Armed Storm troopers of the Witch Hunters stood outside facing every exit of the windowless building. Grey rain sodden clouds slid overhead. An orange watery sun flickered hazily through the thinner parts of the low scudding cloud belt. The blustering wind attempted to force moisture into every chink in Hammerhand's uniform. Tightening up the belt of his greatcoat before leaving the lee of the reception hut, Hammerhand was joined by the Hell's Own Close Discipliner. The criminals Colonel Sven had just addressed were being inducted as Penal Legion Troopers. As soon as all had their explosive torc fitted they would be released to the orders of their new officers and the Stormtroopers would be gone.
"You get to meet all sorts in this line of work."
"You find them interesting?", commented Hammerhand while adjusting his greatcoat.
"No, its not the scum sent from Emperors frakked courts, although I grant you now and again some of them survive long enough to become interesting. What I mean is the officers, your lot. Take the Colonel for instance. He has been around for a while now, survived a fair few missions despite the odds. Has become a bit of a showman he has. Quite nicely he allows me to develop my artistic side."
"What do you mean?" asked Hammerhand, gently gazing around while wondering if the drab parade grounds were bugged or if this was a test. If so by whom as it was unlikely to be Hawk, and for what purpose.
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