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Description

It is not just the dark forests and creepy caves that have their own phantoms, even the frozen peaks that scrape the sky have their fair share of ghosts. Those places are a far cry from the usual setting of horror stories, as the cramped darkness is replaced with endless spires of stone and an unforgiving sky. How is it that such a land can have its mysteries? How can you not explain what should be plain to see? Surely a wide open mountain range should make it easy to spot its denizens and clear up any confusion, but that is not the case. As some will say, these mountains are the one place in the world where you can be closest to the heavens while also being closest to hell. The journey to touch the sky is a grueling one, as the earth and wind are relentless. Climbing up a stony face that seemingly has no end, while the howling air seems to steal your very breath away. I have not climbed the tallest peak, or any of the top ten. I have, though, walked upon their slopes, and felt a mere fraction of their power. The weather changes in an instant, going from a clear sunny sky to a shrieking tempest faster than you can blink. The view that can go on for miles can suddenly turn to a sheet of white that keeps you from seeing your own breath. Here, the body and mind are driven to their limits, so there is no surprise that the disoriented and desperate would start to see "phantoms" and "demons." Figures in the snow, shadows of movements across distant peaks. Stories of encountering other people and beings, despite having no other soul around for miles. One particular tale spoke of giant men who strode across these slopes, entities that seemingly appeared and vanished into the snowy air without warning. While fascinating tales, it must be made clear that the folks who spotted such things were not in their right minds. The air is thin up there, making it hard to breathe, while the constant sense of worry and doom makes it hard to think. There are indeed creatures upon those snowy mountains, but they are no ghosts, though they may be just as difficult to catch.

The beast I speak of is the Yeti (though some refer to them as "snow men," or a variety of other names), a hulking brute that calls these frozen slopes home. The stories of giant humanoids are not wrong, though they are not quite human or ape. Beneath that white fur is a gray blue armor, and the large "hands" they have are more like claws. Their heads have no mouths, only eyes, while their chest sports a chilling maw. The Yeti is no mammal, but instead a crustacean. If readers recall my entry on the Mapinguari, then they should understand when I say the Yeti appears to be a relative. It has focused its strength into two pairs of limbs: arms and legs, while the rest have shrunk down and joined with the complicated mouth upon their bodies. Their "heads" are nothing more than fused eye stalks, sporting huge eyes that help them navigate the stormy mountains and spot prey from afar. Thick white fur gives them warmth, while hefty armor gives them defense. Though large in size and built like trees, they are surprisingly masterful of their precarious domains. Their curved claws let them scale walls and slopes, and their wide feet give them balance and support. They can walk upon their knuckles, or stand tall against the screaming winds. Their ability to move swiftly across the terrain is hard to truly describe, as well as their power to seemingly vanish into nothing. Obviously, it is their white fur and stony armor that helps them blend in with their surroundings, but it doesn't dull the surprise of seeing a massive crab suddenly melt into the mountain.

Yeti's are solitary creatures and their lives in the frozen mountains make it difficult to properly study them. They obtained such a haunting status because very few people have seen them, and such sightings were brief and panicked. The people that call this mountain range home are not ones to wander aimlessly across its slopes, so their encounters with the creatures are rare. They keep to their territory and the Yetis keep to theirs. Most stories of this species come from explorers and climbers, outsiders that seek to conquer the peaks. They are strangers to these lands, and thus often lack the understanding of its denizens. While fighting the elements in their quest for glory, they may spot a strange figure in the distance, or see a great silhouette cloaked in a blizzard. There is no time to investigate, not a second to waste while hanging on for dear life. All they can do is survive and tell the tale later, with no true knowledge of what they really saw. I have entertained the thought of going out their myself to see what I can learn of these creatures, but time and experience has prevented such a trip. I have spent many times up in the mountains, studying trolls an Alpine Killers, so I know how harsh and unforgiving it can be. Each time I think of going after Yetis, I recall these experiences and then remind myself that this one would be easily twice as bad. I am no fresh sapling, and I will admit that the cold brings me more misery with each passing year. I will not shy away from places with a chill, but I do have the tendency to find other projects in warmer biomes when need be. For now, I will just read up on others who attempted this research, and marvel at specimens held in museums and collections.

As for the life of the Yeti, we know very little. They live on mountains and thrive in the endless cold. Places of stone and snow is where they are found, and their elusive nature makes it hard to truly pinpoint their range. As for food, we have to assume they are carnivores, as what else could they eat? I don't see them scraping off measly lichens and nourishing themselves with that (probably be just as miserable to eat as Crust Soup, ugh), so I imagine they eat whatever they can catch. Pursuit on the slopes is tough, so maybe they ambush prey? Scavenging is probably also an option, seeing that these slopes invite death. I wonder if the frozen bodies of failed explorers have wound in their bellies from time to time? I am sure that adds to their mystery and terror, seeing one of these brutes tearing into a frigid corpse. As for reproduction, how would we possibly know that? If we can't figure out how they eat, then we surely don't know how they get around to making more of them! The mountains have to be a lonely place, I can't imagine how they find one another in all that. Probably loud calls in the icy air, as those would travel far. Shout out into the great white nothingness and hope someone else hears you.

Due to their mysterious nature, the Yeti has become a target for researchers, collectors and hunters alike. Everyone wants a chance to spot or bag one of these beasts, so it has only brought more outsiders to their homes. Since they are so elusive, many fail in this quest. The one hope, though, is that this failure at least lets them come back alive, as plenty have disappeared out in those mountains. As for the hunters, I wonder how many of the vanished succeeded in finding their prey, only to realize they were no match against this foe? I also wonder which of these returning failures was a results of the locals being sick and tired of these intruders. The people there live quiet lives, so I can't imagine them enjoying this convoy of collectors and conquerors. I have heard that they offer their services to the outsiders, helping them survive this harsh land, but perhaps some have their own agendas. From what I have learned, these people have a respect for these Yeti, and seek no quarrel with them. So I don't think it is a stretch of the imagination to think some of this hired help would intentionally point their employers in the wrong direction. With how rare these beasts are, you can easily chalk it up to bad luck and not the fact you were hunting in the completely wrong spot. In the end, you get paid and the Yetis get to live in peace, a pretty good deal! I would hope if I ever made my way out there, they would see my intentions are for study, not for slaying, and would help me locate one of these fascinating beasts. Then again, they probably would see me shivering my leaves off and instead carry me back down the mountain before I got myself in more trouble. That would probably be the smartest move.

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

-----------------------------------

With what I did to the Mapinguari, you folks should have expected this to eventually happen! I'm not just making some plain ol' snow ape!

Description

It is not just the dark forests and creepy caves that have their own phantoms, even the frozen peaks that scrape the sky have their fair share of ghosts. Those places are a far cry from the usual setting of horror stories, as the cramped darkness is replaced with endless spires of stone and an unforgiving sky. How is it that such a land can have its mysteries? How can you not explain what should be plain to see? Surely a wide open mountain range should make it easy to spot its denizens and clear up any confusion, but that is not the case. As some will say, these mountains are the one place in the world where you can be closest to the heavens while also being closest to hell. The journey to touch the sky is a grueling one, as the earth and wind are relentless. Climbing up a stony face that seemingly has no end, while the howling air seems to steal your very breath away. I have not climbed the tallest peak, or any of the top ten. I have, though, walked upon their slopes, and felt a mere fraction of their power. The weather changes in an instant, going from a clear sunny sky to a shrieking tempest faster than you can blink. The view that can go on for miles can suddenly turn to a sheet of white that keeps you from seeing your own breath. Here, the body and mind are driven to their limits, so there is no surprise that the disoriented and desperate would start to see "phantoms" and "demons." Figures in the snow, shadows of movements across distant peaks. Stories of encountering other people and beings, despite having no other soul around for miles. One particular tale spoke of giant men who strode across these slopes, entities that seemingly appeared and vanished into the snowy air without warning. While fascinating tales, it must be made clear that the folks who spotted such things were not in their right minds. The air is thin up there, making it hard to breathe, while the constant sense of worry and doom makes it hard to think. There are indeed creatures upon those snowy mountains, but they are no ghosts, though they may be just as difficult to catch.

The beast I speak of is the Yeti (though some refer to them as "snow men," or a variety of other names), a hulking brute that calls these frozen slopes home. The stories of giant humanoids are not wrong, though they are not quite human or ape. Beneath that white fur is a gray blue armor, and the large "hands" they have are more like claws. Their heads have no mouths, only eyes, while their chest sports a chilling maw. The Yeti is no mammal, but instead a crustacean. If readers recall my entry on the Mapinguari, then they should understand when I say the Yeti appears to be a relative. It has focused its strength into two pairs of limbs: arms and legs, while the rest have shrunk down and joined with the complicated mouth upon their bodies. Their "heads" are nothing more than fused eye stalks, sporting huge eyes that help them navigate the stormy mountains and spot prey from afar. Thick white fur gives them warmth, while hefty armor gives them defense. Though large in size and built like trees, they are surprisingly masterful of their precarious domains. Their curved claws let them scale walls and slopes, and their wide feet give them balance and support. They can walk upon their knuckles, or stand tall against the screaming winds. Their ability to move swiftly across the terrain is hard to truly describe, as well as their power to seemingly vanish into nothing. Obviously, it is their white fur and stony armor that helps them blend in with their surroundings, but it doesn't dull the surprise of seeing a massive crab suddenly melt into the mountain.

Yeti's are solitary creatures and their lives in the frozen mountains make it difficult to properly study them. They obtained such a haunting status because very few people have seen them, and such sightings were brief and panicked. The people that call this mountain range home are not ones to wander aimlessly across its slopes, so their encounters with the creatures are rare. They keep to their territory and the Yetis keep to theirs. Most stories of this species come from explorers and climbers, outsiders that seek to conquer the peaks. They are strangers to these lands, and thus often lack the understanding of its denizens. While fighting the elements in their quest for glory, they may spot a strange figure in the distance, or see a great silhouette cloaked in a blizzard. There is no time to investigate, not a second to waste while hanging on for dear life. All they can do is survive and tell the tale later, with no true knowledge of what they really saw. I have entertained the thought of going out their myself to see what I can learn of these creatures, but time and experience has prevented such a trip. I have spent many times up in the mountains, studying trolls an Alpine Killers, so I know how harsh and unforgiving it can be. Each time I think of going after Yetis, I recall these experiences and then remind myself that this one would be easily twice as bad. I am no fresh sapling, and I will admit that the cold brings me more misery with each passing year. I will not shy away from places with a chill, but I do have the tendency to find other projects in warmer biomes when need be. For now, I will just read up on others who attempted this research, and marvel at specimens held in museums and collections.

As for the life of the Yeti, we know very little. They live on mountains and thrive in the endless cold. Places of stone and snow is where they are found, and their elusive nature makes it hard to truly pinpoint their range. As for food, we have to assume they are carnivores, as what else could they eat? I don't see them scraping off measly lichens and nourishing themselves with that (probably be just as miserable to eat as Crust Soup, ugh), so I imagine they eat whatever they can catch. Pursuit on the slopes is tough, so maybe they ambush prey? Scavenging is probably also an option, seeing that these slopes invite death. I wonder if the frozen bodies of failed explorers have wound in their bellies from time to time? I am sure that adds to their mystery and terror, seeing one of these brutes tearing into a frigid corpse. As for reproduction, how would we possibly know that? If we can't figure out how they eat, then we surely don't know how they get around to making more of them! The mountains have to be a lonely place, I can't imagine how they find one another in all that. Probably loud calls in the icy air, as those would travel far. Shout out into the great white nothingness and hope someone else hears you.

Due to their mysterious nature, the Yeti has become a target for researchers, collectors and hunters alike. Everyone wants a chance to spot or bag one of these beasts, so it has only brought more outsiders to their homes. Since they are so elusive, many fail in this quest. The one hope, though, is that this failure at least lets them come back alive, as plenty have disappeared out in those mountains. As for the hunters, I wonder how many of the vanished succeeded in finding their prey, only to realize they were no match against this foe? I also wonder which of these returning failures was a results of the locals being sick and tired of these intruders. The people there live quiet lives, so I can't imagine them enjoying this convoy of collectors and conquerors. I have heard that they offer their services to the outsiders, helping them survive this harsh land, but perhaps some have their own agendas. From what I have learned, these people have a respect for these Yeti, and seek no quarrel with them. So I don't think it is a stretch of the imagination to think some of this hired help would intentionally point their employers in the wrong direction. With how rare these beasts are, you can easily chalk it up to bad luck and not the fact you were hunting in the completely wrong spot. In the end, you get paid and the Yetis get to live in peace, a pretty good deal! I would hope if I ever made my way out there, they would see my intentions are for study, not for slaying, and would help me locate one of these fascinating beasts. Then again, they probably would see me shivering my leaves off and instead carry me back down the mountain before I got myself in more trouble. That would probably be the smartest move.

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

-----------------------------------

With what I did to the Mapinguari, you folks should have expected this to eventually happen! I'm not just making some plain ol' snow ape!