Chapter 2
Excerpt from
The Codex of the Outer Planes
Those who follow law and good pass to the angelic realm of the seven heavens, whose gate is guarded by shauum, the golden dragon.
Those who follow the path of purest good pass to the elysian fields , whose gate is guarded by kirion the golden dragon.
Those who follow the path of good and disorder pass to Valhalla, whose gate is guarded by heimdall, the golden dragon.
Those who follow the path of law and balance pass to Hades, whose gates are guarded by cerebus, the astral dragon.
Those who follow the path of pure balance pass to the realm of nirvana whose gates are guarded by brahmanatman the Astral dragon.
Those who follow the path of balance and freedom pass to the realm of limbo, guarded by vhost, the astral dragon.
Those who follow the path of order and evil pass to the diabolic realm of the nine hells guarded by chyron the shadow dragon.
Those who follow the path of pure evil pass to the daemonic realm of tarturus whose gates are guarded by mammon the shadow dragon.
Those who follow the path of evil and chaos pass to the demonic realm of the abyss, whose gates are guarded by legion the shadow dragon.
The primary plane of existence (the inner plane) is contained within the astral plane along with hades, nirvana and limbo.
The positive material plane, or the plane of light, lies above the astral plane and contains the elysian fields, the seven heavens and Valhalla.
The negative material plane, or the void, lies beneath the astral plane and contains the nine hells, tarturus, and the abyss.
Bahamut, the platinum dragon reigns over the golden dragons. He can, if petitioned, and he deems it wise, allow his golden dragon generals a temporary physical form on the inner planes to assist worthy mortals in maintaining the balance of good. They appear on the prime material plane as figurines of wondrous power.
Shauum the Golden Lion
kirion, the silver tiger
heimdall, the ivory bear
The astral dragons serve no regent, and as such have no gateway to the inner plane.
Tiamat, the chromatic dragon Reins over the shadow dragons. if she wills it, she can allow them to take physical form temporarily on the inner plane to assist mortal harbingers of evil in maintaining the balance of evil as figurines of fearsome power.
chyron, the iron wolf
mammon the onyx serpent
legion, the mithril spider.
The cell door clanged shut loudly. Longknife kept her feline, emerald eyes fixed firmly on the filthy straw covering the rough stone floor, until the gruff laughter of the slave raiders had faded down the hall and out of sight. Her muscles were sore and battered. Her normally sleek brown and white fur was still matted with blood. Some of it hers. Her wrists were manacled. A single smoky torch was the only light in the entire hallway. She snarled derisively to herself. Slave raiders like DiMarco gave legitimate pirates like her and her fellow Castaway Rats (as they had come to call themselves) a bad name, and an even worse reputation.
From what she could tell, the dim stone corridor consisted of the slave holding pens of the island of Half Moon Bay. They had been shanghaied here after their run in with Draga’s Dragoons who had sold them to DiMarco. The front of the cells were closely set floor to ceiling bars (so potential buyers could more easily view the merchandise) but the other three walls were thick stone, carved out of the gut rock of the cliffs. Half Moon Bay, was one of several under the control of a small but particularly nasty group of scoundrels from a nearby army of marauders calling themselves “Draga’s Dragoons.” This particular section of paradise was overseen for Draga by a nasty piece of work named DiMarco. The Dragoons raided the ships, and pillaged towns, all along the western and northern shores of the Azure Sea. They razed villages, took scores of captives, and sold them in the slave markets of Highport, Jass, Blu and a handful of other ports that traded in such things. They were ruthless, cruel and not a band to run afoul of.
But a card cheat was a card cheat, and Draga’s slimy saurian (lizardman) raider drew on her first.
Her sharp eyes had already adjusted to the dimness and her feline hearing (unusually acute, even for a bastett) told her that the guards were far off and laughing distractedly. She smiled briefly, and withdrew the lock pick she had managed to conceal between her cheek and gum.
In the cell across from her, Doc Tiny (a gentle giant of a half ogre who was their cook and healer) lay unconscious. The bleeding from his scalp was just starting to congeal. He too was shackled, but with extraordinarily large and thick manacles. (Perhaps Draga’s slavers weren’t quite as stupid as they looked)
In the cells beside Doc Tiny, she made silent eye contact and nodded to Mustafa, the shirtless, sandal footed, ebony skinned physical adept. He flashed a short, dazzling white half smile as he returned her nod. On the other side of Doc Tiny, was Fazil – the flamboyantly dressed, plume capped dwarven quartermaster of the now scuttled Siren’s Melody. His normally jolly humor had been dampened to grumbling annoyance by their current predicament.
That left Indigo Red (her thief-acrobat first mate) somewhere out of sight, but no doubt close by. The rest of the Siren’s 15 man crew had fallen to the blades of Draga’s Dragoons or gone to the bottom with the burning wreckage of their vessel.
Longknife’s manacles came free nearly effortlessly with her quick, deft touch. The confident smirk played over her fanged jaws briefly once more. The cell doors would not be so easy. From what she could tell, those were sealed by enchantments as well as locks. Any attempt to unlock them with anything other than the proper key would not only set off an alarm, but would no doubt prove injurious or even fatal.
But it would only be a matter of time before the right opportunity presented itself. They had been in tougher scrapes than this before.
And now she had her hands free.
“Indigo,” Longknife whispered sharply.
“Aye, captain?” Indigo’s hoarse voice came from the cell to her right.
“You in one piece?”
“More or less,” the auburn haired, sapphire eyed knife thrower self assessed with a sigh. “Shame about the Siren, though.”
“She was a fine ship,” Fazil grumbled in agreement. He then muttered something extremely uncomplimentary regarding their current hosts under his breath in dwarvish.
“What is your plan, captain?” Mustafa wanted to know.
“What do we usually do?” Longknife reminded him. Mustafa nodded and smiled.
“I don’t think there’s any rum or blonde haired minstrel boys close by,” Indigo remarked snarkily.
“Or rope,” the dwarf added.
“Not that,” Longknife growled in frustration. “What do we usually do when the other guys get lucky?”
Doc Tiny sat up stiffly with a groan. He rubbed the back of his head with his huge, meaty hand. He had apparently been listening in, but for how long, none of them could be sure. His smooth voice was deep as an old cave. “We wait for the other guy to screw up.”
Almost before he had finished his sentence, Longknife’s keen ears picked up a sudden stifled cry. Then the sounds of a pitched but quiet struggle down the hall, around the corner, and behind a door. It was over quickly, and almost imperceptibly, even to her sharp bastett hearing.
Then, all was quiet accept for the sound of a door creaking open and woman’s voice (A northwoman judging by the accent) She was whispering instructions to loot the bodies after they had stashed them out of sight.
“Well,” Longknife muttered to herself. “This may not take as long as I thought...”
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