[color=darkred][center][h1][b]W[/b]arren [b]W[/b]yk[/h1][/center][/color]
[center][IMG]http://i62.tinypic.com/iwiy3b.jpg[/IMG][/center]
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Warren pulled the mug up to his lips again, leaning his head further and further back so as to let the last remaining sips of the ale slide down into his mouth.  "Ahh," he said, relieved.  The ale wasn't good for his condition, but after such a long travel he needed it.  He glanced around the camp, eying his new companions before standing up and walking towards the mess hall.  By that time, Terryn Hoffman had made his way there and was about to give some sort of order.

Warren looked at the barkeep, nodded his head, and slid the mug close to the end of the bar for the man to wash.  Warren stood up, stretched his arms and legs and made his way over to the mess hall.  He went on for a short time, but Warren knew what this type of life was like and didn't pay much heed to the commander.  Terryn turned to walk out of the mess tent and passed Warren.

"S-"  The sound barely left his mouth before Warren's leaned forward and started coughing uncontrollably.  He could feel the warm droplets of blood spurting from within his throat, showering his tongue, gums, and teeths.  "Shit..." he said quietly.  He slowly walked to the side of the mess tent and spit out the collection of blood.  Some dried bits of blood, clumped together in the slimy-like conglomeration of blood and mucus landed with a 'splat' on the ground.  The rain barely had the strength to wash it away it was so thick.

He pulled the rag from his pocket and wiped the blood from his mustache and beard , turning back around and heading into the mess tent, looking around to see if there was anyone worth talking to.