"Huh. No discretion?"

"The division is objective. If the Lord of the Dead found that I had chosen to 'fudge the numbers', as it were... the consequences would be dire."

"Having you do this job seems gratuitious, then, it doesn't really need a person doing it. I guess if somebody's terrible it might have seemed like a simple way to get a sorting spell which also reported back and stuff?"

"Indeed," the Reaper says, "though the god who made that decision now lies dead, and I believe that like so many other things, the current Lord of the Dead retains me mostly out of inertia."

"Ugh. It'd be fun to swap you and Pharasma."

There's the faintest suggestion of a smile in his voice. "I doubt she would like it."

"Yeah, well, she has lots of discretion and uses it to suck."

"I am... familiar with the type," the Reaper says in a tone of ancient loathing. "Myrkul had a great deal of discretion as well. He used it mostly to design inventive punishments for those who strayed from the gods. Then he came up with the Wall of the Faithless. The one great regret I am permitted to voice is that I was not involved with his death."

"Are the gods even a really coherent bloc here?"

He pauses. "No, but... each god was either installed in their position or at the very least allowed to retain their position by the Overdeity Ao. When they fight... it often seems more like the squabbling of siblings than the wars of mortals."

"Has Eilistraee got a great line about this, because I have this streak of being pleasantly surprised about her that I'm enjoying."

"As a lesser deity, she does not have the power or freedom to act with impunity, and nearly all of her energy is focused on countering assaults by her mother and the other Dark Seldarine gods. In truth, powerful though she is compared to you, she is a small light against a great darkness."

Nod.

The Reaper does not break the silence.

"Thank you very much. I'm ready to go back now."

"You are always welcome here, Belmarniss," he says, and-

-she's back in the Underdark.

Jojo is still watching her somewhat anxiously, as he was, from her perspective, forty days ago.

"All better!"

He blinks.

"I- good! Just like that?"

"I was there for forty subjective days but yeah, on this end just like that."

"Oh."

He considers.

"That must be rather disorienting, but I'm glad you're free of the geas?"

"I am too!"

Deekin wakes up next. "Hello Jojo, hello Belmarniss. Deekin would say 'good morning' but Deekin actually have no idea of sidereal time, being in Underdark very weird. Good morning anyway."

"Good morning."

Everybody gets ready for their undead adventure, and they walk the remaining mile towards the temple.

Around the temple, as it turns out, is a shantytown. Its inhabitants, who are, inexplicably, mostly members of surface races, wear rags; when they see the party, they hurry away with their faces downcast.