Blind panic arose in me as I reluctantly climbed and sifted through and between the corpses inside the meatwagon, hoping to escape to the top. Around me the army of undead, Human and otherwise, roared with carnal vigor. As I neared the top, a great breeze stuck my face as I hoisted it from underneath the corpses. My first thought was of the triumph of escape, and my second of defeat at my realization.
I was blind.
My eyes saw naught, and I raised my hands as if to rub them. I pulled away immediately. Nothing but scarring was upon my eyes. Sealed over were my sockets. I attempted to scream in terror, but nothing arose from me but a gurgling sound.
My lower jaw was non-existent. Nothing but carnal instinct and blind panic kept me moving, as I walked atop the corpses in the meatwagon. Tripping on the edge, I fell off the side and onto something. It roared and simultaneously hissed, proving I was within the ranks of the scourge.
Panic had left me; so had all emotion and feelings. I was blind physically and mentally as I ran, pushing through the throng of horrors around me. It occurred to me, almost a light thought, that I was still clutching my book tightly in my left arm as I ran, so hard I could feel the indents on the cover from my fingers.
The Horde warhorn sounded again as I continued my escape. The Scourge seemed to pay me no heed, however, as I ran past their ranks and barreled into their numbers. The horn was louder, I must be approaching the source. Between the nightmare around me and the enemy of The Alliance, I subconsciously chose any fate an Orc would offer than that of the Damned.
I cleared the ranks, it seemed, and broke away from the Scourge. An Orcish yell broke out, and I had my first rational thought since my horrific discoveries. If I were to approach the Horde as I am now, they would shoot me full of arrows before I approached, assuming I was mindless Scourge. Although at the moment this seemed trivial, I called upon my trainings to defend me.
A thousand hisses in the air signaled the release of the bowstrings, and I called upon the powers of The Gods to defend me, raising a Holy barrier around myself through a simple word: Shield. Channeling magic and faith into the barrier, the arrows could not puncture it, and it held through the onslaught.
My magic had run low. I could no longer sustain the barrier, and it had seemed that the attacks had stopped. I dropped it, and realized my mistake.
The Scourge, in all their decay and hatred, possessed no priests. The Forsaken did, however practice priestly ways. The Scourge and the Forsaken undead were mortal enemies.
A roar from the army behind me signaled my fears true. I had no option but to run to the Horde. Hopefully, through my powers they had assumed I was not an enemy, and would cease their attacks, possibly defending me.
The thundering of wheels and feet had picked up tempo. The Scourge had come to slay me, and I sprinted as fast as my broken body would carry me in hopefully towards my Horde saviors. A hand caught my shoulder, and bony, rotting fingers indented my flesh. Another word removed his grip, Pain, and the howl of monstrosity behind me proved my spell successful.
I gained speed, and ran for what seemed an eternity. More bowstrings hissed and twanged from my direction, but I could not raise the barrier again so soon. No arrows punctured me, however, and unscathed I stumbled across the ground.
In mid stumble, I slammed into something very hard. A grunt told me I had pummeled into an Orcish bowman's burly chest, knocking the wind out of me but seemingly leaving him unscathed. With one arm he lifted me and threw me backwards, only to be caught by more hands. I was ushered and pummeled further and further back, until weariness took it's toll.
There, amongst the enemies of the Alliance I swore to uphold and preach, I lost consciousness.