The Assassins' Guild - Week 3 News

Arrived back in Cambridge at 10.44 and decided that having already missed three-quarters of my VLSI Design lecture I may as well find something productive to do with the rest of my time, so, carrying my huge rucksack like the filthy travelling hippy I am, I sped over to Biochemistry and attempted to conceal myself in a sea of second-year natscis. Despite the immense subtlety of my hiding place and the perfect view of the exit it afforded, I failed to see Steve anywhere, so I waited until the hordes had died down and then slunk away in defeat.

I know she has a practical... and I know where she sits... and I know when it ends ... hence I know she is dead.

An incompetent? in a college so close to mine? How outrageous!

With "information leading to the capture of" - well, elimination - provided by a handy informant, it was but the work of moments to intersect him on the way out, and the rest you probably can work out.

Another ineffective, indirect attempt. This time my bike handles were contact poisoned, but so liberally that I would have to be very lame not to spot it. Incidentally, I had contemplated doing this to one of my targets, but didn't have the advantage of seeing them cycle up to their house when I was with a police raid.

But the manlie mans of grated ire was paranormals in excessivishness, for he not onlie avoideded the one poisone, he avoidededed them all! Cwalu was lividish that their sneakliest plane yetterings had not cwalued the one of ire. Reflectling hard in each other's crimsionlinessness didst they finalstly perfectle a plane of not onlie sneaklieness, but cunninings, devioushness, dastarderlyness ond veilishness to boot.

Stalu deeded to hidier in the computerings casticle, and waiter on the mans of grated ire to leaf its sanctery. Once this particle of the plane was accomplishing, (albeit with grated sneaklieness indeeded,) didst Stalu watch the ired one's acting. The Ired one provings paranormals, and sneaklie as ever, had a conscraption of veily veil, a zoomstering biscuitle. Such a conscraption wouldst make Trivial Pursuit looker likest that mathsematicals word... umm... oblivious in comparticles to pursuiting the ired one.

So Stalu ond Cwalu perfectled their besterest plane ever, ond sneakled ond scufflied ond sneakled again downing the lain of the godlie son. Quickles didst they finderings the wheelie-wheelie conscraption, ond reflectling in the lights of the lighty lights of the godlie-son-lain lighties dids't they dastarderly bepoisone the devises handybars. only then didst they bugger off quickishness, ond get bitteren by a catly cat of veil. Nasty bugger.

This morning someone left a bomb outside my dore. It was most cunningly made from a bottle, with a wee bit of electronics on the side and a capactor the size of my nose. It was left outside my room when i was at lectures, so when i got back i was somewhat surprised to find a bomb that had alreddy been set off, by my bedder i presume. Furthermoor, my neighbour had been distracted from his work by the loud noise coming from the bomb, and he had defused it for me. So now i have a working bomb, which i plan on recycling. Thank you anonymous assasin.

with cunning and stealh i stalked to the door of the marked man he would never see the light of the corridor again if the devious device i left has it's way with him and again i disappeared into the shadows once more...

It all seemed so easy. Too easy, in fact. Thus was going on a spot of inco-bashing in the form of Blanche, knife up sleeve, gun in pocket, knocking on her door. A distant voice replies "Come in." And then the unexpected happened. I open the door and her room is HUGE. And she is on the opposite side She is way out of knifing distance, and my poorly callibrated derringer wouldn't have a chance at that range. She, momentarily stunned, did not pick up the RBG on her desk straight away. I didn't want to hang around, so made like any good rodent does. Failed assassination attempt, but at least the darkness outside hid my features well, and I know exactly what she looks like.

Like a good weasel, I shall wait my time. And it will come,

Oh yes...

Myself and my less-glamorous assisstant were walking down past Magdalene, all perfectly innocently mind. We were having a lovely non-assassins conversation about the weather and generally being decent citizens when all of a sudden our plesant amble was turned into one of terror. Out of nowhere, two figures ran towards us, screaming and flailing in a most terrifying fashion. Immediately, my assistant leapt to save my life and I squealed in a sterotypically girly fashion and reached for my cleverly concealed gun, only to discover it was our Umpire, Mr Martin O'Leary and his girlfriend. This was a man I had previously respected for his quick wit and interesting choice in hats. After much laughing at our fright, we departed and continued to discuss current affairs and other wholesome topics. I think my heart has just about slowed down now.

We were walking through town this evening, minding our own business when suddenly we are accosted by two shady individuals! Jumping instinctively I go for my gun, only to realise that they are in fact laughing at me instead of shooting. Serves me right for not looking around well enough to see the Umpire and gonzo cross the road behind us :D

He released his explosive load once again, but she was disappointed it happened so soon. "If I hadn't come early I might have missed you," he explained.

I waited in her shower and planted The Device (TM) and waited for it to do it's work, soon enough she was drawn from her room to investigate at which point I, the Goblin King, pounced and shot her several times, I then took her baby brother and made him a goblin too, it's far harder to outwit the Labyrinth when you're dead before you start.

I then had lovely talk with the deceased and the deceased's next door neighbour who had just come back from town who was also a dead assassin, it's like some sort of dead person's club in that corridor.

I did feel a tiny bit mean though because, you see, she was a slightly ill which I didn't know when I shot her but at least being ill is now the least of her worries as she's dead.

I lurked outsied a certain wanted kit jenkins' outer-door (you need a card to get to his actual room door, how unsporting is that?) for a good while, at the kind of return-from-pub-drunk-into-barrel-of-waiting-assassin time of night. He didn't show. Damn. At least it wasn't a long walk back home for my associate and I.

I'm getting too old for this.

Bowing to relentless umpirical pressure, I set out this morning with the intention of killing Steve Pettitt. Ironically, I picked a spot to lurk from which, as it turned out, I would have almost certainly been able to kill him. However, my lurking was disrupted by the presence of a dangerous-looking feral-haired individual, and by the time I was done maneuvering around so as not to risk snabbling, the target had emerged and seen me standing foolishly on the other side of the road, so I gave him a cheery wave and let him cycle off.

Emerge from Castle Wolfsonstein with bike - surprised looking Adam is standing on the other side of the road. Can't be sure he's lurking for me, and besides have hands full with bike, so I decide cycling quickly is the better part of valour, acknowledging him with a nod.

We discovered that one of our number, a Mr Mong, had been spreading Fear, Uncertainty and Doubt about the glorious world of Free Software. We decided that the best way to counteract this was to educate him directly with a bomb.

Approaching his staircase, we saw further evidence of his work: upon the doorframe of his neighbour's room was a label that read, "Mong LIVES HERE". On the bottom of this label was a faintly drawn arrow pointing towards his door.

Having left our educational device, we quickly took our leave from this den of evil.

Someone tried to blow me up this morning but their bomb was really lame and all I had to do to disarm it was cut the wire from the detonator (which didn't actually work anyway!) I think they may also have poisoned the apple juice that they used for the bomb just so that I can't drink it. Stingy.

Admittedly, I could have been lurking one of the other members of Steve Pettitt's evil mafia, but it seemed likely that he'd probably work out soon why I'd been there, and I should attack while I still had the advantage of vague surprise. Accordingly, I set off on a ridiculously circuitous route to his lecture in order to determine that I had not the faintest hope of ambushing him on the way out. This achieved, I relocated to a different lecture, one which offered slightly better prospects of interception. Sadly, I was acting on inaccurate intelligence, and he came from the direction I'd been assured he couldn't possibly approach from. We did a bit of fruitless running around the Downing site shooting at one another, but the moment had already been ruined

emerge paranoia. Arrive at lecture, but who's outside?? Why it's Adam, looking decidedly more shifty, and sadly more alert and blocking my only entrance. Nip round the back of the building and he chases. When I almost run down a dead end, he catches up and we have an exciting but fruitless exchange of bands in the bikeshed. Partly due to being almost out of ammo, and partly because my lecture has started, I leg it round the other side of the building and into the theatre...safe for another hour.

Cycling full pelt down TCR to a supervision I'm late for, I notice Adam with his back to me about 2 seconds too late to pull my bike over and bang kill him...contemplate going round the block for another pass but decide angry supervisior will not be happy with the extra lateness it will entail.

Well that was more interesting than expected. Peering through the tiny mail slit in my door I notice that there are three rampant Churchillers waving CPSses XPs and lightsabres and stuff. Wow. A reception.

Chris Field managed to do something really clever and get him killed though, so my really clever plan involving fridges and watermelons and elephants and stuff never got off the ground. When they were claiming death, I went and shot the guy who had claimed he came to shoot me, although he did shoot at me first, after claiming he was dead, so even if he wasn't dead he is very naughty and is now dead and I am still not, it was all a bit complicated. Although very funny. Basically I just sat in bed and had the guy who had a pseudonym about radar do all the work for me.

"You come in, have some towels, hats are good." We had a lovely big chat, and showed them around and showed them IRC and fun stuff like that. Then we resolved to bug Monkey by writing about fifty reports about what happened. Heehee... he'll enjoy that. hey, is that a thunderbo...

I knew I was going to have to wake up at 8 this morning, and that Steve Pettitt didn't have a lecture until 10 and so was likely to avail himself of an extra hour's sleep, so I'd planned to leave him a nice present to keep him on his toes. Unfortunately, despite the presence of the half-constructed bomb beside the bed where I had been working on it the previous night, the lure of the lie-in was too great, and I made the strategic decision to abandon the attempt.

The cunning plan had been to get away from the lab early and go and lurk Steve Pettitt on the way out of his Biochemistry practical, having scouted out the area the previous afternoon. Sadly, a supervision interfered and so I decided that the best plan was to lurk outside the dreaded Wolfson Court for his return instead. I arrived in plenty of time, located the most perfect of all hiding places and carefully rehearsed the attack until I was sure that nothing could possibly go wrong. Then I settled in to wait.

At one point my wait was interrupted by a concerned resident, who enquired as to my purpose. I told her I was waiting for a friend, and she looked crestfallen, declaring "I'd hoped you might be waiting for some gorgeous young thing to come this way, so you could swoop out and carry her away." Well, gorgeous though Steve may be, I hadn't intended to carry him anywhere, so I was forced to reply in the negative.

I waited, and waited, and read several chapters of a book lent to me by the nefarious Dave 'Dirty' Birch, and finally, three-quarters of an hour later, I decided that my waiting had been in vain, and that Steve had evidently gone elsewhere and was not likely to return home any time soon. This conclusion having been drawn, I set off home, only to catch sight of the target the second I stepped onto Grange Road and lost all hope of possibly being able to ambush him. I cursed my luck and made my escape across John's playing fields before he could pursue.

This morning, Steve Pettitt declared on the #assassins IRC channel that I was a "lazy bastard" for not bothering to lurk his lecture this morning. Well, I decided that such cheek was the last straw, and the only possible course of action was to kill him. Happily, I knew where he was going to be this afternoon, so an hour or so later, I sauntered over to New Hall and concealed myself in a hedge. My careful scouting was observed by a passing old man, who, recognising me as a fellow paranoid, made it know to me in a complex series of gestures and whispers that he had an important secret to tell me. He then proceeded to sing me an incomprehensible song in a faltering voice, before informing me that he had to leave because the chap across the road "looked untrustworthy".

Shortly after that, Steve appeared out of New Hall, having taken the sneaky back route I thought he might. I waited until he was looking the other way and then crept round behind a series of cars and small walls evidently placed there for the purpose. Eventually, I judged myself close enough, and since he was still looking the other way, I walked up behind him and shot him in the back of the head.

You know that bit at the end of The Princess Bride where Inigo Montoya says he doesn't know what he's supposed to do with his life now he's killed the man he's been hunting for so long? Yeah, well, that's how it feels to be me right now. Signing off.

Having induced a friend to WHOA HELL THE SKY IS PRETTY... Yes, having induced said friend to assist us in killing Neil Sadler, Weekend Breakfast Armageddon and I made our way to Magdalene College, where we were led to Neil's room. However, seeing as Neil was not in, our accomplice scouted around, and managed to find both Neil and Kit Jenkins engaged in a game of pool. He brings us into the room and introduces us as "two friends from another college". We make very forced small-talk for a while, letting them finish their game. As soon as the last ball had gone down the hole, we rushed forward, and shot one target each. Afterwards, we had a short chat with the corpses, then we all went on our merry ways.

Sunday at 2:30pm I got wind of news that Nathan "the highest headpiece" Bowler had been sighted in Sainsbury's. Throwing off my purple velvet dressing-gown in disgust, and putting my pipe on its holder above the fireplace, I rapidly changed into my favourite lycra cat-suit and made for everyone's favourite local supermarket (even if they don't do the 2 for 1 hobnob offer any more). Sadly, Mr. Hat had left for home in the time it had taken me to get there. An accomplice followed his most likely route home, while I lurked in town, in case he was still about. Didn't find him. Bugger.

I noticed that there was an inco not far from me, so I thought I might as well try to kill him. Through the magic of the (lol) Internet I discovered that he was meant to be providing tea and cakes in the Hughes Hall MCR at 16:00. I therefore expected him to leave his room to organise them about half an hour before then.

Annoyingly, all the doors, even those to semi-public areas within the college, appear to be code-locked. Furthermore, my youthful appearance made me look rather out of place among all the old ladies. I decided to lurk conspicuously where I could see the obvious exit from the inco's building.

I saw a couple of males and greeted them with a somewhat clumsy (but he's only an inco) "Patrick?". One, wearing a USA T-shirt, claimed not to be Patrick, before entering his building; the other claimed to be a David.

I also met and waved to an old lady called Stumo, carrying laundry out of the inco's building. Fearing that my presence might be revealed and that the inco might actually fight back, I left at about 15:45.