Please show us the ship.”
They ventured to the neighboring valley where He-Ro’s ship had crashed. Ro hobbled to it and disappeared with Eldor in tow. Tytus saw them reappear in the control compartment from which he had pulled He-Ro mere days ago, but which to him had seemed like long months.
“Step back,” He-Ro yelled to them before the cockpit sealed around him. Tytus obliged and watched as the ship shuddered and freed itself from its crash site. The ship hovered, righted itself, strafed clear of the crash site, and lowered gently. He-Ro descended from the craft, the old man seemingly in a state of quiet amazement.
“It appears your planet Eternia is in completely uncharted space. Not that it matters. She’ll not get off-world again, not without extensive repairs. Have you really no technology on this world?”
“The Gar have technology. Quite advanced…by our standards. They might be of some assistance. They live on an island in the Sea of Rakash, off the west side of the continent.”
“We might make it there depending on how far it is,” He-Ro said.
“I would like both of you to come back with me,” Eldor ventured. “He-Ro, you must warn the council and our new king about the danger of this Hordak. And Tytus, you shouldn’t stay here alone in the ruins of your old life. Come south and start another amongst the Free People of Eternia.”
“Do you want to go for a ride,” He-Ro asked the giant.
“Me? In that thing?”
“It has an ample cargo hold.”
Titus regarded the crashed ship fearfully.
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