throat-goblin

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"Clonie", "dupe", "synthoid", I've heard 'em all. But I'll tell you this much: no synth has ever been called a warmie. There's a reason the natties are being phased out. They all grew up on some prissy fuckin' cushionworld, and it shows when they're out on the ice: they're lethargic, slow, like they got thermogel slathered between their synapses. They talk a lot of shit, but they don't know half of the meaning of it when they say War Forever. Buddy, it's been War Forever since the day I was spawned.

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Imagine being so bad of a catholic that the pope publically says you’re the worst one and then promptly dies after meeting you in person

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Smoked a grape swisher and listened to Halestorm under the light of a full moon, accidentally opened a portal to the Cookie Monster Pajama Dimension, now I'm trapped in a roguelike situation as I repeatedly attempt to escape to the surface world

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There's this one baby-faced, ice-for-brains mook in my unit, a real thawhead. I've got no idea how old he's supposed to be, but it's too damn young, one way or another. I used to think he was a warmie's warmie, and at first, he was. On our first few assignments, I figured he'd be a liability. I gave him about even odds of getting caught out and vaporized by an ion cannon on a moment to moment basis. He's still here, though, cleats on the sheets with the rest of us. He's a good kid--too good for life on this rock, Jove help him.

Whole unit was about to ice him themselves when we caught him splitting a squid brick with some sick clonie APC mechanic whose radshield went on the fritz. They would have left both of 'em out on their asses at the bottom of a glacial ravine if it weren't for me thawing out a little and talking the boys down. The clonie croaked in the end, about a cycle later. It was to be expected, synthetic DNA and radiation poisoning don't mix, but damn if I don't think of him. The kid's rubbing off on me, making me go soft, the bastard. Warmbloods like him are gonna be the death of us all.

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30-some-odd cycles ago--about 4 months in warmie units--I came out of the Incubation Ward. The natty iceheads call it the "Clonie Pits." I haven't been active for long, but I was assigned to a scouting division, so I've seen a lot. Too much. Bodies don't decay out on the ice, and part of our job is to try to ID them, tally up losses, and report the coords back to command. I've already run into it a few times, where I've looked into a visor, and it's been my own frozen face looking back at me. I'm getting used to it now, but the first time, it was a real mess--my faceplate smelled like bile for an entire cycle.

Sometimes, when I'm on sentry duty, and it's just me and Jove, I try to remember the first version of me. Who was she? Was she some warmie bitch who sold her biosig to corpos for a song, or was she peeled off of an ice sheet and harvested against her will? If she was here, did she know that she wouldn't escape this place, even in death? She must be in me, somewhere--I know, because there's some things I know without ever having learned them, things that go well beyond what any neural chip could teach you. The Terran words the natties throw around--shit like "picnic", "sweetheart", "summertime"--they *mean* something to me, they conjure up an image in my mind, more like a memory than an idea.

Let me put it to you this way: I've only ever existed on Europa, so how else could I be homesick for Terra?

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One last word of advice before I start charging a rate, warmie: don't touch the stims. It feels real good when you're coming up, but you won't even know what cold is until they wear off. Besides, the clones on tunnel duty will cough up a fistful of ration tabs for 'em--command doesn't even mind it, puts 'em on some real John Henry shit, and when they keel over, there's 3 more coming in right behind 'em.

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Some thawhead got us picked up by scanners just 'cause he ran afoul of a howler, ran clean across an ice sheet, arms flailing in front of Jove and everyone, led 'em right to our tunnels... I've got half a mind to stomp this warmie's visor in myself, but I'd rather watch him get turned into soft-serve by orbital artillery with the rest of us.

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An Ancient Orcish Scholar's Field Report On A Recent Human Settlement

I have, for some months, been observing the behavior and proclivities of the ape-men which were found to have settled a colony near our nation's border. I find my research to now be sufficient to report my findings in general terms which may be useful in advancing the understanding of my kin.

Upon our arrival, they received us kindly—at least, more kindly than I would have anticipated, given the accounts of skirmishes between our peoples in the region. The initial hostility and suspicion gave way once our party had managed to communicate our intentions to the best of our ability, although I remain under the impression that the Humans—as they call themselves—believe us to be diplomats rather than scholars. (The finer points of their language continue to elude us. It seems to change as rapidly as they do, and we are beginning to suspect that they seldomly say what they mean.)

Within mere days, we became a curiosity to the humans, and shortly thereafter, an obsession. It seemed that every individual (particularly the children) felt an audacious need to talk to us, or at least, *about* us. Unabashed gawking, finger-pointing, and huddled, excited murmurs were abound for several days before they seemed, suddenly, and nearly all at once, to completely lose interest in us and our endeavors.

As alluded to prior in regards to their language, Humans seem to be extremely mutable, mercurial beings. They are wont to become excited due to the most minor happenstance, but they seem to be just as suddenly bored by the very same occurrence. They are quick to anger, quick to forgive, quick to laughter, and quick to tears. Most notably, perhaps, is how easily they seem to fall in and out of love! I have witnessed an inseparable pair lose interest in one another overnight, and I have witnessed seeming strangers stalk off to their quarters together after having only known each other for moments.

They seem always to be in a rush. Humans are very industrious, and seem obsessed with the idea that any given undertaking can always be done better and faster. Several of my peers suggest that this may be due to their short life-spans, but I doubt that they have a much greater sense of mortality than that of other, more long-lived peoples. Nevertheless, there is an ostensible cultural emphasis on ambition, which they seem to consider an utmost virtue. To toil and to strive, and to let no moment go to waste is believed by them to be glorious, and most all of their legends seem to revolve around this drive to surpass their limitations.

To their more basic habits, they seem to characteristically fling themselves fully into each of their endeavors. They work slavishly, eat heartily, learn rapidly, and breed like rodents. Their children develop and reach maturity at astounding rates, especially given how helpless and incapacitated their offspring are at birth. It may take a Human whelp upwards of a year to learn how to walk, but they tend to be fully physically developed before their twentieth year.

Their numbers are truly astonishing. My personal theory on the source of their industriousness is that the rapidity of their gestation requires incredible infrastructure to support the exponential population growth their species can achieve in such a short period of time. The sheer scale and efficiency of their farming practices serves to baffle the mind. Humans obsessively hoard and curate an ever-growing food surplus, and many of their culinary practices seem to prioritize the conversion of perishable goods into staple foodstuffs which may be preserved for long periods of time. Once again, there is a fascination with possessing more than is needed of any given resource.

The nearly-immeasurable scope of their population (in conjunction with their strong-willed and protean temperaments) leads to much infighting. According to their histories, ideas can rise and fall within a lifetime, and very little remains in fashion for very long. Humans are concerningly bellicose; they make war just as readily as they make love—I will divulge that several of my compatriots can verify the speed I wish to convey through this comparison.

Their readiness to lay waste to one another is horrifying. Fleeting passions can spiral into incredible violence. One example which gave me pause is that, by the laws of this settlement, the punishment for slaying another Human is for the perpetrator himself to be slain. Seldom is meaningful restitution granted to the friends and loved ones of the slain; rather, they are meant to be contented by the cold, cruel comfort that the friends and loved ones of the perpetrator suffer just as they do. There is to be had no rehabilitation, no restitution, nothing but some stark sense of impartial symmetry.

I will confess that our initial goal in this place was to assess the physical and martial capabilities of these strange ape-men, and many of the observations made in this account were driven by my own curiosity. While I will leave the bulk of my findings on the military capability of the Humans to the official report, I will share the following:

If ever you find yourself in conflict with a Human, make certain that you end it as soon as possible. Humans learn quickly, tire slowly, and above all else, they refuse to stay down. A Human will always, always find a way to get back on their feet, until you ensure that they cannot.

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The thing they won't tell you about the art of war present within multiplayer turn-based strategy games is that the funniest play you can make is also often the best play you can make. You can genuinely become an above-average player by just thinking to yourself, "what play can I make that would piss off my opponent(s) to the greatest extent?" and then doing exactly that

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Trans women will say "I need a mommy domme to tell me what to do" and then get mad when I play UW control against them.... Like omg girl pick one

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Little Lady 🔍📓

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He is everything.

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Florence will use any excuse to pull out the sexy playboy bunny outfit. Halloween, Easter, Valentine's Day, Grayson's birthday, etc., etc.

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Playing a 5e Wizard is all about taking the laziest possible path towards ensuring that the monsters don't get to have a single productive turn, and I think that's sexy

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Haughty

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Haughty