08-11-2008, 10:29 PM
Sing, o merciless sirens, the minor tribulations of Stratafyre.
Rightful lieutenant of Poseidon, forced by circumstance and,
lack of job experience, to toil as a lowly peon in the grand
machinations of the lord of horses and earthquakes.
The sun shone upon the steel leviathan, like a rusted phoenix,
rising from the ocean with the infinite malicious scent of a
thousand dead fish. Their mission to strip the sea clean of
anything resembling edible was completed yet again.
Thus did Stratafyre escape from his own personal Hades,
fleeing across the skies with a pocket full of fishy gold.
As is the case with any of the mortal race, this overwhelming
amount of affluence burned its way free within days.
A new machine, forged by Hephaestus himself, and graced
with both the speed of Hermes and the intelligence of Athena,
he sought to test his craftsmanship against the monsters of
the Earth, challenging the titan Crysis.
The ground shook and buckled beneath their feet, but it was
clear in the end who the victor was. Crysis lay torn and
mangled on the ground, the setting of Very High not quite
high enough to defeat the machine of Stratafyre.
And thus, the machine was christened âHand Bananaâ for
the capacity to rape Crysis. However, what was this?
Team Fortress 2, only $20? Stratafyre recalled his days,
a decade hence, playing connect the red dots.
He would need to find a server, one that held between
10 and 20 others, and two forts. There was one, with
an acceptable ping. Through the course of the next hour,
he discovered that which would keep him coming back.
For example, the fact that it was always âAll jorgeâ,
That the sweaters were always really soft, so long
as you hid outside of the spawn point with sticky
grenades and an evil grin.
More importantly, halfway tolerable voice chat,
that neither killed his ears nor left him consistently
bored. A server that always had players, and
increasingly recognizable player names.
Soon enough, an invite was sent, to join a group
of Steam. Random events and a consistently middling
score, and an introduction post was requested.
But it had best be good, he was warned.
Jokingly, the format of Epic Poem was suggested,
but this was taken farther than originally anticipated.
And here we are, an epic poem, of man and machine,
and how they came to be right back, uninstalling.
Rightful lieutenant of Poseidon, forced by circumstance and,
lack of job experience, to toil as a lowly peon in the grand
machinations of the lord of horses and earthquakes.
The sun shone upon the steel leviathan, like a rusted phoenix,
rising from the ocean with the infinite malicious scent of a
thousand dead fish. Their mission to strip the sea clean of
anything resembling edible was completed yet again.
Thus did Stratafyre escape from his own personal Hades,
fleeing across the skies with a pocket full of fishy gold.
As is the case with any of the mortal race, this overwhelming
amount of affluence burned its way free within days.
A new machine, forged by Hephaestus himself, and graced
with both the speed of Hermes and the intelligence of Athena,
he sought to test his craftsmanship against the monsters of
the Earth, challenging the titan Crysis.
The ground shook and buckled beneath their feet, but it was
clear in the end who the victor was. Crysis lay torn and
mangled on the ground, the setting of Very High not quite
high enough to defeat the machine of Stratafyre.
And thus, the machine was christened âHand Bananaâ for
the capacity to rape Crysis. However, what was this?
Team Fortress 2, only $20? Stratafyre recalled his days,
a decade hence, playing connect the red dots.
He would need to find a server, one that held between
10 and 20 others, and two forts. There was one, with
an acceptable ping. Through the course of the next hour,
he discovered that which would keep him coming back.
For example, the fact that it was always âAll jorgeâ,
That the sweaters were always really soft, so long
as you hid outside of the spawn point with sticky
grenades and an evil grin.
More importantly, halfway tolerable voice chat,
that neither killed his ears nor left him consistently
bored. A server that always had players, and
increasingly recognizable player names.
Soon enough, an invite was sent, to join a group
of Steam. Random events and a consistently middling
score, and an introduction post was requested.
But it had best be good, he was warned.
Jokingly, the format of Epic Poem was suggested,
but this was taken farther than originally anticipated.
And here we are, an epic poem, of man and machine,
and how they came to be right back, uninstalling.
