Nurgle is a god of grim arithmetic, and among the Death Guard it falls to the Tallyman to keep His books. Burdened with mouldering tomes and reams of stained parchment, he trudges through the carnage recording every foe that falls, his stentorian voice booming out the running total through corroded vox-emitters bolted to his armour.
This is no idle ritual. The Death Guard hold that each death, correctly counted and dedicated, is an offering laid before the Grandfather, and that His favour grows as the numbers climb. So the Tallyman chants the litany of the reckoning as he works, numbering the fallen seven by seven, blighted crops reaped and souls surrendered to the Lord of Pestilence, and with every seventh seven of the slain the pestilent aura that clings to the Legion thickens and rolls further outward.
Thus the Tallyman is more than a grotesque bookkeeper. His droning count steadies his brothers and stokes their devotion, while the mounting tally becomes a weapon in its own right, the diseased air pressing outward to sicken all who draw near. In the endless ledger of Nurgle there is no such thing as a meaningless death, and the Tallyman ensures that not one of them is ever left unrecorded.