Neptune's Pride
- Thread starter Ronin Storm
- Start date
Panda with issues...
Well-Known Member
What's a little pregame banter between friends? I didn't let it affect my actual play at all. I thought you were thicker skinned.
Panda with issues...
Well-Known Member
I'm a fan of gunboat diplomacy...
Panda with issues...
Well-Known Member
I've no idea what he's doing. I saw you launch over a hundred ships towards him, and took advantage of the opportunity to secure my northern border from your warmongering, and make my populace feel safe again.
Panda with issues...
Well-Known Member
Yes, because I've taken so many of your worlds
You massed over 130 ships on my northern border. I had 40 there. Does that sound threatening?
Panda with issues...
Well-Known Member
There were no threats issued towards you in the game. I even ceded you a selection of fantastic high value worlds, which you proceeded to industrialise and sit on in a threatening manner.
thatbloke
Junior Administrator
Any idea what he's supposed to do with them other than that?
Tempscire
Active Member
Exactly. I repeat: Deterrent.
Still, c'est la vie. All is fair in xenolove and galactic war.
Ghostwolf67
Well-Known Member
All I have to say is that its wrong how much I love this game.
Panda with issues...
Well-Known Member
Economicise them? Make some sort of effort to not look like he's building an invasion fleet of doom?
I don't want to know anything about your intergalactic perversions.
I'm enjoying it too.
I think the game will be pretty much decided in a week.
Remember bloke, you shouldn't start what you can't finish.
That's all I have to say about that.
Panda with issues...
Well-Known Member
Haha, so true!
Panda with issues...
Well-Known Member
"Citizens of the Threshark Expansion, our time is upon us. War is upon our doorstep. For the second time in a generation, we find ourselves engaged in a conflict not of our making, but one we WILL make our own. We find ourselves afflicted by the blight of senseless aggression and warmongering of species inimical to our way of life. For the second time in our generation, the cowardly Traxatans look upon our verdant, joyous worlds with beady, acquisitive eyes. Your paternal spawners and their paternal spawners consigned their existence into oblivion to ensure the peaceful time of plenty we have enjoyed for the past decades. The renegade AI DocBot has performed its cold mechanical calculations and repeatedly run its logic routines, assessing a strongly positive percentile outcome for his silicon empire. The poor, foolish Traxatans have sided with the logical menace, without realising that all biological life is but a number to it, a number assigned no worth.
I pity the gullible Traxatans, as do we all, but steel your pulmonary pumps and gird your threshing limbs for war. There will be no quarter shown by the enemy, and in turn we shall show them no quarter, for we three species are anathematical to one another.
Even now, your mates and spawn have been evacuated and relocated to our rear. They are safe as long as we show utter resolve and never allow our colours to run from this cold, bloody war. Many of them will never see their home worlds again, and many of us will perish, knowing only that will they live on. Know though, that every minute we buy with our pulmonary fluids, every hour we stall the ravening horde, billions more of them are safely loaded aboard the arkships. The vagaries of space and time ensure that if ever we were to meet them again, we will be old and unrecognisable to them. In essence, we are already consigned to the void. This makes us more powerful than our enemies can ever know.
We can fight without fear of the void, without worry for our loved ones, our friends and spawn brothers are beside us, each of us ready to sell their being for the dearest price. We shall persecute the enemy with the utmost prejudice, but always rationally. While the Traxatans fall victim to the cold machinations of the AI, and the fear in their hearts they have held for so long after we secured our borders years ago, we shall never lose track of our aim: to take a vicious toll on them that they will never forget, and never recover from. Their future descendents will shudder at the thought of our proud defence, and they will remember the futility of their actions, how they consigned millions of their virile warriors into the toothed maw of our stalwart rearguard action. They will dash themselves upon us like waves on the cliffs, but we will hold. We cannot fail to hold, for the entire fate of the civilised eastern galactic fringe depends on the Threshark Expansion. Shipwrights of the orbital shipyards: Every ship you create is another to bleed the enemy, every ship you repair, a blade twisted in his guts. Scientists of the research guild: Every breakthrough in weapons technology you make teaches the enemy to fear our righteous wrath. Engineers of the Navy: Every percentile of speed you deliver allows more of our kin to escape to safety, and our military vessels to outmanoeuvre the slow, primitive copies our enemies have built. To those who have chosen to remain in the munitions factories, every shell you deliver saves Threshark lives, and punishes those that wish to commit to our genocide. Captains and crews of our valiant vessels: Every weapon you fire, every torpedo you load, every gun you train on those who wish to obliterate us cuts them, and eventually, like any animal, they will slow and fall.
I am proud of you all, and proud to serve as your Lord Militant. Your lives will not be spent in vain.
Our allies WILL come, and the tide WILL turn.”
I pity the gullible Traxatans, as do we all, but steel your pulmonary pumps and gird your threshing limbs for war. There will be no quarter shown by the enemy, and in turn we shall show them no quarter, for we three species are anathematical to one another.
Even now, your mates and spawn have been evacuated and relocated to our rear. They are safe as long as we show utter resolve and never allow our colours to run from this cold, bloody war. Many of them will never see their home worlds again, and many of us will perish, knowing only that will they live on. Know though, that every minute we buy with our pulmonary fluids, every hour we stall the ravening horde, billions more of them are safely loaded aboard the arkships. The vagaries of space and time ensure that if ever we were to meet them again, we will be old and unrecognisable to them. In essence, we are already consigned to the void. This makes us more powerful than our enemies can ever know.
We can fight without fear of the void, without worry for our loved ones, our friends and spawn brothers are beside us, each of us ready to sell their being for the dearest price. We shall persecute the enemy with the utmost prejudice, but always rationally. While the Traxatans fall victim to the cold machinations of the AI, and the fear in their hearts they have held for so long after we secured our borders years ago, we shall never lose track of our aim: to take a vicious toll on them that they will never forget, and never recover from. Their future descendents will shudder at the thought of our proud defence, and they will remember the futility of their actions, how they consigned millions of their virile warriors into the toothed maw of our stalwart rearguard action. They will dash themselves upon us like waves on the cliffs, but we will hold. We cannot fail to hold, for the entire fate of the civilised eastern galactic fringe depends on the Threshark Expansion. Shipwrights of the orbital shipyards: Every ship you create is another to bleed the enemy, every ship you repair, a blade twisted in his guts. Scientists of the research guild: Every breakthrough in weapons technology you make teaches the enemy to fear our righteous wrath. Engineers of the Navy: Every percentile of speed you deliver allows more of our kin to escape to safety, and our military vessels to outmanoeuvre the slow, primitive copies our enemies have built. To those who have chosen to remain in the munitions factories, every shell you deliver saves Threshark lives, and punishes those that wish to commit to our genocide. Captains and crews of our valiant vessels: Every weapon you fire, every torpedo you load, every gun you train on those who wish to obliterate us cuts them, and eventually, like any animal, they will slow and fall.
I am proud of you all, and proud to serve as your Lord Militant. Your lives will not be spent in vain.
Our allies WILL come, and the tide WILL turn.”
Epic.