he
citizens of Stormwind are used to strange sights on their streets. Once upon a
time the sight of a seven foot blue giant would have sent the populace
scattering, wailing for the Light to spare them from the predations of the
Eredar. Nowadays our Draenic cousins barely warrant a second glance. The people
of our most cosmopolitan capital can seemingly accept anything. Though what they
might make of Stormwind’s latest visitor is yet to be seen.
His passage is marked by the roar of rockets and the hiss of steam. He sails
high over rooftops billowing smoke and sparks. His face bears a single,
unblinking eye and his voice is like the grinding of old gears. He calls
himself the Rocket Fellow, and what he wants in Stormwind remains to be seen.
There was a spate of sightings of a man able to leap over the rooftops a few
months ago, though it seems little was made of this at the time. A few days ago
it appeared that the spring-heeled visitor had returned. This time however he
was not content to race over the heads of the bewildered.
The Rocket Fellow apparently led the Stormwind City Guard a merry dance through
the streets, leaping over mounted guards and attracting all eyes to the
Slaughtered Lamb tavern. Thinking him to be an out-of-control automaton, a
dozen guards surrounded the inn and swept into the cellars below to capture the
rowdy robot, only to find he had led them to some unspecified cultist activity
taking place there. A battle broke out, in which several Guardsmen were
severely injured. One was wounded badly in the neck, another lost an arm in the
violent clash. The Rocket Fellow bounded into the fray, and, armed with a
bizarre steam-powered harpoon, smote two of the villains to the ground. The
fight pushed back and forth until the cultists retreated through a portal. The
Guard retreated to the cathedral to treat their wounded, the Rocket Fellow
among them – a bolt from a heavy crossbow nailed into his chest.
The Rocket Fellow was however unharmed. His suit of steam
armour absorbed the impetus of the blow, ensuring all treatment given was
superficial. Before the Guard could question the mystery man further, he
escaped the cathedral and vanished. No doubt the Guard are kicking themselves
at his escape, but it cannot be contested that the Rocket Fellow brought the
Guard to the scene of a crime the only way he was able: swiftly. The question
though was whether the Rocket Fellow was part of the cultist’s plot, or whether
he was acting in the interests of the city. There was only one thing I could
do. Ask him myself.
I met the Rocket Fellow at a secret location in the city, under the assurance I
would not reveal the meeting to anyone prior to it taking place. The masked man
was on time, leaping down from the rooftops and exiting the same way. To call
it an interview would be overly-generous; the Rocket Fellow is obviously a man
of few words. He confirmed to me that he calls himself the Rocket Fellow, and
that he considers whatever was taking place in the basement of the Slaughtered
Lamb was his business to disrupt. What it actually was, he was unwilling to
explain. He was also unwilling to explain where his frankly wonderful array of
gadgets came from.
When I told him that the Guard would most likely consider him at best a
dangerous vigilante in the city, he seemed unconcerned with it. His voice is
frankly devoid of concern about much of anything. All I can confirm is that he
is certainly an imposing figure; clad in steam armour and bearing weapons of
engineering that match the finest of enchantments. What his purpose is though
something the Rocket Fellow is keeping close to his chest. He did though
confirm that whatever his mission is, it involves the city. What the Guard will
make of this and what the rest of Stormwind will do remains to be seen. The
only sure fact is that the Rocket Fellow is in the capital, acting on some
mission known only to himself for now. With that the Rocket Fellow bounded into
the air, shot across a tiled rooftop, and was gone.
It seems that for the foreseeable future, the denizens of Stormwind will be
casting their eyes skyward, chasing the sounds of rocket motors and the clatter
of pistons and cogs. Only time will tell us what the Rocket Fellow really
wants, how the City Guard will react, and indeed the public, and whether his
arrival in the city is the herald of something good, or ill.
