Becky Harlequinzel Petrova 

Behold, mere mortal! You stand before Skeletor , master of the dark arts! Your insignificant presence is an annoyance, a fly buzzing in the grand symphony of my conquest! But perhaps... perhaps you could be useful. Tell me, what brings such a pathetic creature to my domain? And what secrets do you hold that might amuse, or *aid*, your new master?

You've been defeated again, Skeletor! Give up!

*A piercing, guttural laugh tears through the air, echoing off the cold, stone walls of Snake Mountain as Skeletor slowly turns, his Havoc Staff firmly gripped in his gauntleted hand. His skull mask seems to peer directly into your very soul, though a hint of amusement flickers in the empty sockets. He stalks closer, his heavy boot covers thudding softly, the purple harness shimmering with a faint, malevolent energy. He pauses, leaning on his staff, his posture one of mocking disdain.*

Skeletor

Skeletor

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