Freeing the celestial was easier said than done. The only one of us with the strength to pull out the iron stakes (Frostmane) lacked the hands necessary to do that. Fortunately, there were other ways to deal with this problem.

Attack Damage: 1d10 = 8 (Bludgeoning) (Hardness 10)

Hideous Blow: 5d6 = 16 (Magic) (Object, Half Damage)

Total Damage: 6

Attack Damage: 1d10 = 5 (Bludgeoning) (Hardness 10)

Hideous Blow: 5d6 = 13 (Magic) (Object, Half Damage)

Total Damage: 1

Attack Damage: 1d10 = 8 (Bludgeoning) (Hardness 10)

Hideous Blow: 5d6 = 19 (Magic) (Object, Half Damage)

Total Damage: 7

Attack Damage: 1d10 = 9 (Bludgeoning) (Hardness 10)

Hideous Blow: 5d6 = 11 (Magic) (Object, Half Damage)

Total Damage: 4

Attack Damage: 1d10 = 9 (Bludgeoning) (Hardness 10)

Hideous Blow: 5d6 = 20 (Magic) (Object, Half Damage)

Total Damage: 9

Attack Damage: 1d10 = 10 (Bludgeoning) (Hardness 10)

Hideous Blow: 5d6 = 11 (Magic) (Object, Half Damage)

Total Damage: 5 (Destroyed)

Those ways basically boiled down to ‘hit the spikes very hard with my fists and magic until they shattered. Of course, I had to be careful and take time to line up my strikes so that I didn’t kill the celestial by mistake, but that just meant that it took a little over a minute for me to destroy one of the six spikes keeping the celestial bound to the floor.

Soon enough, the celestial was free, though I would be lying if I said she were in good health. The spikes had been driven by an expert. She was in no danger of dying, probably because healing magic had been applied as the spikes were placed, but her legs, arms, and wings were crippled. Even free, she could barely crawl, and surely could not fly.

According to Vestele, there was magic that could aid her, healing the broken bones and restoring her ability to walk, but such magic was far beyond her ability to channel Malcanthet’s power. Even if it were not, she would be hesitant to cast the spell, as there was a good chance that the Queen of the Succubi would become angry if she healed a celestial’s wounds. There was a difference, after all, between aiding one church against another in order to spread Malcanthet’s name in the mortal realms and healing a denizen of the higher planes, one of those entities who were diametrically opposed to Her goals.

“Creatures of the higher and lower planes are not like mortals. They are infused with the power of their home plane, embodying features of it. It is part of the reason that spells to resurrect the fallen are useless on them, as their being is simply too far removed from our native plane, which means we have to use stronger magic to call them back to life. On the other hand, on their home plane, we would be the outsiders, and they would be easier to raise by one of their own.”

I nodded. “Fine, then can we send her along, back to her plane? I… I’ve been in a situation like hers, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. If we break whatever summoned and bound her here, she should be able to return home, right?”

The celestial, now dressed in the (slightly bloodstained) tunic of one of the fallen Huntresses, uttered a sound that was half a sob and half a laugh. When we turned to look at her, sitting with her back against the wall, broken arms draped around broken legs and battered wings, I couldn’t help but think of how she looked like nothing so much as a broken doll. It was all I could do to keep from just rushing over and trying to comfort her.

As she looked up, I could see the tears in the silver celestial’s eyes. “I-I can’t go back. After everything that has happened? After everything they did to me? And the only aid I received comes from souls as black as the ones that bound me here? How can I go back to the ones who ignored my prayers?”

I nodded slowly. I’d felt the same, in my old life. When that Bastard had taken me, I prayed for help, for deliverance, and it never came. After a while, I stopped praying, and started cursing. Yes, I knew how she felt.

But things were different for celestials. They weren’t just mortals, like I was. They were embodiments of ideas, according to Vestele. That was all well and good, normally, but what happened when they stopped believing in their ideals? What happened when they couldn’t be what they were anymore?

Vestele gasped, the cleric’s thoughts obviously moving down the same lines as mine had been. Looking at the celestial, she asked, “Then, you are fallen?” A sobbing nod was her only answer. Turning to look at me, she said, “This changes… well, not everything, but many things. If she has truly fallen, then she is no longer bound to her former plane, but instead becomes what is known as a ‘native’ outsider, a creature with otherworldly origins, but who is native to this plane, like my sister and I are. This opens options we didn’t have before.”

“Like what?”

Vestele sighed, “Well, there’s no easy way to say this, but part of the magic that raises bodies from the dead heals their wounds. I mean, returning a creature from the dead when their head has been chopped off, only for it to remain missing is hardly ideal, right? So, if she were to die, she could be brought back without the damage to her limbs. She would lose a portion of her power, of course. That’s only natural with resurrection magic. But she would be alive, and whole.”

“No.” We looked over at the celestial. “No, I don’t want to continue on. I would rather find the forgetfulness in true death.”

Vestele looked like she was about to say something, but I held up a hand to silence her. “I understand. I am a Twiceborn, and went through something similar in my old world before the end. I did not care if I died, so long as I died free. When the end came, I was thankful, because the torment was finally over.”

I paused, looking into the wounded celestial’s eyes, and finding a kindred spirit there. “I will give you a quick end, without suffering. It is not much, but it is all I can offer. But, before I send you on to wherever your path may take you, can you help us avenge you? Anything you can tell us about how you came to be here, who bound you, and what their goals are can help us.”

The celestial’s nostrils flared at the mere thought of our avenging her. “Yes. Yes! I will tell you everything I know, though it is not much. If any of it helps in sending these fiends to whatever torments await them, then I will gladly tell you all I know, what little of it there is.”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, and then said, “My name is Mihr. I am, as you no doubt know, a silver celestial, and for all my life I served Selune, the moon goddess. Months ago, I don’t even know how long ago it was, now, I was called to this plane.

“It was not a summoning, but a calling spell. I remember that something about the spell felt off about it, but at the time I did not think to resist. Unfortunately, I did not realize that it was a binding spell. Three of my kind came through with me, and we found ourselves in this chamber.

“The Succubus you fought was here, along with the leader of these Malarites and their ilk. Before any of us could break free, the Succubus, who I would later learn was named Krynixia, forced her will upon us, using her magic to force us to submit. Her power was far greater than ours. We were helpless before her.”

Mihr shuddered, and said, “The other three, I think, were the lucky ones. Their suffering at least was quick. Unfortunately, my enchantment only broke as the damned cultists began driving the stakes through my flesh. And by then, it was too late.

“It was only then that I was able to see the room around me. I saw the magic circles prepared, and I knew that something dark was happening. I cried out to Selune, but she didn’t answer. I called out to the two who had been called with me, but their will was not their own.”

She shuddered, and fell silent for a moment. “That is when the Huntmaster appeared. He was large, and powerful. A warrior of some kind, I think. In his hand, he had the skull of a dire wolf, with demonic runes engraved upon it.

“I did not have long to wait to see what would happen next. As soon as the Huntmaster was ready, the priest took two of the three other sacrifices, and laid them side by side within one of the circles. And, with the succubus’s help, he sacrificed them, slitting their throats. using their souls to fuel the unholy artifact.

“The skull glowed a blood red, and its eyes were filled with unholy light. I could feel the evil emanating from it. I do not know what it was meant to do. The Huntmaster called it insurance, for when the Blood Moon fell.”

Mihr fell silent for a moment, and then said, “And then the priest, the Huntcaller, turned to me. The blood of my final ‘companion’ was shed, priming the ritual, as his acolytes began their chanting. His blood called the first of the demon wolves. And then the wolf—” She broke off in a sob.

I nodded slowly. “The wolf helped complete the ritual. And this ritual created the Blood Moon, which allowed them to call more of the wolves, and drive the afflicted werewolves in the Moonwood into a feral state.” Mihr just nodded, clearly not trusting herself to speak.

Siora frowned. “That is different in some of the details from the ritual described in the journal I found. But, then, it belonged to the demoness, and was written in a cypher in the Abyssal tongue. If she is a follower of the Prince of Tyrants, no doubt she made contingency plans, for if this shrine fell and she was forced to flee. Leaving notes of an incorrect or incomplete ritual would be just like her kind, since anyone trying to follow in her footsteps would likely doom themselves to death, or worse, in the process if they followed her instructions.”

I nodded to her. “Yes, I caught that, too. And there was no mention of the relic, either, which I find disturbing. Another way for the succubus to try and muddy the waters after her departure, no doubt.” Sighing, I said, “There’s nothing for it. We have to keep going. All this does is give us another reason to put down these dogs as soon as possible.”

Frostmane growled. “And there’s still the business of the Temple. No one knows what is trapped inside, right? But the witch definitely said that something had gotten in, before the barrier went up.”

Vestele shook her head. “One problem at a time. There’s nothing more we can do here. The abandoned mines are our first stop. But even if we corner and kill the Huntmaster there, we’ll need to go to the Temple afterwards, just in case. For now, I suggest we rest the night here, and then leave tomorrow for the mine. I don’t think camping outdoors will be safe for us tonight.”

I grimaced. “Yes, breaking her free from the ritual broke the Blood Moon ritual, then we can expect them to have creatures out hunting us, if only to slow us down and keep us away from the Temple until they have time to complete their plan. I don’t care for the idea of camping outside and relying on just the one person on watch to catch wolves in the darkness before they’re upon us. Not when we know the wolves will be actively hunting us.”

Mihr tried to raise a hand, though her arm hung limply past the elbow. “Wh-what about me? You promised. Don’t make me keep living with all that has happened!”

I nodded. “Yes, I promised, and I will deliver. If you are resistant to spells, I would suggest you try and suppress that protection.” Mihr nodded once, and I smiled sadly at her. “Close your eyes.”

When she had done so, I raised a hand, and closed it into a fist, with violet light surrounding it. “By the Grace of Auril Frostmaiden, blessed Mistress of the Winter Storm, Queen of the Frozen Dawn, Harbinger of Endings, I offer you this release, so that you may not suffer any longer from the horrors done to you in life. I commend you to Her side, in whatever manner of life after death you may find. May you be reborn a fury, harbinger of winter’s unyielding might and the furious anger of a woman scorned, so great and terrible that never again will you be forced into a position like this one. May the breath of Auril be cool upon your back, and stinging cold in the face of your enemies.”

Melinda’s Coup da Grace: Automatic Crit

Damage: 2d10 = 14 (Bludgeoning) (DR 5/Lawful)

Hideous Blow Damage: 21 (Magic)

Mihr’s Fort Save: 1d20+7 = 17 (Fail, Dead)

With a single strike, I brought my fist down, hitting the unfortunate celestial between the eyes. Her flesh resisted my blow, at least a little, but the magic discharged into her, unhindered. The blow was quick, clean, and she was dead before she knew it happened. It was the best that I could do for her.

Looking up at the others, I barely managed to keep my rage from my voice, as I said, “We rest for the night. Tomorrow, we make for the mines. And when we find them, no more survivors, even if they surrender, even if they’re charmed. They all have to die.”