Urgrugg let out a loud, grunting cough when he got kicked in the chest. To his annoyance, the marine had not died from the attack. The one time the ork wanted him to die, and he refused to do it. As tired as he was from expending so much warp energy, he hadn't even been able to get in a good swing before the marine had come at him, either.

The barrel that had been put to his face was background noise to him. As soon as he'd felt the kick, he had begun constructing a final spell in his head to be unleashed upon his death. Given his state, it wasn't even guaranteed to work, but the distortion of warp energy should it fizzle would be enough to draw the attention of the daemons he was contracted with to come for him. It was petty, at best, but it was revenge none the less.

He was ready to release the power when the weapon fired. Having not expected to be alive after, he was surprised to find he was still capable of thought. When the marine got off him, Urgrugg stood up, using his staff to help get him to his feet. Looking down the hall, he could see the humans that his attack had released running further into the ship. From what one of them said, it sounded like they were headed to arm themselves. Urgrugg couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

When the marine barked his question at him, Urgrugg was quickly reminded of the damage that had been done by his last spell. It would heal, no doubt, but that would take time. However, the marine would still want an answer, and he was in no shape to fight him. As he wanted to keep living, he reached out with his staff, and pressed the diamond-hard tip against the wall.

With an annoying, high-pitched screeching sound, he began to write on the wall. His understanding of low gothic's written form was bad at the best of times, but he knew enough to get by. On the wall, he wrote out, "WICH TIME?" If the marine were to question the writing, he'd simply reply by opening his mouth to show the blackened flesh-nub that was once his tongue.