LET'S KILL MAKALA!

Owyn held his breath.
Admiration, slightly tinged with envy, coursed through his veins, as he watched Pug lift his staff. The air began to stir. The vague outlines of a miniature cyclone began to form in front of the Master Magician. "Winds of Eortis!", Owyn thought. "Now why didn't I think of that ..."

[BACK TO WALKTHROUGH]