It is the dark age, elsewhere in the galaxy, but you don't know or care what's going on elsewhere in the galaxy. You have your own life to live. And you tend to like the dark. You arrive from an unsuccessful night of splog collecting. As the sun begins to rise, you curl up beside the fire to rest. Abruptly you and your allies are awoken by a small army of angry little green men, wielding spears entangled in vines.
Your race has been at war with the Floran people for quite some time. You have recently signed a peace treatise. But it appears something has gone sour.
The little green man who appears to have been appointed as a leader hisses at you, somewhat like a serpent about to strike. "You - your people - have sssomething of ours. We want it back. The king has commanded ussss to crush every lassst one of you until it is returned to him."
He is very skeptical. The Florans and Nile merely tolerate each other's existence. This word "Friend" seems to be the greatest joke, coming from a lizard man. "WE KNOW YOUR PEOPLE HAVE IT! DON'T PLAY GAMESSS WITH USSS, NILE!" He spits green saliva onto the dirt, and a flower sprouts instantly from the ground.
"You hate your Quahara?" The floran seems to have an even more loathsome feeling toward you now. "LEARN LOYALTY. PERHAPS THEN, YOU WILL LEARN TO HONOR TREATISE!"