As I've mentioned before, Xandu the Warthog, you are not very bright. In
fact I think stupid is the word. Among others, but the rules pertaining
to language prevent me from elaborating on the various anatomically
explicit epithets suited to you. Well do I recall the day you challenged
me to a duel, as though unaware of the fact that I am a serpent and have
no interest in fighting the fight you choose. That duel was fought,
though, on -my- terms, and you bled out with my arrows in your head. It
was hard to miss.

Where -do- I begin? You lead the charge of the minions of War, as a
maggot and a pacified one. You have no concept of rules of engagement
and resort to playground name calling when things don't go your way. In
fact was it just last month, you pacified worm, that you called me gay
because I don't stand still for a fight? I fail to see the correlation,
though perhaps one of the Order of Irandi the Typographical could
enlighten me.

Well I suppose that's it, Warthog the mealy mouth at arms. I look -so-
forward to hearing all the vain threats and posturing you will make, as
you always do, before I escape your ham handed attacks as I do your ham
handed insults, and place another few arrows in your ham sized fat head.

Yours Truly,
Yig

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Phaestian, in the year 327 AF.