Urbalg was the strongest ogre of his region. He had forced all opposition into submission with his mastodon meat basher.
One day he sat on his favourite rock when suddenly an itch erupted at the height of the brutes barren head. Firstly it was ignored, but it increased in intensity to the point where it was more beneficial for the ogre's mental clarity to expend the energy needed to eradicate the annoyance rather than to bare its burden.
A giant fist was lifted under strain, a palm the size of a barrel lid opened up to relieve its master. Oh, and it was good. Urbalg let out a grunt of relief as the itch was subdued, and his lard pillar of an arm was laid in a forceful manner to rest against the humid rock below once more.
But something wasn't right, some kind of fluid was running down his face, and no rain cloud could be seen in the sky. Soon he noticed that he couldn't think right. He had by mistake crushed his own skull with his might.
He now realized that he was dead. He started to hear his enemies voices, beady eyes locked on his best sitting place, and his treasures. He was so maddened by this realisation that he was brought back to life by his own will, but as a bloodless raging husk, forever on a mission to beat down those who where scheming to take his place.
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