The Gray Waste

Chains of Misery
Monotony in arms
Nothing Eternal
Realms of Apathy
The price of nothing
The tactics of nothing

Chains of Misery
Department of Humanities
Psychology/Sociology Section

For: Chief Engineer
Subject: Spiritual bondage

Those of you who have just recently entered the Wastes should leave while you still can. Here, at the nadir of evil, you won't see or feel the lines of bondage boring into your soul. The chains have been forged since the beginning of time for all beings. These chains are meant to bind the entire multiverse.
Given that the majority of the "underworlds" of Prime's beliefs of where the dead finally reside are gloomy places, is it any wonder this plane consumes any berk unfortunately enough to stay too long, or holds them captive for all eternity?
Misery loves company. It has affected the souls of the dead that berks with the intelligence of razorvine think this is a great place to seek fame and fortune. Once trapped, these disgruntled souls rattled their chains - and bone boxes - the loudest. How would you like to spend eternity with some sods with nothing better to do than vocally lament over their squandered opportunities? So, now every bloody soul trapped here does their best (worst?) to make everyone around them just as miserable as they are or worse.
So, do you wish to forge another link for yourself or for your companions? Nothing weighs heavier on the heart than the anchor of despair. Each link of an unseen chain pulling on and squeezing the heart as you surrender to a bond you can't break. In a sea of sorrow, either someone rescues you, or you sink.
Be wary, gentle souls, this form of spiritual bondage is the most insidious. It is quiet and seeps into you in such an unassuming manner that if you do recognize the chains of your prison, it's too late. For some, the despair of learning they've been enslaved leads to their defeat ever quicker. You must be hard. Enslave and use these chains or wear them for your captor.

Marva Varushka, Shaper 1.

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Monotony in arms
Department of Humanities
Psychology/Sociology Section

For: Chief Engineer
Subject: Gray Troops

The majority of the military forces on the Wastes, as with the majority of the Lower Planes, are those of the Baatezu, Tanar'ri, and the Yugoloths. Yet there are troops native to the Wastes. These "Gray troops" are there because they must be. None sever voluntarily; they serve because they must.
Other than the city known as the Town at the Center, troops who live in the Wastes are less than lively. Why should you expect them to be? Few reach their destinations that have a cause. Since this is the case, no one cares unless you try to take what little they have.
The Gray troops don't train. Given the way things happen in the Wastes, Gray troops are elite because they must be to repel the attacks. It's another interesting facet of the Wastes. The weak are culled because they must be. A chain is only as strong as it's weakest length.
The various fiendish races have been surprised by the seemingly placid soldiers who spring into action and mechanically sacrifice some of their troops because they most, it's the logical tactic. There's no flinching or balking of actions, just a resignation that is must be done. Pure logic at its finest. A symphony without rhythm or timing.
For their emotionally charged opponents, it must be quite disconcerting to face an opponent with an empty or even slack-jawed appearance. Even worse must be the lightening quick speed of these Gray troops. Such a difference in facial expressions must be misleading. Even mortal wounds do not touch their faces. However, the eyes tell a different story with their tight and alert appearance.

Marva Varushka, Shaper 1.

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Nothing Eternal

Department of Humanities
Psychology/Sociology Section

For: Chief Engineer
Subject: Time, engrayed.

"Let nothing bleed into nothing, and into nothing return." I heard this quote once before from a song. It's trivial that you would have me attempt to mark a change in seasons - or days, for that matter - in this place. There are no timepieces by which you can measure time in this place.
Time is, because it must be. The sky and horizon bleed into each other. What little change there is, is by necessity. A little grayer here, a little grayer there, and can you discern which represents dusk or dawn, noon or midnight? In Sigil, peak and antipeak are easy to discern.
Why not ask the mountains to come to you, or ask water to flow up the mountains from the ocean's depths? Surely that would be easier for you to accomplish. I say this because time means nothing here beyond the hourglass.
The only functioning hourglasses here must be made from the sands of Oinos, glass made in Pluton, and wood from Niflheim. The hourglasses must be assembled in the Town at the Center. Each measures one full hour, however long its owner believes an hour to be.
Beyond this, here are no days, no weeks, months, or years. You can use the calendar of your choosing.

Marva Varushka, Shaper 1.

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Realms of Apathy
Department of Humanities
Psychology/Sociology Section

For: Chief Engineer
Subject: The Infirmary.

One place in Oinos stands untouched by battle of all kinds. And, interestingly enough, it is also free of the strange malady that infects all living things on the layer. The realm boasts of some of the best medical care a planar can receive anywhere in the multiverse. Quite strange, when you think about it.
Throughout its existence, the Infirmary has stood as the last bastion in Oinos against the disease. Why? Or, better yet, why is it still on Oinos? What anchors this place to the Wastes? Even more baffling is the size of the place.
The Infirmary is as large as Khin-Oin is tall - perhaps bigger. And in that line of thought, some suspect the Infirmary has grown over the years, healing the land as it does. (Everything is still gray here; don't think it's not.) With its mismatched buildings jumbled together, this isn't an unreasonable assumption. Yet, everything seems to follow a procedure.
On a plane where everything is hate, war, and despair, and everyone's trying to kill each other, the Infirmary treats all injured soldiers. Even bandaged up, you'd figure that old hatreds would tear the place apart. Not so, the Infirmary's staff has no compulsion of placing blood enemies within arm's length of each other. Surprisingly, knowing who lays next to them, they still converse peacefully.
How do these cutters pull it off? No one knows. They scour Oinos for the dying casualties of any and every battle they can. As if this wasn't bad enough, these beings can wander the plane at will and bring back these wounded before they can die.
Rumors abound about the Infirmary. The most prolific are those that say what the Infirmary's staff is really looking for are individuals to experiment on. It's a well-known fact that these beings know more about diseases and how to cure them better than anyone else. Maybe they also cause the plagues of devastation that have wiped the face of many Prime worlds clean or ravaged them severely.

Marva Varushka, Shaper 1.

Department of Humanities
Psychology/Sociology Section

For: Chief Engineer
Subject: The Greyzure.

There is a hellish realm hidden in Pluton. On one of the sparse plains that dot the layer here and there, a zone of gray marks the nearly imperceptible boundary of the grayest and possibly dreariest place in the Wastes. If you enter, you might as well pluck out your eyes. This is the Greyzure.
Everything in the Greyzure is gray. But not just any gray. The shades are all the same. Knife grass of all lengths grows uncontrollably. Razorvine patches ticker than any in Sigil make this place a hell in its own right.
Move this way and that, and you can feel the plants slicingly graze your flesh. Rumors say there are a few needle trees eagerly waiting to pierce the eyes and flesh. Vampire roses also supposedly grow here. But, nobody's ever been able to say for certain, even those few who exit the Greyzure bearing the puncture marks of something.
Blood runs gray, but you know when you've been cut. Not even the hordlings venture too close to the Greyzure. The place is too dangerous, even to them. If you're smart, berk, you'll stay away as well.
So, what's in there? Graybeards and sages have been debating that for a long time. Some say there must be treasures beyond belief hidden within. Perhaps an artifact to destroy a power, some suggest. I discount this as nonsense. Still, it would be quite interesting to se what lies inside.
The Library of Souls has little to say on the subject, but I suspect that the Yugoloths gave up studying the Greyzure long ago. But, what little information is there is enough. The Greyzure seems to be growing, much in the same manner as the Garden in Baator. On an interesting note, there's an obscure reference to "giving up one's sight in order to see, for there's no hope in saving what must be lost" in the Library. Perhaps this is a clue as to why the Yugoloths have ignored the Greyzure?

Marva Varushka, Shaper 1.

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The price of nothing
Department of Humanities
Psychology/Sociology Section

For: Chief Engineer
Subject: Indentured servitude.

There is a terrible price to pay for being emotionless. Even if the sensory deprivation is self-imposed, the price is still the same. But before I delve into this any deeper, we have to back up to see how someone can do this willingly.
To be emotionless is to float in a void where nothing can touch you. Safely wrapped away from the world, you can use cold logic without error. It is the technique used by the Ultraloths. That cold and calculating absorption of the world at large coupled with impartiality and self-preservation at all costs.
You must learn to devoid yourself of emotion. But, eventually you will do it instinctively. At that point, you will grow cruel even if you can't see it. It's nothing personal, just the intelligent thing to do.
So, what price must you pay? In shielding yourself from the taint of the Wastes (something that must be taught to you), you usually become indentured to one of the Ultraloths. Serve them coldly and do what they say, or die. Your service will end when they say.
If you choose this path, do not leave your protective shell. To do so is death in the Wastes. When everything crashes back into place, the despair at what you've done will eat you alive. The plane will consume you immediately. This is the price for your purified logic. How long will you be able to put off the harrowing that must surely come?

Marva Varushka, Shaper 1.

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The tactics of nothing
Department of Humanities
Psychology/Sociology Section

For: Chief Engineer
Subject: Setting the spear.

The greatest military tactic in the Wastes is extremely fitting. Who should have thought logistics to be a thorn in an army's side change to a dagger in the ribs? Since it's so easy to go nowhere through your determination to get there, why not just sit there and make them come to you?
If you wait for them, they will eventually reach you. In their hasty determination to reach you, they'll willingly throw themselves upon the spear set by the plane to receive any charge. In a conflict, this is the one quality of the plane you can use to your advantage.
Both the Baatezu and Tanar'ri have used this tactic in the Blood War. However, the Tanar'ri aren't disciplined enough to make the tactic work very often. The Baatezu, on the other hand, have mastered defensive and organized combat well enough to egg the Tanar'ri on to their death. And seeing how things work on the Wastes, the Baatezu derive some unfathomable pleasure from it all.
But from my observations first hand, I'd say it's truly remarkable that no matter how fast they run or fly, they still appear to go nowhere, or at least they're slowed to a crawl. It's something you must experience first hand in order to truly appreciate what I'm trying to describe.
As with the plane's spear, the Baatezu normally have their own set to receive the first charge. The first impact of the oncoming hoard is deceptively quick as the wave of bodies piles up on the spear hedges. It's truly mind-boggling to see the shift in speed in the blink of an eye.

Marva Varushka, Shaper 1.

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