If Aaron and the others had initially been curious about the Nine Hells, then after spending some time in Avernus, everyone-including the greater devil Morgan-found it dull and tedious.
The sky was always dusky, the land always barren, and the air always reeked of scorched magma and tar. Bloodsucking insects rode the dry, fierce winds, ready to feed on visitors at any moment. Lakes of flesh and blood occasionally bubbled up from the parched ground, most piled high with thousands upon thousands of demon corpses.
After defeating demons from the Abyss, the clever devils used something akin to "biogas digesters" to pile up and ferment their corpses, ultimately producing high-quality "demon ichor." To devils, this ichor was an excellent raw material: it could be used to make weapons, burned as fuel, or even used in attempts to advance in rank.
But to Aaron and the others, these lakes of flesh and blood were just like mortal biogas pits. They not only stank to high heaven, but gave off a nauseating odor.
"Cough... cough, cough, cough..." Annomyn was the first to give in. Fighting down the acid rising in his throat, he coughed desperately, almost coughing himself to tears.
Aaron had never felt so estranged from his own body, either. Despite having Morgan's ring to ward off the negative effects of the Nine Hells, he could still feel the entire plane rejecting him with extreme loathing. Hateful infernal whispers kept echoing through his mind, telling him to get out. His arms and legs felt filled with lead, and every movement cost three times as much stamina as usual. Spellcasting was no different: all his chaos magic required extra mana here and produced weaker effects.
His mouth tasted bitter. The water in his waterskin had become horribly bitter, and the butter candies