The Gray Waste is a lonely place to call a kip. Certain berks who perish and didn't follow a certain power, end up on this sickly plane. This gray plane doesn't have any visible light, but there is enough for normal sight during the "day". A body can turn barmy on this plane, after a few days, all the berk's clothes change to gray, and the sod becomes so hopeless that after a week, the sod loses his sense of self and turn into a larva. Being herded by a Night Hag isn't too appealing thought to even the most clueless prime barmy. Besides the sense of hopelessness, host of feeble petitioners with little hope of getting away from the bleak gray plane, hoards of foul Tanar'ri and the bold Baatezu fight on each of the three gray planes. The vicious Yugoloths trade sides, betray each side to make a better profit. It is rarely quiet in the Gray Waste, either sounds of battle, mournful sods, or the Night Hags rustling of packs of Larvae. However one sod was lying on the plane, and unlike most of the time on this plane, it was quiet.

The berk was wearing unusual clothing, something that looked like a tunic that was white with small blue stripes over it. This body's tunic was already turning gray, so he must have been here a few days. His pants were torn, and also unusual, they looked like pantaloons, but not so baggy. These seemed to be made from some unknown fabric and were black. This berk was sure to become a Night Hag's barmy in a few days, but interestingly enough he has a silver bastard sword lying next to him. This berk, might be more than he seems. I will have to find out whether he is a cutter who lost his way, or some berk who deserves to die.

A gate opened up and four little gargoyle creatures pop out. These creatures are called Spinagon. These are the lowest level of Baatezu that I wouldn't just whip into my mouth and chew them up. Actually I do chew them up, but they are actually Baatezu. If this basher can defeat them, he may be worthy to join the Blood War, and help us slay some of those foul Tanar'ri. A roar let out as the Spinagons raced towards him. Fools, why didn't they just send a yugoloth over to alert him that they were going to attack? I don't see them being promoted anytime soon. Not so surprisingly the human jumped up. He wasn't very tall for a human, but doesn't show any signs of being a half-elf, tiefling or aasimar. He stood only a little over five and a half feet tall. He lifted his sword, and slashed the first Spinagon. The little sod went reeling from the blow. The other three attacked him. The mortal was fast, and dodged out of their way. The first little creature came back up to strike him, but his sword struck first, and the Spinagon was down. The other three struck fiercely, one struck him with his mace. Pain struck his face, but it turned into a snarl. The Cutter struck the little basher and he never got back up. Impressive! The others hit him in the sides, bones cracked, and the basher bellowed. Lesser bashers would have given up. but this basher is a tough warrior. He smashed another one, and it rattled the little berk. The other Spinagon swung and he painfully dodged his mace. His silver blade was blackened with blood, and still he double handed slashed him and he fell. Valiantly he slashed at the last fiend. but clumsily missed. Seems his ribs welled with pain when he tried to swing, and dropped his sword. The two wounded berks circled each other. The fiend swung his mace at him. The larger, wounded basher rushed him, and smashed the little fiend with his fists, the Spinagon brought up his mace, but the mortal grabbed it and ripped it from his grasp. The mortal smashed the little fiend's head in, with all his might, which really wasn't much, but was enough to slay the last one.

The mortal fell over, this time blood was running from several places in his body. The basher was close to being put in the dead book. This cutter could be worth something. I lifted the mortal over my shoulder and he groaned over the roughness of my scales. He'll go to training camp in Avernus, and then if this one kills as many of those foul Tanar'ri as he seems capable of, my promotion will be insured. The cold wastes of Caina are quite uplifting. I didn't get this far by being wrong. This one, once healed, should be whipped into shape. He needs to lose some weight too; for a small human, he is too fat.