My friends in RL wonder how the hell I'm able to hold grudges for so damn long.
Ahem.
...
Err... Huh. I can't find it. You'll have to settle for the Fuck You letter for now.
Dear Peasant,
I look forward to your attacks with the same anticipation a small child does in the knowledge it is about to receive a small and unexpected gift.
I have instructed my troops to remove the heads of your dead troops and place them on the walls of my castle as my ravens have not had much to eat these last three weeks due to a lack of incoming attacks.
Their bodies have been cast to my dogs of war as a light snack until you send in your next bunch of kamikaze heroes who wish to die on the walls of my castle in a pathetic attempt to commit war.
Unfortunately during your attack many of your troops fell into the lavatory trenches my troops use daily and drowned in the vile stench of raw sewage which must have been very unpleasant. The weight of their third grade armour aided them being sucked down into the gooey sludge, and a slow death ensued while my troops laughed aloud and farted in their general direction.
The remaining troops, a quite pathetic and bedraggled force with blistered feet and halitosis, fled with their 'commander' from my castle after dropping their rather badly made weapons and ran straight into my external cut-off force and were massacred in a most clean and efficient manner. It was argued later that they never put up a fight and instead insisted on begging for their miserable lives.
The bodies of these weaklings have been nailed to trees in my forest to scare away poachers who occasionally attempt to plunder my Royal Stags, boar and game birds.
My troops are waiting for your next wave of attacks with only what can be described as bored anticipation as the sport they were earlier expecting failed to materialise and they were treated to just a little head chopping and nailing rather than something they could really get their teeth into.
For your next laughable attempt I'll have a couple of my troop's dispatch your motley flea infested tin plated peasants and send the heads of your chaps back as souvenirs so you may present them to their equally infested families.
Congratulations on your stupidity and may your closest relations suffer from large colonies of itchy, biting insects in their grubby clothing for years to come.
Good Day.