In Tyllman's experience, most days in service to the ordos tended to be long and were upsetting more often than he'd like. That in itself had never been much of a surprise: he hadn't been under the impression that working for the Inquisition would be like looking after baby struthids.
That was a career he could get behind.
But of course, life hadn't turn out that way. Ten years in the Guard, then mustered out at 27 on some forgettable backwater. Two years of obscura, drinking away his pension and untreated PTSD later, he'd somehow ended up standing over a dead Ecclesiarch. Not long after that, he'd found himself sitting opposite a scary man named Erasmus Horn who had informed him that he had just killed an arch-heretic. He was given a choice: serve or die. It wasn't a particularly difficult choice.
Now, however many years later, crouched in a vegetable patch in the middle of a city overrun by plague zombies, Tyllman was beginning to question that choice. Death would have been a lot less effort.
He looked around slowly, careful not to disturb the rotten fronds of root vegetables around him. The stealth-drone hovering silently at his shoulder projected a perception-distortion field which rendered him basically invisible as long as he remained still, but there was no sense in taking chances.
Inquisitor Horn had sent him to Rhynstead City to scope the enemy out. Reports coming from the southern continents were sketchy, and the Guard were busy fighting a improbable number of heretics in the northern cities. But Horn had suspicions and had sent Tyllman to have a nosey. Of course, turning up to find that the enemy had already overrun the city was a bit of an issue.
He'd been aiming for the house, a small but solid hab with a second storey which might give a vantage point. Then three or four of the filthy buggers had stumbled into the alley behind him, forcing him to shelter in the nearer vegetable patch. He could see them milling about twenty yards away, near the open gate.
Not Poxwalkers: these creatures were less mutated, and they seemed to have a degree of remaining sentience. He could hear their lunatic babbling. He didn't think too hard about what they were saying The micro pict-stealer in his rebreather was recording. He hoped that Clademann could make some use of the footage.
Tyllman breathed out slowly as, without warning, the creatures jerked around and began to shuffle away. Cautiously, Tyllman crept across the garden. He looked around the edge of the fence, down the alleyway, towards the public square beyond. The creatures were clustering there, gathering around a towering figure in filth-encrusted armour. Tyllman sighed softly.
Plague Marine.
It was going to be a very long day.
Making Tyllman was surprisingly easy: I sawed a cultist in half and then added an Imperial Guard officer's torso. This made it clear that he was Imperial. Both arms are spares from Empire Pistoliers. Hia augmetic claw is from Sicarian Ruststalkers (the gore is Uhu) and the autopistol is from a cultist. The head is from an entirely separate cultist, and he was completed with a random servo skull. Easy!
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