The surroundings are not incredibly promising. There is a flat slab of glassy stone, a small platform slightly sheltered from swirling, roaring winds and mists being sucked continuously in a vast clockwise cyclone, down, down, into a great chasm - along with bits of debris. Huge spikes of black ice poke up from below. Lightning crackles. 

There is a narrow spur extending out over the chasm. And upon it, a pitted cast iron gazebo. There are a few wind-worn caves in the walls near the platform. Humanoid figures emerge from them, red-eyed and curious. There is a large, misshappen stone full of holes that a lone figure seems to be worshipping. The wind is cold. The light above is strange-coloured, and obscured by mists and the storm.

That appears to be all.

A local equivalent to the Maelstrom, and a research crew, perhaps? In any case, is it possible to reach the caves without falling into said Maelstrom, or does she just have to await rescue? 

It's entirely possible to reach all the mentioned objects without much risk.

She’ll be cautious, she has no desire to fall into whatever that is. When she gets reasonably close, she gives a friendly wave.

”Hello. I have been stranded here, and intend you and yours no harm.”

These figures attempt to communicate in sign. They seem fascinated by her eyes and horns. Their own eyes glow slightly - red or amber-gold, mostly. They otherwise seem quite similar to humans in appearance. They are dressed in wind-ravaged fineries of some kind- Red and white coats and blue capes all frayed at the edges from the wind, flapping in the winds even now.

Soon, they attempt singing. The noises they produce are clearly not human noises. But this is not a language she understands either.

They don't seem especially upset or urgent about it, though.

Glowing red eyes are often a sign of fel corruption, but the undead eredar really isn’t someone who should be judging people for that, and they don’t seem hostile. The singing reminds her a little of the Naaru, but that’s more homesickness than any non-superficial similarity.

If they’re paying attention to her eyes and horns, and not the fact that she occasionally forgets to breathe, that’s likely a positive development, in all honesty. They aren’t running and screaming about demons, nor the Scourge, so it’s really a very friendly first contact.

She’ll ask them how far a safe distance is from the edge of the… whatever… is, though. Hopefully they can understand her.

Two of the ragged-clothed figures look at each other, then pace off about five paces between them and gesture at her.

Then, they all have a brief sign conversation and head out as a group to the cast-iron gazebo out on a prominence of rock. Perhaps they intend on a performance.

She’ll cautiously follow them, unless they seem like they’re trying to shoo her away. She’s going to continue being exceedingly cautious about the whirlpool, though; she doesn’t trust that the winds won’t pick up suddenly.

From out on the spur of rock, the depths of the chasm are a slight big clearer. The winds roar above and around, but are just a bit gentler here, on the platform.

It is a great circular pit, seeming to descend in darkness forever. It seems to exude some kind of primal cold, and the sight down the greedy gullet is... Wrong. Too deep, too cold, too hungry. Spikes of twisted black ice line the mouth of the thing, and deep within, there is a faint sensation of something moving. Something you might be able to see clearer if you step a bit closer to the edge...... And if you stare for long, there is a hint of a wild, enticing notion to fling yourself into the depths and fall, forever.

The procession of devils proceeds across a narrow span of rock and assembles on their worm metal stage. And then they sing. Their lips are motionless, their mouths hanging slackly open. Buzzing plainsong pours from their throats. The notes are scattered across the scale, creating only a tenuous harmony.

Slowly, they begin to shuffle in what might be a dance. Its movements are performed only with the feet. The patterns are unclear, complex, and executed with the exhausted devotion of priests performing vital rites. The well's wail drowns out their song from further than a few meters distant, but they persist.

If she watches long enough, though, eventually it becomes clear that the winds around the chasm are quiescing. Relatively.

She might be much more resistant to void corruption than an equivalent living person, but that sure doesn’t make tempting fate a good idea. She takes a stop back and carefully doesn’t look at it directly, after the first sign.

This is perhaps some sort of guard force, then, for a prison or potential portal. Or they could be doing ill-advised research. That happens, sometimes.

Whatever their role is, they’re clearly skilled shamans, to keep the winds calmer in such an area. Assuming that’s what’s happening. They don’t appear to be doing anything to make the maybe-void problem worse, at least, so they probably aren’t shadow cultists.

Assuming nobody attempts any human sacrifices and the well doesn’t start sprouting tentacles, she’ll bow respectfully to them when they finish their rites, and will wait until they return before starting to ask practical questions, like if the presence of the whirlpool is actively malevolent, if it’s liable to escape, and if there’s likely to be a transport to somewhere a bit more inhabited within a week or two.

The first question gets a hand-waving uncertainty sort of gesture. The second gets a head-shake and again an uncertainty marker. The third one gets a firm nod and an indication of a large flat area of the landing. Whatever sort of thing might arrive, though, it's not here now.

.......With the winds receding, she can see patches of star-laden bright nebula, through some of the thinner patches of the weakening storm.

Maybe, probably not, and yes. Not an imminent problem, then.

She’ll narrow down the time frame for transportation if possible - she has to worry about contingencies much more if it’s two weeks than two days, after all - but that’s also relieving. She’ll ask around if anyone needs any odd jobs done, or at least any that can be communicated through her very limited vocabulary, they seem nice enough to offer her services to, seeing as she doesn’t have anything else to do. If they don’t, then the time’s going to be spent working on various sewing projects and exploring the area.

There is really not much to do here. It's rather a desolate place. 

Luckily, the narration is permitted to skip a substantial amount of tedium. The distant nebula and stars darken to indicate a night, and then brighten to indicate a day.

A bit after that, a bright headlamp is visible in the distance. A large steel artifice is making its way towards the Well, chugging along steadily. It steadily grows larger over the course of an hour, emitting steam from a chimney and thrusters at the rear. It's not really behaving as if it is subject to gravity, in some ways, maintaining a steady altitude for the most part without any indication of upward thrust. And yet it weaves through the air, hauling to the left to counter the still potent winds around the chasm.

The thing is about a hundred feet long and thirty wide, a battle scarred construction in the image of a steam locomotive, with gleaming wooden panelling and worn steel structure. The control room has blood red stained glass panels, with figures visible piloting it inside, just behind the actinic glare of the headlight.

Still fighting the wind, the steel ship settles onto the stone with only minor scraping and clatter, the chugging of an engine quieting and dying as it lands. Shortly after this, a large door is opened near the rear of the craft, and an even dozen men and women in rumpled blue uniforms start manhandling something out.

An iron box the size of a dinner table, bloodstained and dented, glowing with sullen indecipherable sigils burnt into the surface, heavy iron chain wrapped around and around and around it. It thumps and lurches as she watches. Its mere presence seems to agitate the winds. 

They begin proceeding towards the edge of the landing with it, overseen by a Smiling Cutter bearing a grin that doesn't reach her eyes, knife-shaped earrings, a long dark coat that is simply screaming 'hidden weapons' and the roughish gait of someone left of the law and not particularly bothering to hide it.

..that seems both evil and dangerous. She won’t go on the offensive unless the locals are protesting, though, they know the situation better than her.

She’ll still approach the obvious rogue to ask a few questions, though. If the plan is good, it’s probably safer for her to carry the thing than anyone else here, and she could manage the work of several of them.

”What is that, and what is the intent behind dropping it into the” she hesitates here, before gesturing vaguely at the whirlwind-shrouded abyss “that.”

They seem to be all humans. The Devils are not objecting, just watching curiously.

She drawls in a lanky accent. "...Bein' as we are two strangers meeting at an inopportune time and place and under admittedly unideal circumstances and conditions, I must regrettably decline to provide much of an explanation beyond what is obvious and clearly visible. That being the fact that we are disposing of a certain matter which should not be particularly dwelled on, as both I and my benefactors would rather it be simply forgotten here amongst the hungry ice an' winds along with all the other detritus, prisoners, monstrosities, debris, and other such calumnies which the well of the wolf has swallowed over the years. My captain and I will both thank you quite warmly not to inquire further on the matter and prune away any curiosity as regards certain things which are best not spoken of or seen. I am sure we are both civil people and this matter can be closed without any especial hard feelings or regrets. I similarly hope that we will be able to reach a fortuitous agreement on matters which do not relate to the aforementioned one which should be ignored, and perhaps grow in acquaintanceship an' business relations for such things as passage away from this frankly awful and desolate place."

Something about the long-winded explanation is an obvious social signal, or possibly a hidden message. That much is clear just from long experience. But the details of what it implies are unknown in this foreign place.

Ah, they're disposing of something. Well, if the guardians of this place don't have an issue with it, than she doesn't have any specific objections, although it seems sort of dubious as a policy.

Halraan forces herself to physically relax, as much as is possible for her. Her voice, when she speaks, is something close to friendly, but both oddly monotone and  echos strangely.

"Of course. If your workers do not require their assistance, I would be remiss to interfere in your operations. Where is your destination, and how soon do you expect to reach it?

"While the vagaries and demands of the sky and the whims and plans of my captain are not fully known to me, at this time we are bound back to the jewel of Albion, that being London, the capital city and where the Traitor Empress reigns, and I do not see any particular reason for us to go elsewhere, largely upon consideration of the state of our fuel reserves, which is currently insufficient for a longer reaching voyage. If the winds are fair and we are not imperiled or menaced by any unfortunate events it ought to be a very simple and kindly two day cruise. Am I to understand that you would like to request such passage?"

“I would indeed, although I must regretfully say I lack any local currency. Does gold have value for your people, or should I attempt to barter?”

"Gold does indeed retain significant value for its rarity, luster, and historical usage as a store of value, even if in these modern days the reforms and new currencies in circulation have somewhat decoupled such things from general circulation. I would personally be delighted to obtain a quantity of gold at an only slightly usurious rate from one who does not have very many options. I do also admit to some measure of curiosity as to your physical nature, that being different from the races of people with which I am familiar, even if it is akin to the forms of humans and the Rubbery Men and the guises which are preferred by those Devils which have the predilections to interact with human society."

She laughs, startled, at the woman’s candor.

”I am a draenei, although I expect that to mean very little to you. Some sort of… unforeseen portal interaction sent me here, and my kind are few in number, so your unfamiliarity does not surprise me. I have indeed not met a rubbery man or devil myself, unless the guardians of this place are one of the aforementioned, but I have seen humans before.”

Which is, frankly, odd, and is making her suspect some sort of alternate timeline nonsense rather than the simple, if disastrous, possibility of being on another planet, or what remains of one.

She gets out her purse as she talks, and counts out ten golden coins, raising an eyebrow at the Smiling Cutter. “They aren’t pure, I’m afraid, but they’re more gold than not, still.”

One develops a sense for these things, if one bends their will and wit towards it. She carefully inspects one of the coins, if permitted to handle it, and then declares:

"For these ten I am inclined to offer you the sum of forty Sovereigns which will buy ship's provisions sufficient to feed twenty 'ungry souls for several days, and an argument on my behalf towards my captain, who is oft indulgent to me in minor requests such as this, as to your passage to London. Having no desire to inquire as to your nature and business here in this dreadful place in a mirror to our likewise desire to be left to our business, I shall not inquire into your goals or nature. Know that you may face some perhaps undeserved scrutiny and mistrust from certain quarters, largely on account of the glowiness of the eyes, which rarely signifies qualities amenable to civilized interaction among beings of this broken sky."

“I gladly accept your terms, then,” Halraan says, agreeably, handing over the coinage.

Really, that’s pretty generous! Sure, she could probably get a better deal at a moneychanger, but usurious seems extreme. 

Sovereigns are apparently gold and silver coins inset with bits of gems - no, stained glass. This one bears a woman's face on one side and a man's on the reverse. This one bears an image of a throne with a strange machine haloing it and patterning of dead branches. This one shows a palace.

"That being two ten-sovs, three five-sovs, and five one-sov shall make up the total sum of forty. Thus I believe the simple transaction is concluded and I shall leave you to your ruminations as I oversee our business here and reassure the crew and so on and so forth. I assure you we are likely to depart within the hour."