Lazaryos groaned as he got up, his weight seemed to be making his mornings more painful, but muscles weighs far more than fat, so he couldn't tell what to think of it, so he just went on his way, waking the others by their proximity. Ember, of course, being the closest. After waking everyone, he walked on north without another word. He was not in the mood to interact with ANYONE, and was quite the sour one for some reason. By midday, Lazaryos looked down at the sand below their feet and picked some of it up, inspecting and sniffing it. We're extremely close. It may be many centuries old, but it's unmistakeably the scent of blood. It's faint, but very strong. The sand he had picked up was gray in color, getting progressively darker in the view, though not quite even close to black. They trudged along for the rest of the day in silence, Lazaryos' rotten mood really shooting out from him like a severe heatwave. At night, after setting up the fire, the silence of the party before Vosur and Dante decided to go for another hunt allowed the group to hear how close they were to the heart of Hell. The sound of metals clanging could be heard in the distance, and the sky lit up with high level spells being cast out in the night, seeming to almost complement the crimson, red moon, which seems a lot grimmer and darker than the night before, now that they are closer to the Hell of Blue Crimson.