Ineffable Trove

Arguably least lovely of all the Nine Hells—a coveted title—Minauros’ bleak, stinking swamps are blasted by a constant gale that fails to dispel the curtains of noxious, phosphorescent fog. Ground, water, and air are treacherous and toxic. That the place is riotous with a hideous twisted life is no great recommendation. Around the Trove, however, the usual tribulations of the place are combined with an unsettling babble, in the ears and in the mind. Feral emotions creep into unwary minds like parasites, slowly growing within them until an alien feeling without cause or logic consumes the victim to the point of obsession. The bark of the bog’s trees is knotted into half-formed faces as the concentration of pillaged mortal sensation strives to express itself.

Unsurprisingly, Mammon and his underlings never much considered the effects of dumping so much raw qualia into one place. The curdled sensations and qualities have leached out into the surrounding regions, imbuing the waters, plants, and denizens of the Trove with unpredictable qualities. Orphaned emotions, vices, and virtues throng the place like invisible swarms of insects, infesting everything and everyone.

Despite this, scavengers and treasure hunters still go there. What Mammon has discarded yet has value to certain markets. It seems surprising that the Lord of Greed tolerates such pilfering, but the archdevil knows that the result of dealing in such commodities will only be a net increase in misery and wickedness.