“There,” groaned the warlock, “you see my bane, my curse, and what may soon be my end. It is Ermlock’s Grip, the malediction of a certain hateful wizard, who has hidden himself somewhere in this very settlement. The villain wishes me to die slowly, thinking of him all the time. Seven days are required for Ermlock’s Grip to finish its squeezing. In three days and a half, it will squeeze out the final drops of my blood like the last wine from a wineskin. Already blood starts from my ears!”

“But surely a powerful warlock such as yourself-”

“Do you not think I would remove Ermlock’s Grip if I could?” Sernos growled. “It is fixed in place with potent magical seals. The first blacksmith to attempt to remove it will die instantly-and horribly.” He made a tiefling sign of disgust with his fingers. “I was overconfident-taken by surprise as I traveled through Harken Forest. A harpy, hired by my enemy, swooped down and dropped a purple orb containing the spell-the orb struck me square. Once struck…” He sighed, and let his head drop back onto his pillow. “I scarcely made it to this bed; I can go no farther. My powers are at an ebb. But I have knowledge of a secret under the Plains of Rust, deep in the Abyss.” He pointed a talonlike finger at Gnarl. “Activate the magical device you will find there, in a place I will describe, and your glory will come, Gnarl-and so will mine. The device will set up mystic reverberations that will undo this spell, unbuckling Ermlock’s Grip, while opening up the realm of Glorysade-a realm of order that you, Gnarl, will rule, safe from the eruptions of chaos.”

Now he had Gnarl’s attention. Glorysade. Could there be truth in it? “I have heard a little of Glorysade. It’s just a legend. My uncle mentioned it to me…” The tiefling hesitated. Then he asked gruffly, “And what have you heard?”