"Damnit." [i]The Uruk would sigh a little, entering as he kicked a body a little. A faint twitch from the drunken, bleeding man, before the Uruk's face would widen with a terrible, golden and yellow grin, as he then brought the box down upon the slowly returning, wounded individual. A sick *Crunch!* resounded as the man went limp, his skull caved in, brain matter dripping from the wound. The Uruk threw the box down, shrugging to himself.[/i] "First I get chased by a crazy prophet girl threatening to brand me. Already got me a brand! Now, this. Ugh. Name's Dúsh. You call me Douсhe, and I'll.. well, you're alright, so I might crush your stones if you know what I mean."