Azhar Khan recalls riding his mount into battle, his axe raised as he cleaved through the flank of foes, allowing for swift escapade and much tactical prowess at the behest of his companions. His lungs quaked as the voice of the farfolk resounded within the fief of the Holy Oren. "Hoooggg Ridddaaaahh. . !" he barked to the skies, as the almighty creature he rode battered and bruised the denizens that seized the merry-band of the Ferrymen.
The day had ended; another victory for the assortment of warriors who donned green-hues. He muttered something then, and had thoughts of his brother, Mohammad - an orenian Knight of much renown. "Astaghfirullah. . ." he croaked, departing to the Stone Tower as he deposited the vast riches and heirlooms acquired from the defeated troops in that uncanny, yet very remarkable skirmish that was conducted within the capital of the so called Empire.
He concluded then, towards Diomé [@Orlanth] and the companions who had emerged victorious. "Was there ever any doubt. . ? it is rather simple, indubitably so. . ."