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Paragraph 19
When you wake, it is so dark that for a moment you think it is the middle of the night. But you are not in your bed and a sliver of cold light from above reveals stone walls rising high about you. Your limbs ache and your clothes are smeared with dirt. How long have you been here? You cannot tell. The memory of your mother’s scream floods back to you, and of the man with wings who called himself Olcrada. You shiver violently, your stomach heaving. You are a prisoner, trapped in a cell barely an arm’s span in width. The floor is sealed and there are no doors. The boards on which you stand are omniously worn, as though many a creature has paced upon them. Your only hope of escape seems to be a window high above, covered with a steel grating. Yet the rough stones that imprison you provide treacherous footholds, covered in slime and lichen and strange nettle-like plants that grow between the cracks.
Will you sit tight and see if someone comes for you (turn to 7), shout for help (turn to 105) or try to climb the walls (turn to 29)?

Paragraph 35
In the tavern, the music has stopped and time has passed. The lunchtime patrons have dwindled to a few grisly regulars. Barmaidens clean the tables of broken glass and spilt drink. Like you, Cyleric has become aware of the surroundings; indeed, he seems to dwindle to his former presence as he lowers his voice and whispers, “It will soon be time for ye to leave, for there be those who already have noticed our comradeship. These be dark times for the Elder Fey, fer we be a dying race and there be many who wish to take our place. But before ye go, we must test your craft.” He grins. “For this, I will teach ye a spell of mine own devyce.”
You watch as he proceeds to empty the pockets of his cloak. All manner of strange paraphernalia are laid on the table: rings and stones, dead insects, pieces of parchment and little jars. He sifts through the pile and extracts five grey feathers. “First, ye be needing a set of things of common shape,” he says, cupping the feathers in his hand. “The wyrd of the spell be GELD, and the number be 24.” Cyleric gives you the feathers. “Now utter the wyrd,” he instructs.
Make a note of the spell. To cast the spell, add the number of the spell to this paragraph number and turn to the result now.

Paragraph 350
The Warlock points his staff at a round table in the middle of the room. Sitting on the polished wood are three bowls, each containing a steaming broth. “Take ye now of the medicinnes ye require,” he says. He then begins to chant:
One be for wounds, lesions and bites
Two be for poisons, fevers and frights
Three be for curses, malice or spite
“Ye must sup only frum the bowls of yer need, though they be nun in order,” continues the Warlock. “If ye sup otherwise, ye will be rightlie poisoned.”
Examine the patterns on the sides of the bowls. Can you work out which bowl is number one, number two and number three? Write down the number of the bowl underneath, then turn to the three-digit page number that appears. If you cannot work out which bowls are which, turn to 286.