I'm standing on the edge of a monster nest, a variety of speckled, striped, and star-patterned eggs sprawling in front of me. I rummage through the eggs, choosing a purple and green one. It's larger than my torso. I heft it and hobble away from the nest.
My monster, Kandy, follows at an eager trot. She's a Yian Kut-Ku, meaning she has a
throaty orange beak, decorative head-flaps, and wings. She looks nervous. A cat called Navirou rides on her back, whispering warnings. Just then: a monster appears. A honey badger the size of a polar bear, with vibrant streaks of neon yellow and blue. It rears and flickers a huge tongue.
I run with my egg, desperately trying to escape the monster as it charges. Considerations flash through my head: am I ready for a battle? Is this egg even worth the fuss?
The monster misjudges, slams into a wall. I just barely squeak away.
When I return to the village, I hatch my pilfered egg. I take my 3DS stylus and gently tap the egg, causing cracks to fissure across its surface. It splits open, casting particles of light across my upper screen: Arzuros. My new monster.
what's so special about this installment?
I've tried Monster Hunter games in the past in search of a long-lasting gaming experience, but they all felt too lonesome and overwhelming. Monster Hunter Stories is different.
I was immediately drawn into its hyper-saturated world. Hakum Village, the beginning hub and home to Monster Riders, is arranged for utmost intimacy and familiarity. The protagonist's house is adorned with whimsical ornaments; a jack-o-lantern, a plush velocidrome; everything about the color palette evokes memories of childhood.
While equally colorful, the world outside Hakum Village feels more alien. The landscape is scenic but sparse. Almost primordial. Monsters amble through meadows, forests, and craggy mountains. Most will attack if you enter their sightlines, initiating a turn-based battle system.
Whereas the vastness in mainline Monster Hunter games feels isolating, the vastness in Stories makes me feel more attached to my monsters who act as companions, mounts, and battle-partners. Nothing is quite so thrilling as whistling for my monster and then hopping on her back. I adore watching her talons stir leaves or snow from the ground as we gallop spiritedly towards our next destination. You can even fly on monsters. I've flown my Rathalos over deserts, hills, and crags towards tantalizing blue mountains. While I love watching the scenery unfold, it's almost more rewarding just to study my monster's rippling, membranous wings. The whip of her tail. The tug of wind. In such an open world, I never thought I would focus so much on the little details, from the inquisitive tilt of a Yian Kut-Ku's head to the lumbering sway of an Aptonoth. Monster Hunter Stories is beautiful.
so let's talk about the monsters...
It's no surprise that Stories is often compared to Pokemon. After all, you're collecting and fighting with a variety of (not-so-pocket-sized) monsters. The designs are top-notch, spanning from majestic to downright whimsical. In my current party, I have fearsome cast of "monsties," including a shark-amphibian I've named Zippo and an eyeless wyvern named Radish. My favorite designs are those that resemble avian dinosaurs (think: bright colors, wings, claws, and feathered tails.) The monster designs often feel both playful and ingenious, like actual evolutionary possibilities.
With a cast of beasts so varied and ferocious, how does Monster Hunter Stories explain human-monster companionship? This alliance is made possible via "kinship stones." A kinship stone consists of a bracelet ornamented with a glowing blue gem. This stone allows Riders to activate powers during battle. Kinship powers function like Z-moves in Pokemon, except the animations are far more fluid, atmospheric, and diverse--not to mention: each monster has its own power! This adds oodles of personality to an already lovable roster of creatures.
let's talk about monster "domestication"
Like any spinoff game, Monster Hunter Stories approaches its mainline franchise from a new perspective. It does so by asking the following question: "what if monsters were beloved companions?"
This question puts MHST at odds with the main series, wherein hunters methodically attack, kill, and plunder their prey. While this cycle is also present in Stories, there's a greater need to justify why monsters should be killed. Stories justifies this with "the Blight," a mysterious illness that turns monsters savage. Monsters afflicted with the Blight lose all agency. A purplish-black mist seeps from their bodies.
There are a number of elegiac moments in Stories after defeating a blighted monster, when you (the protagonist) and Navirou mourn over its condition. Moments like these are offset by hundreds of other battles with non-blighted monsters to grind levels and gather materials. The contradictory "respect-and-neglect" for monster life comes from its main series roots. This is, after all, a Monster Hunter game.
concluding thoughts
Stories is more than happy to celebrate the bond between you and your monsties, but it shies away from a darker truth: you've raised your monsters from an egg to fight against their own kind.
I'm not as alarmed by this in other monster-taming franchises. Pokemon are integrated into human life, serving as assistants, pets, and companions. Battles are not life-threatening. Digimon can talk, so there's a certain degree of agency in their alliance with humanity. The more I think about it, the less Monster Hunter Stories feels like a a tale about "fantastical monsters," and the more it feels like a tale about wilderness and domestication.
Who raised the first wolf as a pet? When did someone first pilfer a bird's egg from the nest and call themselves a falconer? Is it "natural" to tame other species and are we bridging a divide in doing so, or stealing something precious from nature?
I consider these things as a sneak into a rare monster den with Kandy trotting doggedly behind me. After dodging velociprey and aptonoth, I stumble into a quiet chamber. On a high mound, surrounded by rocks and ivy, I find a clutch of monster eggs. They are purple and yellow. I must grab one quickly or else a monster will find me. I rustle through the eggs. I heft one to my chest. It's smelly and heavy. Life wriggles beneath its shell. Navirou voices a warning as I hobble away, carrying the next generation of monsters with me.
