Amdusias sits up. "Truly my Lady is generous," he says. His smile is weak but sincere, and when he looks at Gusion, his eyes are radiant.

...maybe it's okay.

Maybe... maybe sometimes, things can be okay.

Amdusias belches one more ascendant bubble of foul-smelling black sludge, and then, as it rises to pop against the ceiling, takes his lover's hand to haul himself to his feet.

"Thank you so much, my Lady," he says humbly, accepting the necklace and putting it on. "My life is yours twice over."

...well, that's a little uncomfortable. But—still. Still, she thinks she maybe managed, against all odds, to do a good thing.

She smiles back, and heads for the cookpot because she can't remember the last time she made food and that means it's probably time to make more.

As she's closing the lid on a new pot of stew, Pajul sidles nervously up to her and stands there waiting to be acknowledged.

Oh for crying out loud—

No.

She takes a deep breath, reminds herself that these people are her responsibility and she needs to be kind to them, and asks as gently as she can, "Yes? What is it?"

"Leader, my brother and I were traveling together through Darkwood and were separated. I never knew what became of him... do you think you could find out?"

...well, Crown? Can she?

Yes, her crown thinks so. There's a sort of thread they can follow— see?

She can only barely perceive that the crown is perceiving something, let alone what, but sure, she'll take its word for it.

"I'll do my best," she says.

"Thank you, Lady! His name is Jular."

So. Off to Darkwood, then, following that strange thread.

Darkwood is its usual self. Grass, trees. Leaf monsters. Cultists.

That owl-looking fellow is camping out on the path, close to where the crown thinks Jular might be found.

Oh boy, this again.

She stops to listen to whatever cryptic wisdom the birdfolk will dispense today.

"Hapless Leshy, youngest of the Five. 'Twas his eyes he lost," the owl intones.

"Temperamental Heket, with her throat cut neat."

"Cowardly Kallamar's ears, torn from his head."

"And Shamura... once the brightest of the Five, 'till their skull were split."

Well, at least now she's sure of all their names, that's something. But—the Five? That's... hmm. Hmmmmm.

"See no evil, speak naught, hear nothing, think none. The One Who Waits made it so."

The owlishfolk ascends without another word.

"...thanks," she mutters, craning her neck to watch him float up through the canopy.

As she looks around the clearing for long grass or flowers she could pocket, she notices at last that that tent in the corner looks a little small for a creature of such a Clauneckish size, and that there are heaps of bloody bones scattered across the mossy ground.

"Is literally everyone in the whole world a creepy murderer?!" she wonders incredulously.

Well, whatever. Pocket the bones, and on to find Jular.

Jular, when they find him, is tied to a stone altar shaking in terror. As you do.

Of Fucking Course He Is.

Well, if there's one thing in this world she's sure of, it's that tying people up so you can sacrifice them unwillingly is bad and she's against it. Time to slaughter everything in her path until Jular is free.

Jular, freed, goes gratefully into her pocket.

Onward to adventure! Or at least to more murder, probably.

Nope! Surprise, it's this guy again!

Awww fuck.

She wants to refuse the mothfolk's services, she really does. She wants to have nothing to do with this.

But—the One Below said he'd be watching her. What happens if she passes up too many opportunities to bind her followers to her more tightly? What happens, if she begins to give the impression that she's not committed enough to the work?

She doesn't know and she's afraid to find out.