Moving carefully through the snow, every party member was painfully aware of the crunching under their boots. Yet they made it up to the ledge unmolested and took position. In the fading daylight of the afternoon, they could barely make out the entrance to a cave. Scattered across the ledge, rocks of various sizes identified these creatures as the throwers in question. Some of the stones had been collected and piled into small clumps.

Stace silently gave commands, pointing to himself and Selene then up above the top of the cave. Next, he pointed to the remaining four and the closest part of the ledge. Then he took two flasks out of his backpack and handed them to Durg. He passed a flint sparker and a piece of cloth to the dwarf as well. Each of the party members gritted their teeth in determination. The plan was simple, but should be effective: flush them out of the cave like a bear and pray.

With weapons brandished, they watched the two archers move into position. Breath caught in Cire’s chest with each shift of snow and crunch of ice. Once the group was secure in the knowledge that the archers had gone undiscovered, Durg jumped into action.

Dwarves were not naturally graced with high dexterity scores, and it was clear that Durg had not been blessed in that category. Half waddle and half stumble, his sprint would have been comical to watch if it were not for the racket.

Tossing the non-flaming bottle of oil into the cave as far as he could, Durg waited and listened. A heartbeat later an earsplitting roar emanated. Icicles speared into the ground at the mouth of the cave, shattering. A rumble in the earth could be felt thundering from inside the mountain.

That was all the signal that the warrior needed. Durg whipped the flaming bottle of oil down at the mouth of the cave and turned to flee back to the group. Not made for quick pivots, his boots gave out on the ice beneath his feet. Durg fell straight onto his back.

Without another thought, Cire was jumping over the snowbank and sprinting to Durg’s side. If the dwarf was laying there vulnerable when the yeti emerged the entire group might be overtaken. He reached the dwarf right after he was able to roll over awkwardly onto his stomach.

Spikes and ridges along Durg’s armor were lodged into into the ice. The warrior was not made to be on the ground. Cire gripped the collar of the thick iron breastplate and yanked him to his feet. That was when the first yeti burst through the flames.

Up until this point, Cire had only fought animals. Yes, the dire boars had far more natural defenses than a typical wild creature, but this yeti was a monster if ever he had seen one. Eight to nine feet tall with the body of a bear, it stood on hind legs. Wicked claws tipped its fingers, sharp teeth lined its jaw, and twisted horns sharp as daggers stood atop the yeti’s head.

Flame licked at the beast’s fur as it barreled through the entrance. This only seemed to enrage it more. Suddenly, two arrows struck the back of its neck. The yeti fell face first onto the ground, still burning. Without needing any further motivation, the two fighters scurried back to the snowbank and turned to face the onslaught.

Seven more of the beasts tumbled out of the cave after the fire subsided. Enraged enough to brave the flames, the next yeti still dripped oil from the first flask. A wraith of fury and fire came towards them as the flames on the dead yeti ignited the combustible liquid. Howling and wailing, it lunged frantically at it’s attackers. Then it toppled over dead, overwhelmed by a salvo from the archers.

Growls echoed along the ridge. Each of the melee fighters screamed a response, some more panicked than others. Five yetis stampeded and Durg’s charged to oppose them. Arrows flew into the white hides from above as quickly as they could be loosed. Axe and hatchet blows reigned down on yeti hide or parried fierce claws.

Cire squared up on Durg's side, protecting his flank. He swung his sword with vigor. For a time they held the claws at bay. He got in a slash across one of the beasts' stomach, in what must have been a critical strike, and poured its steaming entrails onto the frozen earth below. A surge of desire blazed inside of Cire, he battered it down bitterly.

Dwarven iron cut muscles, tore hides, and blood dripped as his crazy companion laughed while being tossed by each of the yeti's heavy blows. Durg's fighting style was pure madness. Cire almost got caught up in the blood lust.

Out of nowhere, two boulders exploded into their line. Clipped on the shoulder, Nicolas tumbled backwards over a snowbank. His two-handed axe flew into the air haphazardly.

Durg got the worst of it. Blasted right in the chest, he flew back and into the drift. A resounding crack and screeching split the air. The stone and breastplate fell apart in pieces simultaneously. Lulling forward, the dwarfs chin thumped into that same piece of now broken metal as he slumped.

Undoubtedly that attack had taken most of Durg’s remaining HP, maybe even putting him into critical condition with a single hit. He was helpless. Five of the beasts remained standing, three bearing down on the fighters. The others turned to engage their archers with more rocks in hand.

“Protect him!” Cire yelled to Andreas as they both pulled up in front of their incapacitated comrade. Cire tried to think as he frantically parried claws and swung his sword in large defensive arcs. What could he do to buy them a reprieve? Wicked talons began to pierce his defense and injuries began to accumulate. If he used any of his active abilities he would be revealed. The terrible fear of losing what little he had at the possibility of being found out tempered his desire for blood, but did not silence it.

Impotent. Gritting his teeth, Cire felt fury and rage deep inside his mind, the vampire part of his soul livid at his weakness and the attempt at containment. Cire poured effort into his strikes as he gave up on defense, he could regenerate. Healing in that manner was slow and risky. However, it wouldn’t overtly uncover his race.

However, it was clear that their current tact would bring about defeat. For the first time in this world he attacked, not to survive, but to protect. Cire hardened his focus, keeping selfish desires far from his mind.

Sword strokes became a blur as he swung with every ounce of strength he could muster with each blow. One slash came down and almost severed the yeti on his right's arm. He took a slash of raking claws down his left forearm as a response, easily peeling through his cloth armor gauntlet. Another stroke of his sword came across in a wide swipe, backing the yeti’s up. Then he lunged, stabbing into the yeti on his left's gut.

Sinking deep into the beasts stomach, Cire pushed on, ramming the blade in up to the hilt and pressing his body into the beasts chest. Claws pierced his right thigh, the creature had managed to draw its left arm up and Cire had impaled himself. Pain of this measure was beyond what he had ever experienced and he swooned, almost fainting while cleaved to the monster. Unbidden, a scream of pain tore from his lips to mingle with the din of battle.

Two more arrows striking the beasts at his back with solid 'thwacks' brought him back to his senses. Yanking his sword from the beast was difficult as the pommel was now slick. He took another strike to his back, barely protected by his armor, trying to extricate his weapon and himself from his fallen opponent.

Whirling around, suddenly no enemies faced him. Andreas stood over one yeti with the blade of his axe lodged in its skull. The other yeti that had been in his immediate vicinity looked like a pincushion full of arrows. Several had sunk more than half their length into its flesh. The boulder throwers looked much the same, a mess of shafts with bloodied fletching.

Skirting around the pooling blood hesitantly, his stomach gurgled. With a full belly, others people in close vicinity, and battle adrenaline waning; the scent wafting from the corpses nauseated and tempted him. Cire tamped down the primal beast roaring inside his mind. I will NOT become an addict!

He limped over to where Durg was coughing and collapsed next to his new friend. After a few tense moments warring with himself, he shuddered and turned to the dwarf.

“You have a... unique fighting style there buddy. Maybe next time, avoid the projectile that is half your size.”

Cire winced as talking had pulled at the open wounds on his back. He also finally noticed that there was an icon flashing on the side of his vision. It was a little drop of blood. When he focused, he realized that it was a bleeding debuff, but it was minor and would expire soon. Instead of worrying about himself, his hand found the back of Durg's armor and helped to hold him up.

“How bad is Durg off?”

Came a shout from Stacy. Cire couldn't see him, but based on the direction of his voice, he was helping Nicolas.

Selene appeared in front of him as if from thin air and shoved some greenish-blue herbs into Durg's groaning and sputtering mouth. Her command was simple as was her response.

“Eat, swallow, do not move.”

Then she called back to Stace. “He will live, but his armor sundered.”

Before Cire could ask where the hell she had come from, she crammed his mouth with herbs as well. He scowled at her, but began to chew. She glared at him for a moment and then smiled before patting his cheek.

“Not bad. You knew you needed to attack or we would have been overrun.”

Shocked, Cire almost stopped breathing as he choked and then gulped down a large lump of herb pulp. Selene's confidence and ease matched Stace's, but it was her sudden shift in how she was reacting to him that left him speechless. Cire couldn’t tell if she was mocking him or not, it didn’t feel like it, but he couldn’t be sure. He offered her a slight nod and then began helping Durg remove his broken armor.

Joined by a pale pair of woodsmen and a sweating ranger, collectively the group recovered. Golden light glowed around Stacy's hands as he twisted his fingers. Then he placed his hands on Durg's and muttered a few incomprehensible words.

Relief was immediately apparent on the injured dwarf's face. He took a deep breath and hacked up a ball of phlegm before speaking.

“That bugger really got me good with that last shot. Thanks for coverin' me all.”

“Of course, we could not let you fail at your 'lil yeti hunt' as I believe you put it.”

Stace grinned as he reached down clasping the dwarf's arm and pulling him to his feet. “Now, if you are agreeable to it, I think Selene and I will check out the cave. If we find any more yeti we will not engage, but we should still check it out.”

Pausing for a moment, he let an apologetic look spread over his face. “I think that these are all of them, but I already misjudged the number because of the overlapping tracks. We are in no condition for another fight.”

Cire finally regained enough of his senses to contribute. “Please be our guests, you are accurate on that account. I will stay with Durg, Andreas, and Nicolas. We will work hard to keep the snow underneath us from floating away. An important task to be sure. Please let us know what you find.”

Selene actually chuckled at his joke and Stace’s easy smile graced his face as the two of them headed off towards the mouth of the cave.

Cire’s wounds healing brought about a now-familiar itching, but it was a welcome annoyance. To a person, there seemed to be an unsaid acknowledgment that the moment needed no words. Heavy breathing and the sounds of nature provided a backdrop to their recovery.

Cire conceptually understood that the entire engagement had only taken a few minutes. However, the savagery of the yeti and the adrenaline rushing through his veins had made time drip like honey. Stiffness and cramping wormed its way into Cire’s body. With a groan of assent to his aching muscles, he stood to avoid further pain. The temperature in the vicinity of their recent fight did not lend itself to staying loose. Sweat produced during the exertion had already started to freeze in their clothes and hair.

Both of the scouts returned quickly and moved over to the group. They bore assorted items in their hands and grins on their lips. Selene even had an air of excitement to her voice as she exclaimed the results of their search.

“Looks like these miscreants had some pretty treasures stored up in the back of their cave. I doubt anyone will be coming around to claim what we found.”

A twist of her lips at the last statement made it clear exactly why no one would arrive. Stace chimed in with the more salient details as far as Cire was concerned; loot was great, but not dying... that was the most fun you could have in a day.

“There are no more yeti as far as we can tell, although that cave is no monster lair. The yeti had been there for some time, you can tell that by the smell, but the stone was worked. That’s no naturally occurring cave. We need to come back here again when we are fresh.”

Selene brushed past Stace and handed each of the men an item in turn, along with a small pouch. She spoke to Cire in the nicest tone he had ever heard from her, it almost sounded sweet, disturbingly so.

“You may not be aware, but in the mountains we parse out what we find based on need first, ability second, and then we split the rest. This is your take, enjoy and use it well.”

The ghost of a sly smile flickered at the tips of her lips as she handed him a fine-looking blade. However, what made him relieved more than anything, was the three gold, seventeen silver, and about thirty odd loose copper pieces. He had a debt to pay after all.

Blessed Fine Steel Longsword

Attack: 2d6 (Slicing or Piercing)

Rarity: Rare

Quality: Professional

Effects:

1. +1 to hit.

2. Blessed: +1d6 damage to evil aligned beings.*

3. Counts as a magical weapon.

*Blessing ineffective when wielded by someone who is evil or bad aligned.