Quinlan killed dwarven elite fighters one after the other.
His vision was still fractured. Three overlapping images that refused to merge, blood crusting in the corners of his eyes, and a ringing in his skull that turned the battlefield into a wall of noise with shapes moving through it.
The concussion had done something to his mana regeneration too. The steady pulse that usually refilled his reserves between spells was stuttering, cycling in fits that gave him half of what he needed at twice the interval.
He didn't care.
