Tsleeixth kept himself apart from the rest of the company, thinking on his actions when he chased the kid that had killed the mercenary. He played Jorwen's question in his mind over and over again, [i]Why had he brought the kid back?[/i] He thought while they traveled towards Rorikstead; he had seen Sevine's reaction when she connected the dots and realized the kid had murdered the mercenary, that of murderous rage. 

The argonian let out a soft sigh "Would they grow hating us or considering us heroes?" He mumbled to himself, touching the scar above his eye as he remembered how he had been saved by a patrol of Stormcloacks during his childhood before he shook his head slightly. He was a mercenary, those questions weren't there for him to ponder, he just had to be content that they had managed to do what most people would consider a good deed. Of course, the fact that his coughs seemed to be worsening didn't help matters and was one of the other reasons why he kept to himself more than usual, hoping that no one wold notice the coughing fits that overcame him more frequently now; he thought about visiting the healer in the field hospital that had sprouted in Rorikstead to tend to the many wounded soldiers but decided against it, fearful that news would reach Ashav that he was sick with Bloodlung. 

As such, Tseelixth he resigned himself to visiting an apothecary once they had reached Windhelm, hoping to obtain -at the very least- something to ease his coughing fits, hoping that the money that they had gotten from the contract on the redoubt would be enough. He had heard some of the mercenaries mention that they hadn't gotten their bonus due to the cost of the campaign, something about the Forsworn using Briarheart-enhanced animals as a sort of weapon but he didn't pay much attention to them yet the chatter of some mercenaries with regards to their families reminded the argonian spellsword that he hadn't written to his home in a while, something which he promised himself he'd do once they had arrived in Windhelm. 

As such, Tsleeixth went mostly unnoticed during the trip towards Windhelm, deciding to stay with the rest of the company in the abandoned warehouse they had been given to sleep in instead of going to pay for a room in an inn and waste his coin. The next day after their arrival, Tsleeixth discreetly made his way towards Windhelm's Grey Quarter; once he arrived there, he made a few inquiries until he was pointed at an apothecary that was assured would give him a fair price.

He knocked on the door "Excuse me, anyone in?" He asked, opening the door slightly "Yes, come in" He heard someone reply, opening the door fully and entering the local at the voice's insistence. Once he was inside, Tsleeixth noticed an old dunmer man sitting behind a counter, the apothecary by his guess "So, what brings you here?" Said the apothecary, slightly annoyed to be bothered in what had been so far a quiet day. The argonian spellsword stayed for a while with the apothecary, relaying his situation to the old dunmer "So, do you have a cure for Bloodlung?" Asked Tsleeixth at the end of his explanation, his tail twitching behind nervously, at which point the dunmer apothecary let out a soft sigh "Normally, I'd say yes. But with the war against the forsworn, and with my stores of ingredients almost depleted I am afraid that I don't have the requisite ingredients to make you a cure" He said as he laced his fingers together "But, what I can do is make a potion that would help to ease your coughing fits, and I might also give you the recipe but that would cost you extra" Said the old apothecary, at which point Tsleeixth let out a resigned sigh and paid the man the price he asked for the potion and the recipe to make it.

Frustrated, Tsleeixth went back to the abandoned warehouse that they had been given to sleep, hiding the bottle and the recipe in his pack before he asked one of the mercenaries that had stayed there for parchment, ink, and a quill with which to write a letter. 

"Dear Father and Mother,
I know it's been a long since I wrote to you two, without taking into account the money I have sent back home, and for that I am terribly sorry. If you recall, in my last letter I told you that I was planning to leave the College of Winterhold and to search for work as a mercenary. I know you counseled me against it, but I must confess that I disregarded that piece of advise and began working as a mercenary.

Now, do not worry, the man who leads this company, Ashav is his name, is quite competent and we've had few casualties so far. I don't know if this letter will reach you before the news, but the company recently assaulted a Forsworn Redoubt, an attack in which we were successful. Although we suffered quite a number of loses, but I am confident in the future of the company and before you start worrying, I was left uninjured during the attack.

Please, write me back as soon as possible. We are staying in Windhelm for the time being, but I am unsure on for how long we'll stay, probably not much time.  I wish both of you the best and, please, do take care.

With warm regards
Tsleeixth"

Once he was done writing, he folded the letter and sealed it with a piece of wax from a nearby candle. He eyed the letter for a few seconds, slightly unsatisfied with it, but ended up leaving the warehouse after putting the letter in his pack when he realized that he did not know from where he could send the letter. With that thought in mind, he made his way towards Candleheart hall; once he got there he made his way to what seemed to be an empty table, where he asked for a bottle of mead for himself once someone from the inn noticed him "Well, today's not been a very good day" He mumbled to himself, paying for his drink once it got to where he was and took a swig from the bottle, not bothering with a tankard.