In the darkest heart of the Himalayas, where the winds whispered like dying breaths, and the snow falls like a shroud, something ancient prowls. Not a guardian, but a predator—silent, hungry, and relentless. They called it the YETI, with its true name unspoken, for to say it aloud was to invite its gaze.
The mountain is its kingdom, vast and empty, where the cold gnaws at the bones and the air feels thick with unseen eyes. It leaves no tracks, no trace, only the deep, unsettling silence that follows in its wake. Those who wander too far into its domain vanish without a sound, as though swallowed by the mountain itself.
At night, when the wind dies and the world holds its breath, the Yeti moves. A shadow, vast and cold, slipping through the snow. The few who claim to hear it speak of a low growl, deep and chilling, carried on the wind. But no one ever dares to follow.
It is always watching. Always waiting. And those who venture too close will never know what took them. Only the emptiness of the mountain, and the echoof footsteps too large to be human.
Contents

The Yeti figure
2 Alternate head sculpts
Pair of fists
Pair of neutral hands
Pair of claw hands
Removable hair
Removable horns