Somewhere around the outskirts of Damascus, in the harsh deserts and Levantine sunlight. An army on a crusade was observed following a horse-drawn carroccio through the dunes, with the flags of numerous lords and kings flowing above. A Turcopole on his faithful horse was ambling by the troops. The soft desert breeze caused his eyes to narrow.

"Hng..."

With a quiet sigh, the Turcopole looked optimistically at the grand carroccio in the center of the army, making the sign of the cross before turning to face front once more to scan the area for any Mameluke scouts.