As weak as water.

It is a shame, but understandable.

Your people fought valiently, and in their honour the Brood Mother shall encase them in extra saliva and regurgitated pulp until the hatching. You need not thank us, it was thanks enough to have such a large number of warm hosts.

RamSteelwood wrote:

sit back and enjoy the show

Ah, are you sure you are not Mong The High Wizard?

He likes to let his allies do all the fighting, then reappear when it is time to divide the spoils. 

He thinks we do not see, but we do. The Brood Mother saw, too.

Yo Ux the Inhuman Centipede. I got a joke for you dude.

A Wizard walks into a creature shop and buys a pet Centipede.

At home the Wizard feels like hitting the local System’s dive bar and opens the Centipede’s box and says “Yo Centipede you wanna get a hazy brew?”

No reply so the Wizard closes the box.

30 minutes later the Wizard opens the box again and says loudly “Hey Centipede you wanna get some dank beers or what?”

The Centipede says “Don’t shout i heard you the first time I was just putting my shoes on.”

That was you Ux the Inhuman Centipede, slow to start. You talk big about your war with Boinkington but his empire was a headless chicken while you ‘invaded’ a displaced army without a leader. You had it easy. Meanwhile it’s taken you this long to get to take 25 star systems and catch up with Mong The High Wizard, and I’ve been at war constantly with the Synesthesiacs who are still a thorn in our side.

Give us a heads up when you finally catch up with our industrial facilities and want to take part in a real war.

In the meantime, we’ll be at that cool new dive bar on Isosceles 3 hanging with the Jam Snatcher crew.

Come over and maybe we can teach you a thing or two about space combat.

Peace out.

I would ask you to come to me, but you can’t fly very far.

RamSteelwood wrote:

Inhuman_Centipede wrote:

sit back and enjoy the show

Ah, are you sure you are not Mong The High Wizard?

I'm deffo not involved, I just want to make that very clear so no one thinks I'm pretending.

That's exactly what Mong would say...

They come for me. 

There was a day or so where they moved to my borders and thought to continue the facade but...the brood mother was insulted by these actions.

It is, of course, the game we play, but I do wish they would have done her the respect of looking their enemy in the eye like warriors. 

Vastly, vastly outnumbered and outgunned, attacked from multiple sides. The brood queen and I will relax and watch the Bill Pullman speech from Independence Day on repeat until our enemies land. And then we shall see how quickly this war will end.

Let the sand devour Boinkington and his kin.

The proud but weak are devoured whilst G.O.N.Z.O and Lego Hair mewl about on their pathetic water worlds. Work together to stop Dominar, you infant grubs.

You suck, Mong.

tigersgogrrr wrote:

You suck, Mong.

Hey man, like can’t we all just try and get along? It’s war man, people die and shit, doesn’t mean I don’t respect y’all.

Peace. Or something. One day maybe.

I'm glad I kept out of this one. Far more entertaining from the sidelines.

One of my spies in Ux's systems managed to survive the hatchloids after getting caught, urm, mistakenly trespassing in the Brood Mother's lair to get his Dominar some choice pictures. It was a fate worst than death. His taxidermied corpse adorns our Halls of Audience for Royal Spies, as a warning against failure. The picture he took was an obvious fake, a hatched pupa shot with tricks of the eye in mind to give scale. The Oracles have told me in no uncertain terms she is the hugest living creature in history, and that only purging our holy seed while gazing upon her monstrous beauty will cure us of the ailments that keep us tied to our Privy, desperate for succour.

If no pictures are forthcoming, I shall send the Dominion's carriers, and in the end, I will see her with mine own eyes.

Dominar Fybogel the XVIth of his name, the Unpassed, the Unsoftenabble, Scourge of Miscreants and Beloved of the Loyal.

'The Unsoftenabble' is now my favourite part of this thread. Lovely work.

As I dictate this to my minion, so that his CPU implant can transcribe it into primitive screens that some peoples in the deeper reaches of our Dominion still use to convey information, I find myself conflicted. True, I have earned my soubriquets - every single one. Not for nothing do the pickled heads of all 17 of my siblings, and my dear Lord father, adorn our throne room. 

And yet, reaching the pinnacles of power does not remove one's sense of empathy. And so, I happily admit that I, Fybogel XVIth, had indeed softened towards our poor High Wizard, Lord Mong aka Mong the Bong, despite some frosty past exchanges when I lost all decorum and told him "I just need you to try to resist being a weaselly little shit for a while. If you take a single one of his stars, I'll fucking gobble you right up". This was after Mong had dived blindly into our ally G.o.n.z.o's realms right as we we were springing a trap on Lego Hair. We were not amused. But the Mongish expeditionary force soon perished in ignonimous circumstances, as they rushed headlong hither and tither. Twas a feat I saw him accomplish many more times since, and now, this one last fateful time as he rides a carrier 15 hours to his doom.

"I just wanted to see what's out there, totally chill dude." I now can't help but smile warmly at the zest, the gusto, the carefree nature of this fellow sovereign of ours. It was a grave breach of etiquette for us to admonish him so rudely.

As his fortunes receded, we did try to help our Mongish friend. We tried to get him and Synesthesiacs, the slipperiest of all sovereigns - a true Bonaparte, one must say - not to lose ships as myriad dry sandy boots marched towards, and then past, their border. 

"This guy's a fucking maniac, Dominar. Look, he's gone right into sand territory to fight Syn, he's guaranteed to wipe on arrival. He bolts hither and tither with nary a garrison left behind. You told us to keep the peace, but our rivals tear through these lands. Soon they will surpass our superiority in scientific research. Think of all those scientists you condemned to work in the Science mines. Dead by 34, and for what, so that their Dominar can waste their achievements?"

After condemning the man to death by Royal Privy "stoning", I regrettably came to the conclusion that he, alas, had a point. I had asked Mong why he went to Pee (actual name), didn't he think Sand would take it? "I just wanted to see what's there dude, I'm chill". That's when I decided to plunge the dirk in his heart. But it hurt me no less to do this to this effervescent high priest. My friend, Bong.

Lord Mong is not yet dead. Even as we speak, he is leading his men - 724 ships - in what my spies inform me is a traditional Bonga Bonga party before battle. I salute his courage. But these 724 ships will arrive precisely one hour after my own force takes the star. And every single one of them will perish. This is the heavy burden of leadership. I will shed a tear for you, dear Lord Mong. The Bongo Mongo man. The Evel Knievel of the Galaxy. My elite commandos are under strict orders that your head be preserved. Once pickled, it will take pride of place in our Royal Privy, where one hopes your easy come easy go attitude will percolate into our Royal Bowels, and, who knows, relieve us of our daily ordeal.

But after hardship, comes opportunity. We hope to bring order to the West, as we have enjoyed in the East. Far too many squabbles have occured there. Capitals have changed hands, star systems sacked of all value. We say: order. We could not tolerate such chaos on our borders. Let the tale of Lord Mong be a cautionary one. Peace and trade is the benefit of all spacekind.

Dominar Fybogel XVIth, Mongsbane, the unsoftenable still. Be his friend, and he'll be solid. But best bring medigel, if you mess with Fybogel.