Some days I feel like an addict, waiting on bated breath to see if the projects that consume our daily thought rise to their hyped expectations. Others, I feel like the shy kid in the back of the class who knows all the answers and can solve the problems, and subsequently wants to tear the command away from those who seem so inherently misguided.
Anywho, been tagging along with this tidal wave for going on 17 years now, since my Grandmother gave me a SNES with Super Mario World when I was 3. Since then I've mostly been a Nintendo/PC player up until 2004 when I branched out to get my grubby hands on anything I could.
I currently own a PS3 and Wii, and am re-buying a 360 this April due to a squabble over MS's return policy.
Currently: I'm only playing steam games at this point in dorm life. But ANYONE who wants to play Left 4 Dead, Team Fortress 2, or whatever Valve spews out is more than welcome to add me.
Steam ID: ViralHunter
Personal Top 5, sans order : Half-life 2 (Brought me into an online community for the first time)
Warcraft 3 (Taught me that a game could be far more than what the devs could ever imagine it would be used for)
Shadow of the Colossus (Impeccable art direction and a constant flow of unforgettable setpiece encounters left me breathless)
Metroid Prime (Immersion has no one better to shoulder its name)
Majora's Mask (Only beating out Ocarina because 1. It was far more refined and polished, sustaining a world that oozed with atmosphere and 2. It was my personal intro to one of my now favorite franchises).
Down a stone hall, hoof steps echo through the chamber, reverberating off the walls lined with caricatured statues of mighty beasts. A man sits atop a dark steed, his frame lightly hunched over as some sense of unease permeates from his demeanor. The young man is wander. He is young, undeniably young, probably seventeen or eighteen by an observer’s guess. Acne dots his brow, a greased mane of bed smudged hair tumbles in violent strands to his shoulder, just resting on the shoulder of his dirty, tomato sauce and saliva stained poncho. An idle hand is resting on a white package curving over the hind of the steed. What is being delivered is a woman in a white dress, her name being Mono, but she rests not quite in sleep but in a state far further removed. She is oblivious in a near-coma, unaware of Wander’s friendly fingers tracing the curves of her fleshy breasts.
By the end of the hall, the horse sets to rising a small staircase, bringing the riding pair to a stone ritualistic slab overlooking the outside plains. Wander lifts the woman from the horse, although her weight surprises him initially. He is forced to toss her onto the slab rather than let her down, yielding a violent crack from her body. Something might’ve broke, he looks inquisitive, but the matter is unimportant now and he turns away. The horse, named Agro immediately becomes impatient and follows a group of white birds, who in turn now seek to maintain their distance. Wander turns to the ceiling, or rather, a fraction of the sky piercing through a small hole in the ceiling.
A voice from the heavens speaks, “Oy! So this broad’s the new quarry, eh?!”
Wander’s arms folds, he looks about, head shaking. Then when he finds his assured composure he speaks, “I need her back.” His voice had cracked, and as he realizes the embarrassment his hand covers his mouth. He soon shakes it off and steadies himself, “OK. I know you can do this. I brought her for you. For you to revive her. You have to understand, I’ll do anything, ya know, anything you ask for. Just I need her to come back, all right?”
A pause. The clouds, if that’s what they were, appear to part or muddle themselves as if they were its thoughts. “All right,” it acknowledged. “But think, at least for a moment, about this one. You really think she’s worth the effort?”
Wander nods, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“You’re gonna have to be. If I were you, I’d think back a bit. Try to take it all into perspective and realize if she’s truly gonna be all over you if she pulls outta this one.”
Wander takes a step back. He couldn’t help but do what the voice said. His mind soon begins to wander as well. The thoughts, memories, emotions came into view, and soon, he was back.
It was highschool. Class of 1171 was on their way out the iron doors and into the arms of the professional world, full of slaughtering pigs and killing monotheists who fought against their colossi gods. This was one of the last parties Wander would have with his classmates. They all knew they were parting ways soon, so the mead flowed freely this night. The house party was full of familiar faces, but one in particular always held Wander’s eye. The girl, Mono, was walking about, her beautiful smile emerging as the friends each passed by with greetings.
Wander had courage now, the alcohol at least telling him he did, so he walked up to her. “Mono.”
“Party’s a real drag isn’t it, Wander,” she surprisingly attested to, finalizing the statement with a belch.
He blinked. “It is?”
Wide eyed, she nodded, “Yeah, for Christ’s sake, look.” She motioned towards the next room, outside the kitchen. In it, two figures were kissing on a couch, the female much taller than the male, a horn somehow protruding from the jumbled mass. “Ico and Yorda are making out. Can you believe that? They’ve been practically platonic for years now, the furthest they’ve ever gone was hold hands.”
“Yeah,” he surmised. “That’s surprising.”
Mono quietly laughed a bit to herself, her glass of Fumjito returning to the kitchen table. She looked to Wander, soft, rounded eyes calling out to him, “But, you know. I don’t want to be left in the dust, too.”
The mead must’ve taken over Wander. “You think you can 1-up them?”
“No,” she whispered. “I think we can.”
And so, hand in hand, they too left the party, just now dying down. As they left through the kitchen door, Ico and Yorda’s movements became more erratic. In the middle of it all, Ico took his hat off. It, along with a long, curved horn made its way down the side of their bodies slowly, towards a new point of impact. On Yorda’s face a new emotion emerged, one built from near fear, but soon melted in pure ecstasy.
Wander’s parent’s home was only a quarter mile away just down the cul-de-sac. Behind the house, he brought his newfound mate to a wooden cart full of hay that, by day, was drawn by his father’s mules. Their tongues already met before their bodies fell into the straw bed. Kisses came and went, each rendered pointless as another sought to fill the void. Mono moaned, a beautiful erotic moan, and Wander couldn’t help but interpret it as a mating call, redirecting bloodflow, growing him, bringing him ever closer. His hand went for her round bottom, the one he would always find himself drawn to stare at in class, the object of comfort getting him through those long, hard school days. Something else was long and hard now. Her own aura producing hand found its way between the compressed pairing of flesh. Its movements soon became rhythmic, and Wander bit down on the side of her neck, nearly tearing at her in his own nearly explosive feeling of arousal. She moaned again.
Wander held her arm, preventing it all from boiling over. “Wait,” he saw that her lips were parted, her cheeks reddened but still full of purity in the pale moonlight.
She gave him a soft peck, “I want you inside me…”
It slid easily within her heat. The two united, Wander pushing himself all the way until there was nothing left to push. She squeezed her shoulders, her moaning now heightened beyond grunts and now all the night air was singing with her warm escapes of breath. Wander eased back, her body released from tension; but only momentarily as he moved himself towards her again. And again. And again. She was his now, a possession so uncaring about anything else so that he could have his way with her. The seed was prepped and ready to pass. Wander’s forehead lay upon her right breast. His eyes bounced along with nipple, a swaying shadow set against the moon. She held his head in that position. She squeezed it as well, holing him tight as she was taken to pleasuring places she had never dreamed existed. Soon enough, as it all came to its wondrous height, Wander came.
“No, no, no,” the voice behind the clouds interrupts. “More than that. Your father, think about what he told you about the girl.”
“To stop doing her in mono and go for stereo?”
“Oh, shut up!” it bellows. “Think back again, this time to what he told you about staying with her. That you can’t leave.”
Those thoughts, as unromantic as they may have been in comparison to a hay wagon in the backyard, began to trickle back to the forefront of his mind.