The Journal of Rastin Crysknife

[SandTrout]

Journal,
Zzecrsh burned me for the last time today. It was not my fault that the book was warded against the touch of the lower planes. He should have warned me to wear gloves if he wanted to so badly. It does not matter any longer though. When the tome exploded, it incinerated a pedestrian that was unfortunate enough to be passing by at the time. My infernal blood protected me from the worst of it, but the other poor fellow wasn't as fortunate in his heritage.

It was on his body that I found it. When I was searching the corpse for anything of value I might present to Zzecrsh to console the loss of the book, I found a portal key. Finally, I can be free of this squalid existence. I know better than to run off on my own with nothing but the rags on my back and expect to survive. I've finally figured out some of the simplest spells on the various spell-books that my master has amassed. I do not think he even knows that I have become proficient with magic yet. Now that I mention it, I do not think he knows I can read or write.

He still thinks that I am the same starving urchin that he lured into servitude with the promise of a hot meal. He didn't mention the hot iron that would follow failure though. Still, I am alive, and in his negligence, I have managed to teach myself enough to escape this damned place.

[SandTrout]

Journal,
I did it. I grabbed a sack of gold coins and Zzecrsh's old spell primer and made for a portal. By all the luck of the planes, I did not end up in the Hells or Abyss. I see a sun in the sky and the people here seem to match the descriptions that I read in some of the books about the prime material plane, so I am guessing that is where I ended up.

The people I have met seem to fear me, and I think I am quickly learning how to speak their common tongue. I already knew how to read it from the books in Zzecrsh's library, but I had never heard it before. They keep calling me a 'demon' or 'devil'. I guess that is what they call Baatezu and Tanar'ri and know enough to recognize that part of my heritage. I have stolen enough clothes now to hide my horns and ears, so I might be able to converse with the locals soon.

[SandTrout]

Journal,
I met a strange man today. He figured out that I was descended from a Baatezu, but he did not seek to stab me with a pitch fork, tie me to a stake and burn me, or bash my brains from my head, even though he carried a mourning star at his side.

He invited me to share his fire and food as I was passing by, attempting to stay out of anyone's notice. I was hungry and tired so I accepted his invitation. He introduced himself as a cleric of Savras, and stated that he knew that I was a tiefling. I nearly bolted in a run right then and there, but grabbed my arm and stopped me long enough to explain that he didn't want to hurt me, only enlighten me.

Since he was obviously stronger than me, and barely flinched as he shrugged off my weak magic missile, I acquiesced and heard him out. He explained that his god had revealed to him that I did not seek to embrace my infernal blood and that he should offer me guidance. The gods are banned from Sigil, and their worshipers are accordingly rare, so I have never been approach by someone seeking to convert me.

Still, I have read too many accounts from unrelated sources to doubt the gods existence, but I had never cared enough to worship one over another. When the cleric finished a brief explanation of his god's tenants he stated that he would then let me go if I wished. I had my doubts, but it did not feel right to take his food and not give a little back, even if just lip service, so I asked him if there were a prayer I could perform to give my thanks to Savras for his charity. He smiled and taught me a brief rite that was easy enough, and did not even require bleeding myself or an animal sacrifice.

[SandTrout]

Journal,
Maybe these prayers to Savras are paying off. I have been able to learn the local common tongue in short order, as well as that of the dwarfs, gnomes, and elves. Savras values truth and knowledge, so I am finding no conflicts between him and myself. I am able to pass as a human foreigner to the peasants easily enough now. Though they still seem rather put off by my appearance, they are no longer trying to kill me on sight. Such is progress towards a new life without being on a wizard's leash.

Tomorrow I shall enter the city of Balder's Gate. Perhaps I can find employment of some sort there, or at least a decent crossbow I can use to hunt with.

[SandTrout]

Rastin was born in sigil to a woman who was raped by his half-devil father who served an unknown Baatezu master. He was captured and bound by his infernal blood by Zzecrsh, an apparently human wizard who also lived in Sigil.

Zzecrsh used Rastin as his proxy in deals to collect rare books for his library, and Rastin learned to read on his own by looking through these books. If Rastin failed a task, then Zzecrsh would brand him with a red-hot iron rod on his back or chest. Zzecrsh also performed an experiment to conceal Rastin's infernal nature by setting a celestial symbol into Rastin's left arm.

Though the experiment did not produce the desired effect, it did reduce the discomfort from being in the presence of paladins and other good holy types to a simple itching of the mark itself.

Rastin eventually gained a portal key from the corpse of a bystander that happened to be too close when a protective ward on a book he had required exploded. Rastin used this portal key to escape, ending up on the sword coast.

[SandTrout]

Journal,
My travels have led me to meet a wide variety of interesting people, and my experience here has expanded my skills with the art drastically. I have met a rather foul smelling half-orc that has none the less proven a valuable ally. Thank the gods that someone found him a ring of clear thought, though. Conversations are difficult enough as it is. I have to respect that he knows his strengths are in smashing things, though. He is exceptional at smashing things.

I have also met an Asamir who is trapped in an infernal pact that one of her ancestors made long before she was born. It is unfortunate that we have not been able to locate a copy of the contract, but in the mean time, she has used her powers to her advantage.

Recently, I have spend a great amount of time traveling with a priest of Torm that is far more reasonable than I expect, and his lady friend who is an exceptional swordsman. She as aided me with lessons in sword-craft as well. I really just wish they would admit their feelings for each other, though; It is plain as day to everyone but them.

I find that it is best to avoid the Flaming Fists, and others that claim to act in the interest of law and justice. They are generally unreasonable and self-important at the best, and lynch happy at the worst.

Some of my more stalwart allies have proven to not be what they seem. Still, working with them may prove valuable, if somewhat hazardous. Considering what I know, it seems that the best course would be to stay too valuable for them to discard.