Oinos

Notable Locations

Plains of Pestilence

These barren plains extend endlessly, blanketed in yellowed grass and dotted with skeletal trees. Here, diseases manifest physically and fields bloom with boils and sores, releasing clouds of infectious spores into the stagnant air. Armies of mezzofiends march through the plague-stricken landscape, immune yet forever carriers of the plane’s countless contagions.  

River Styx

Oinos is traversed by the twisting currents of the River Styx. Its dark waters are thick and viscous, erasing the memories of those who dare to touch or drink from it. Ferrymen, who are grim psychopomps cloaked in faded robes, navigate the river, silently transporting souls to their final destinations.
Along certain banks, petrified docks and half-sunken fortresses serve as mooring points for infernal armadas or as staging grounds for mercenary warbands.  

The Grey Watchtower

A solitary, crumbling fortress rising above the mist-covered wastes, inhabited by a solemn order of psychopomps loyal to the Raven Queen. They observe the ebb and flow of spirits, ensuring the delicate balance between life, death, and oblivion remains undisturbed, though they rarely interfere directly.  

The Plague Pits

Deep, festering craters gouged into the earth serve as mass graves for the diseased and the damned. Within these pits, the sickly glow of corrupt magic emanates, attracting mezzofiends who feed on the suffering and agony perpetually echoed here.  

Cathedral of Crows

An obsidian structure standing atop a desolate hill, this cathedral serves as a sanctuary dedicated to the Raven Queen. Hundreds of spectral ravens circle continuously, observing and recording every event, their whispers said to convey all secrets to the Queen herself.  

Inhabitants

Mezzofiends Armies, Plague spirits and Pshchopomp guides are here, ever present, but more are the petitioners - Souls condemned here are those who brought pain or plague in life. Their forms are eternally marred by illness, wandering and spreading their curses unwittingly as punishment.  

Portals and Passage

Due to its role in the planar wars and its strategic location, Oinos contains a disproportionate number of interplanar portals—many long-abandoned or trapped. The largest of these are ancient iron discs embedded in the wasteland, rotating slowly like great mechanical medallions, pulsing with faded energy. These gates connect to Gehenna, Carceri, and the Outlands, and are often guarded—or cursed.   For some, Oinos is a bottleneck. For others, it is a burial ground.

Eternal Pestilence

All visitors risk contracting supernatural diseases each day spent on Oinos. Only divine magic or powerful wards grant temporary protection.  

Memory-Consuming Waters

The River Styx erodes identity; those submerged or drinking its waters lose memories, personality, and eventually their very essence.  

Entropic Despair

The pervasive gloom imposes a growing sense of hopelessness, weakening mental resilience (Will saves required regularly to avoid despair effects).  

Plague Winds

Unpredictable gusts carrying deadly airborne illnesses sweep across the plains, catching travelers unaware and forcing rapid defensive action.  

The Curse of Wasting

Oinos is infamous for the Wasting Sickness, a planar affliction that lingers in the air and seeps into the living. It infects even planar travelers who spend too long exposed, corrupting their vitality and weakening the soul. The cause is debated, some believe the disease is a natural consequence of the plane’s entropy; others claim it is a metaphysical backlash from the countless unburied corpses strewn across its surface.   Only those with immunity to disease, or those shielded by powerful magic, may safely traverse the Gloom for extended periods. Even then, few leave unchanged.

Landscape of Endless War

Oinos bears the eternal scars of The Blood War, where tides of fiendish legions clash in cycles of ruin. Though no longer the primary front, this layer remains a favored battleground for extraplanar skirmishes. Here, war never ends: It only shifts direction. The soil is cratered with the remnants of ancient battles, and the distant clatter of arms is never truly gone.   Any remaining forests have long been flattened under the iron boot of war. Stunted trees, broken obelisks, and hollowed-out trench systems dot the gray horizon. The very atmosphere feels fatigued, heavy with ash and old screams.