[h3][center]Private Durandal[/center][/h3]
With a hand from the squad, the young lady was able to retrieve her mortar lance from the wreckage of the building. Luckily, it was mostly undamaged. A little dinged up, perhaps, but usable. Someone noticed the injury on her back and got it patched up with a little bit of Ragnaid. The concussion was another matter. As the night continued, Regan became acutely aware of a vague dizziness in her senses, and a degree of fatigue that she wasn't expecting. Combined with a headache, she wasn't feelings so hot. She must have gotten hit in the head when the building fell. Probably by the roof or something.

After Sergeant Harold had declared that they'd be setting in for the night, Private Durandal decided to stop trying to tough it out. It wouldn't be toughed out, that much had become clear. "Nng... Sarge?" The young lancer held a hand to her head, staggering slightly as she approached him. "I don't... feel... so good. Dizzy... and... headache... nnh. Strange fatigue... not sore, just... heavy."