Iceborne [Solo]
Feb 16, 2020 0:05:38 GMT
Post by Lars Kjartan Morana on Feb 16, 2020 0:05:38 GMT
"Everything is going to be fine". Yes, everything.
He had checked the harness, the axes and the crampons multiple times before embarking, just like his mother and father told him; he was getting way too confident, they thought. Lars, on the other hand, only went through his usual preparation for the journey: it's just another wall, another climb like all the others. It was just a little taller than average.
His companion and he had to wait inside the tent for what was supposed to be the hardest part of the climb; mount Shishapangma was no joke, and it necessarily had to be climbed in groups of two to ensure everyone made it out alive. Despite this, Lars just couldn't stand being assigned a tutor for the task - a tutor? Him? Unheard of. His own willpower was more than enough to make up for it.
Just that morning he had checked on his little toy, his fortune charm, and gave a piece of digital meat to his digital friend. "Boreas", he called him, although his father used to call him "Blainn". What a stupid name, he thought, the little guy didn't remotely look like a Blainn; that was what he could make of his pixelated appearance, at least. Definitely not a Blainn.
"Aren't you a little too old to play games?" Matthew asked. Matthew was an old friend of dad's, a raven-haired general douchebag who Lars just couldn't stand. His dad would have mocked the guy, and probably told him "it's just a keychain, cut him some slack", or something of the sort; father always backed him up when he felt like he was being picked on. The golden-haired boy decided to simply not reply.
"We're going now," Lars said of a sudden, "if we don't do it today, we might as well go all the way back." The man's eyes widened: "Excessive, isn't it? Let's rest a few more hours." Lars shook his head, and peeked outside the tent. "Hail has stopped, it's the right time to go."
Matthew sighed, and started packing his things.
Lodge the axe in, make sure it's rock solid; get some good footing, kicking the spikes into the wall; the other pick, and then the other foot. Climbing a wall of iceclad rock was the easiest way to get stuck in a loop of repeated actions, easily losing focus; the hail was to pick up again, and it helped Lars keep his brain active and his goal set.
"I'm going up!" Lars Kjartan said, waiting for the leader's acknowledgement. "Okay!" Matthew said; "Roger!" the boy replied. Their three-way handshake was a necessary part of climbing and making sure the other knows exactly when to push forward. So, command after command, they slowly climbed upwards to the summit of the near-vertical wall.
Ice climbing, even when done in pairs, doesn't come without risks. The expert climber must know when to start, when to stop, when to rest and generally they must hold their own against the most dangerous of situations. Sometimes, accidents happen.
Lars' crampons, whose spikes were supposed to be very strong and highly effective, weren't lodging properly into the ice any longer. He shrugged it off as tiredness, and went on without giving it too much thought: it had already happened in the past, and they were getting near the top anyways. His shoulders were burning, his thighs were plotting revenge against him; and yet, he moved on.
His muscles might have burned hot, but his heart burned hotter.
After a few more steps upwards, one of his axes gave out and split in two. He looked at the handle in disbelief: it was as if his luck had run out that day. "Where's my Boreas now?..." he muttered under his breath, looking downwards to his pants. The light blue keychain was still attached to the pocket's zipper; he really needed some of that good luck, the kind only his fortune charm could give him. The prolonged silence raised suspicions in Matthew: "Everything okay down there?" he asked.
"I'm having some issues with the equi-" Lars couldn't finish his sentence when a sudden gust of wind knocked his right foot off the ice, making him swivel around the rope; the harness gave out, and Lars felt nothing. Where his equipment had been pushing against his skin, he felt no force at all.
"It seems my luck has run out..." he thought, as he plummeted towards the indistinct white fog below, disappearing like a pebble in muddy waters.
He had checked the harness, the axes and the crampons multiple times before embarking, just like his mother and father told him; he was getting way too confident, they thought. Lars, on the other hand, only went through his usual preparation for the journey: it's just another wall, another climb like all the others. It was just a little taller than average.
His companion and he had to wait inside the tent for what was supposed to be the hardest part of the climb; mount Shishapangma was no joke, and it necessarily had to be climbed in groups of two to ensure everyone made it out alive. Despite this, Lars just couldn't stand being assigned a tutor for the task - a tutor? Him? Unheard of. His own willpower was more than enough to make up for it.
Just that morning he had checked on his little toy, his fortune charm, and gave a piece of digital meat to his digital friend. "Boreas", he called him, although his father used to call him "Blainn". What a stupid name, he thought, the little guy didn't remotely look like a Blainn; that was what he could make of his pixelated appearance, at least. Definitely not a Blainn.
"Aren't you a little too old to play games?" Matthew asked. Matthew was an old friend of dad's, a raven-haired general douchebag who Lars just couldn't stand. His dad would have mocked the guy, and probably told him "it's just a keychain, cut him some slack", or something of the sort; father always backed him up when he felt like he was being picked on. The golden-haired boy decided to simply not reply.
"We're going now," Lars said of a sudden, "if we don't do it today, we might as well go all the way back." The man's eyes widened: "Excessive, isn't it? Let's rest a few more hours." Lars shook his head, and peeked outside the tent. "Hail has stopped, it's the right time to go."
Matthew sighed, and started packing his things.
Lodge the axe in, make sure it's rock solid; get some good footing, kicking the spikes into the wall; the other pick, and then the other foot. Climbing a wall of iceclad rock was the easiest way to get stuck in a loop of repeated actions, easily losing focus; the hail was to pick up again, and it helped Lars keep his brain active and his goal set.
"I'm going up!" Lars Kjartan said, waiting for the leader's acknowledgement. "Okay!" Matthew said; "Roger!" the boy replied. Their three-way handshake was a necessary part of climbing and making sure the other knows exactly when to push forward. So, command after command, they slowly climbed upwards to the summit of the near-vertical wall.
Ice climbing, even when done in pairs, doesn't come without risks. The expert climber must know when to start, when to stop, when to rest and generally they must hold their own against the most dangerous of situations. Sometimes, accidents happen.
Lars' crampons, whose spikes were supposed to be very strong and highly effective, weren't lodging properly into the ice any longer. He shrugged it off as tiredness, and went on without giving it too much thought: it had already happened in the past, and they were getting near the top anyways. His shoulders were burning, his thighs were plotting revenge against him; and yet, he moved on.
His muscles might have burned hot, but his heart burned hotter.
After a few more steps upwards, one of his axes gave out and split in two. He looked at the handle in disbelief: it was as if his luck had run out that day. "Where's my Boreas now?..." he muttered under his breath, looking downwards to his pants. The light blue keychain was still attached to the pocket's zipper; he really needed some of that good luck, the kind only his fortune charm could give him. The prolonged silence raised suspicions in Matthew: "Everything okay down there?" he asked.
"I'm having some issues with the equi-" Lars couldn't finish his sentence when a sudden gust of wind knocked his right foot off the ice, making him swivel around the rope; the harness gave out, and Lars felt nothing. Where his equipment had been pushing against his skin, he felt no force at all.
"It seems my luck has run out..." he thought, as he plummeted towards the indistinct white fog below, disappearing like a pebble in muddy waters.