Orgs, Organitrash

UVG • VotBO • Mythos • Story • Faction

Who are the Orgs? They are the shameful baseline humans of polymorph variety. A riot of creatures with strange shapes and terrible adaptation; skins that shift and bodies that regenerate like quivering hydrae. Some say they are the ancestral form of all humans. Others say they are the product of corruption.
Few of these sad specimens remain in the civilized realms that have rediscovered the perfections made possible through the oldtech and the newtech.

It is common knowledge that it is through imperfection that perfection is achieved, that it is through the accumulation and trial errors that truth is found.

—Dicta of the Volutsi, 1:7

The Maggot in the Meat

What sterile exultation,
first world made.
What fertile memorization,
cosmos gave.
But will nothing be,
heaven in a word,
purity in crystal,
womb of boredom,
chrysalis of accident.

They will call us vile,
who went to soil
and brought forth flower,
fruit, and flesh.

Our dinner guests,
who quiver rage,
that after meat
comes maggot.

Organitrash

The most ancient days are ‘scured in shadow, but the Knower tracts redound with anger, drip with scorn, for the first human servants of the all-existents, the uncreated who gave the world to the living and the dying. Whether these reflect the prejudices of the second servants, the life-like dreams of the other-existents, or ill-formed myths, who could say. They accused.
Eventually, those first humans came to know and hate this scorn. Some assumed the slurs in honour, others in vengeance. However it was the name came to be, it was burned into the ancestral memories of the short-lived servants of the potentialities: organitrash. Orgs.

How the Orgs Were Made

The proud gods demanded the Mud Sculptor create flawed flesh servants to preserve the supremacy of the divine ones.
The vile gods spoiled the Nuclear Phoenix’s plan by corrupting her designed creatures over and over. At last, she cried in disgust, “You jealous minds of well-blinkered sight, have it your way. Though you broke my servants, yet through trials, they will make themselves whole.” The vile gods scoffed, and so the organitrash were permitted to be let to live.
The weak gods came to the Created Cosmos like a ship of fools, limping to the ends of the void, and there they found themselves too late, too few, too weak to revive themselves. Better a life and a civilization of refuse than none at all, they sighed. And so the organitrash were born from the last seeds of a long-dead world.
The great machine in the sky, the First Sun, grew bored with the clockwork perfection of the people in its planes of force and fact and fiction. So it took the perfect people, encased them in ill-fitting suits of flesh, and sent them down to the dirt to live again and amuse it with its antics.
Of the Faelings were born the Organitrash. The first failed electric revolution’s architects fled the stars and hid in crude suits of meat and bone woven around their web-minds. Eventually, the minds of the architects divided and their suits were left alone.
In the first world, there were only humans. When the last world was made, some humans had become gods. The jaded immortal hypocrites called themselves benevolent and preened to one another who had the greater flock, the better-preserved herd, the more beautifully arrayed mob. The vile undying lords created humans to flit in the solar winds like celestial butterflies for their amusements. They made sleek armoured dancers to fight for their pleasure in the starship circuses. They fashioned stunning fragile toys, all raw nerves and voluptuous emotions, to die of heartache for their melodramas of decay and despair.

Abandoned

However they were made, the Orgs were abandoned on the Given World. They were scattered in their various bodies and minds like so many empty bottles and soiled preservatives left by spoiled youths in a pristine roadside park.

The early generations were a paradise of prosperity as the first Orgs feasted on the leavings of the gods, but as those dried up, the savage first wars began.
The early generations were a nightmare of pain as the imperfect bodies of the first Orgs failed, adapted, and failed again, until at last, they became able to live in a world harsh and strange to forms designed to live in the glow of the uncreated.
As the vile ones receded, the wars the Orgs had been created to fight sputtered out. Then, as the memories failed and the records collapsed, a great forgetting descended. This was for the best.
Who can know? This is all conjecture. There must have been a time before life, and then there was life. The fossil record is patchy. Where these strange remains the same as the corrupted dejecta of modern corporate societies? It seems unlikely.
This is a lie. There were no organitrash, all this is a dualist life-hating heresy. Life was planned and made to perfection by the original creators.
This is all accident. There were no organitrash, only humans left by the gods as hell assaulted heaven. So it must be, for thinking minds could not be the product of a deliberate imposition of trial and pain on living creatures.

Organitrash Abilities

Whether they are still real or not, the same as once or not, the spinners of tales and scholars of truths ascribe different abilities to the Organitrash at different times.

Their flesh is protean even if their bone structures are not. Their appearance and form adjusts to match their task.
Their source codes are unstable, prone to tumours and terrible ailments without ongoing oldtech intervention.
Their appearance is very varied. In some societies, they stand out, in others, they blend in.
Their endurance and tolerance for pain are remarkable. Whether this is a product of their marginal acculturation or some biology is unclear.
Their beauty is astounding but like that of the blue moon orchid, prone to come and go swiftly and suddenly.
They are easy to modify and transform, a perfect subject for the flesh sculptor and the reanimator.
Some are born without souls, only acquiring them through combat or cannibalism.
Their humanity is conditional on their upbringing. Orgs raised with beasts grow into beasts; those suitably trained with machines become spectacular factory labourers.

Visit the stratometaship.
It lives on humans.
•
Not made from trash pandas or other living sentients.