Cerestal rarely travelled, and rarer still travelled without the intent of killing something. He glanced up as he walked toward the stormy sky, growing more ominous in step with the landscape growing more desolate. A pair of nether drakes glided far out on the horizon, searching like vultures for an easy prey. He figured a storm was coming, but a more worldly person than Cerestal Falah'serrar would have known that this is how Shadowmoon Valley always was.
His nightsaber whined despite being unburdened, still reeling from the strain from when she had been mounted. Cerestal wasn't tall for a night elf but his body was laden with muscle, weighing in at over three hundred pounds by himself. Adding another hundred and twenty to his total was the plate armor and greatsword he decided to bring along with some supplies, he decided to regularly rest for the poor girl before he rode her into the ground.
The region was fairly bright, amplified by the elf's natural night vision. He stopped at the first crested hill to study the map to ground for a minute. Satisfied he was on the right track, he mounted the saber and pressed on. The going was uneventful, save for two lava lizards (for lack of a better term) snapping and hissing at one another over a dead boar. Through most of this leg of the journey, Wildhammer Stronghold - his next stopover - loomed like the fortress it was to the south.
When he was within five hundred yards, a pair of patrolling gryphon riders swooped in and escorted the night elf to the gate. Cerestal was met by the sergeant on duty, a stocky dwarf with one mangled and useless eye, half a left ear and tattoos spanning his entire face.
"Welcome te Wildhammer Stronghold, night elf." he said routinely, though his appraising look lingered over the elf's right eye as they all did. "State yer business."
"Ishnu'alah. I'm heading to the Netherwing Fields." Cerestal replied. His words were low and growlish like a taurens, the Common laden with an Ursine accent he had tried more than once to iron out. "I have a map, but some directions and remarks about the route would serve well."
The sergeant looked to the handle of his greatsword poking over the traveler's shoulder.
"Are ye a poacher?"
"A poacher?" Cerestal repeated. "No."
"If yer here to kill a dragon, don't come crying te us when one breathes fire down yer arse." the sergeant chuckled along with a few privates in earshot. "Or do - it's always amusing. But we won't help ye."
"I'm not here to kill, unfortunately."
The sergeant gave him some remarks about the path east, including the Sanctum of the Stars - 'just dannae wear Aldor colours' was the advice given. Cerestal knew only they were priests from Shattrath and wondered why anyone would have issue with that specifically. For a sergeant, the dwarf was quite amiable towards the elf. Cerestal had been told that his long, semi-elegant beard often won dwarves over, but that his discolored right eye also made him intimidating. Perhaps they simply both worked on a hard-as-nails dwarf sergeant.
"My thanks." the night elf said after a few minutes. "Anything else I should know?"
"The Fields themselves are inhabited by flayers." the sergeant remarked, tapping his cheekbone to highlight his useless eye. "Ye dannae want te let one get close, alright?"
"That's what the sword is for."
"Aye. If that's it, then off with ye. I've got work te do."
Cerestal turned without a farewell and followed the path, knowing how busy a sergeant can be from his own service time. The final leg was equally uneventful, a little to his disappointment until he passed the Sanctum of the Stars. The blood elves went about their business, a few stopping to whisper and glance Cerestal's way frequently. The night elf had little desire to speak to a dwarf sergeant and less to put up with condescending, holier-than-thou elves and decided to dismount and continued on.
The fields themselves were filled with enormous crystals, flayers and Netherwing, feeding, hunting overhead or simply lazing about somewhere out of reach of said flayer. A roar boomed every few seconds and the constant beating of wings never left Cerestal's ears. A drake eyed him distrustfully. Cerestal put two fingers to his mouth and let out two short, sharp whistles followed by a longer blast.
Somewhere, a familiar roar replied.