Omar decides to wait for the others outside, his belongings appropriately packed on a wagon, along with his family's belongings. He had already decided to travel by horseback, not joining either his younger siblings in their carriage. He would ride ahead of his family, joining the league of scouts that would dismantle any potential plans that sought to wreak havoc on the royal family.<br/><br/>Across his back was slung his bow and quiver of arrows. The familiar weight of his heavy hammer strained against the holster on his hip. He had thought it more traditional to arrive at the Theiri castle with a sword at his hip, but the sword was not Omar's trademark weapon. It was the customized war hammer that was the traditional weapon Omar's glorious victories were told with.<br/><br/>A strange weapon, indeed, much weightier than a sword but when mastered could simply not be paralleled, as far as Omar was concerned. Such a weapon could crush through bone and metal alike, rendering the most talented of swordsmen useless, given a broken arm or crushed hand. It was a precise and brutal weapon. The handle of his hammer was deadly too with a sharpened tip for spearing and impaling. A quite handy little bonus when in the midst of battle.<br/><br/>Already he was seated upon his ever faithful steed, warming up its muscles for the ride ahead. The cream coloured horse was a handsome creature, with dark, almost black socks and muzzle, it's mane and tail a matching colour. Eryo, (pronounced E-yair-oh), is what Omar had trained the horse to respond to when he called.