The sudden entrance of the red-armored marines was surprising. As the door sealed shut, and the last of those to enter seemed to acclimate themselves to the state of the room, the marine the ork had carried in muttered some nonsense about a brother. While the red marine saw to his companion, he spouted off some other gibberish. The pain from his recently-inserted arm made it difficult to translate the many dialects of Gothic being used. Something had been said about a corpse, but beyond that Urgrugg wasn't sure.

Looking over, he saw the marine removing his helmet. When the other spoke about the corpse, it seemed to trigger something. As Urgrugg watched, the tech marine raised his firearm. With how long it took the wounded marine to speak, it was a bit easier to understand him. He had spoken some kind of oath to the humans' Emporer god, and seemed to be aiming the statement at his target. It didn't take a genius to figure out that one marine had insulted the other, and any ork could spot the look of a killer from across a battlefield, let alone across a room.

Urgrugg rolled his neck. Two loud pops issued forth, as he felt his body regaining strength. Unlike traditional psykers, ork weird boys were used to having their power forced upon them by the simple presence of other orks nearby. Though it had been quite a long time since that applied to Urgrugg, what it meant still ultimately held true. When away from the source of their power, be it other orks or the warp itself, weird boys quickly returned to what they were; Namely, orks. In some cases, such as his own, the hard life forced upon them by their strange powers meant that they were not just an ork, but a strong one at that.

Almost gleefully, for he had held himself back until then, Urgrugg released himself. Digging deep, he latched onto the power of his rage, his anger, his lust for wanton destruction as he gave himself over completely to the battle fury that he had so long yearned to embrace. With a swift motion, his hand sprang up to the base of his staff, gripping it tight. Swinging it around, he brought it down in a single, swift motion, slamming the diamond-hard jewel at its tip against the tech-marine's head. Without his helmet on, the force of the blow would easily be enough to send a spiderweb of hairline fractures through his skull, nevermind simply knocking him out as intended. Having landed his blow as the bolter's sights were being lined up, the ork sucked in a breath through his nose, spitting on the ground as he grumbled out, "Git!"

The last of his strength drained, he slumped over, falling to his back. The thud of his frame slamming down would be loud, and it was everything he could do to not pass out himself. "Oi, ugly..." He said to the apothecary, his orkish words nothing but angry gibberish to the ears of any but his clan. "Fix... him..." Letting out a ragged cough, he spat out blood, only now realizing the internal damage 'reattaching' his arm had done to him. "Then me..." he said, his two final statements in broken, but understandable low gothic. With that, he was out, his fortune now in the hands of the great, green gods.