Allura, Crusader of the Zakharem faith, crouched down upon the desert sands. The sand was red, and churned like butter. A battle, no, a slaughter had taken place here. Remnants of once living beings scattered the field of red. Around them the wind billowed, blowing sand in every which direction.
Beneath her plate armor, the blonde woman sweated profusely. It caused her to feel as dirty and grimy as a street begger, and the sand that was somehow finding it's way through the cracks of her armor did not help how she felt at all. Whatever had happened here, there were trails of blood leading away from here.
"Shall we follow?" she looked up and asked, smirking behind her helm, for it was a rhetorical question. Of course they would follow.