The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 NewsAt 05:00 on Monday 17th October 2005, the game begins. There are between 64 and 512 live assassins waiting for you to kill them. Unfortunately, no-one has any targetting information yet.
i dropped the bike up a gear and wrung the throttle for everything it's worth...i'm speeding....that's a good way to get yourself noticed....and if you're an assassin in a new town, one fingerprint check away from the gas chamber, like i am, the last thing you want is to get noticed.
...
the cop shuts off his siren, he knows he's not the law. not in old hall.....the ladies are the law here. beautiful and merciless.
....
there's a poster on the door....."who's next" or something. it's enough to put the heebie jeebies up me. where have i seen that before? then it hits me. we've met before..... i wonder if she remembers me. the scar twinges where the bullet hit.... no....today is not the day.
In the loo I hid
Resist the call of nature
My target could not
Marianne Park: Brutally murdered by a loo-lurker.
Dear Umpire,
I write to report sad tidings of my own death; brutally stabbed in the left
kidney in Trinity Great Court while proceeding to the Great Hall.
My attacker identified himself only as 'Dom', [whom I assume is the same Dom as is on the targets list of my neighbor Paul], with whom I had no previous quarrel. I was not bearing, and, so far as I am aware, not on his targets list, and so request that this be regarded as unlawful murder.
Yours,
The (Late) Poisoner
Dear Umpire,
I am writing to inform you of my most untimely death at the hands of one of
my targets, at 1900 hours in Great Court, Trinity College. I was just
returning from Hall when I chanced upon meeting an assassin acclompice of
mine, who was unarmed. Whilst conversing, one of my targets (later
identified as 'Dom') snook up on us and stabbed my esteemed assassin friend
in the left kidney, leaving him to bleed out onto the hallowed cobbles
infront of the stairs leading to Hall. Seeing this act of atrocity, I
reached for my ammunition in order to avenge my companion's death and take
care of one of my targets but alas, with all the days accumulated crap in
said pocket, I could not load fast enough, and recieved a shot to the
forehead for my troubles. So ends my report, and my career as an assassin.
Earlier today, at 5.10 some people knocked on my door, saying 'answer a riddle and get a free satsuma'. i was not fooled and did not answer the door. There were two of them. They left but i got a far off glimpse of them.
later (6pm) at Master's drinks i spotted them but they did not recognise me. As we left i heard them talking about assassin stuff, and i attacked 'Chris' (7.10pm)who had been at my door earlier, stabbing him with my knife. He looked confused and bewildered. So did his friend, so i killed him also with a shot to the head, recognising him as the other assassin at my door earlier.
They realised they had been killed. That will teach people to try n kill me with satsumas.
While you may kill someone accomplicing an attempt on you while they are making that attempt, this does not make them a legal target for you later on. Thus Christopher James Donnelly was not a legal target for Dominic James Graham Hockley, who has been made wanted for the murder.
However, it was not unreasonable to suppose that Christopher James Donnelly was one of Dominic James Graham Hockley's assassins, so he will be redeemed if he kills two of his targets (or assassins) or wanted criminals. Having killed Paul Anthony Dempster, who was targetting him, he now needs to kill only one target or criminal to be redeemed.
After a hardy journey through mist and fog, I had reached college of my foe. A long walk it would be, still from here. I found it best to fall into the crowd, it was too populated to be sneaky, I would have just look like a twat. Door after door I trundled, finding my way through rapids bigger than my arse, to finally reach my destination. As I approached the entrance, I felt the butter-beasts in my stomach charging, only now did I understand how serious this way of life could be, getting to grips with the chance of my mortal ending if I fumbled this attempted theft of life. With a slow deep breath I opened the door to the palace hotel, deeper breaths ran with each careful footstep, but further and further I had to climb, paranoia setting in, gun in hand, shielded in pocket so to help prevent a chancy assassin taking my life. The final steps, I could feel my bowls shake and cry to be emptied, but my rectum held firm. Another door handle I grasped, tighter than a 3yr olds arse , I twisted (like we did last summer) pulled back, and listened for the sounds of my foe. The room opposite?s door was open, what a shit I thought, but the occupant was not to be seen, could the assassin be lurking there? I took my chance to storm his fort, monkey of death in hand, with quick paced soft steps I dashed, grasped the handle and pushed like a true whore, but failure hit as the lock held firm. Fearing my life I side stepped and hid in the shadows, awaiting a great defensive barrage of grenade and gun fire. My heart pumped in the true manner of a coked up Wayne Rooney, as I crouched, hovering over a warm pool of my excrement, waiting. 100 Mississippis later, I felt it had been long enough, cautiously rose up and moved on, with my heart dragging behind me, covered in piss. Approaching the decent back to safe ground, a fair maiden blessed me with her presence and informed me of the foe taking cover else where, like a true coward, but would not tell me when he would return. I sensed she had been informed of the goings on by my foe, and the overpowering stench of bladder, bowel and monkey may have told her all she needed to know. I knew I had to decline her offer of rubbing my purple carrot in her pouch of fillet steak, though tasty, if I was to accompany the temptress to her stimulating love nest, I would have my throat slit at any moment, and I draw the line at spanking.
Went to target's college armed with knife. Found target's room and learned layout of area. Identified target's windows. Knocked on target's door - no response. Knocked on neighbour's door - befriended neighbour. Neighbour described target (unaware that I am an assassin, but aware that target is). Noted features of building eg. good places to lurk. Target did not show up after 1 hr 30 mins so went back.
I was out tonight, but my neighbour reported a suspicious fellow lurking outside my door flexing some rubber bands. A narrow escape it seems, since I passed the same guy on my way out. Thank god for the temptations of The Castle.
Bounties of five boxes of raspberries each have been offered for the deaths of Tom Wootten and Ed Heaney by an anonymous source. Assassins are reminded that this does not affect whether it is legal for them to kill these people.
I have two questions for the mysterious bounty poster. One is why? Two is why raspberries? I mean, who offers raspberries as a bounty? (clue: learning difficulty people). Three is WHO THE HELL IS TOM WOOTTEN?
I have answers for Ed Heaney:
Yours
Carrie Oliver reports:
I like raspberries.
THE CHORUS OF FROGS (in Greek, of course):
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax!
Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
We are the melodious Frogs!
(We agree, we agree!)
From the swamps, puddles, reedbeds and bogs
(We agree, we agree!)
Our music's delightful
Our lyrics insightful
Brekekex! We're amazing, you see.
Our colleague near [college] we met
(We agree! We agree!)
And, as we had not made a kill yet?
(We agree, we agree!)
We had an idea
And we told him, "In here,
Brekekex! There's a target for me."
MARTYN MARIO LISTER (confused, and in the Queen's English):
Why the hell are you rapping in Greek?
Use a language that all of us speak!
You're a bit of a tard
Getting in will be hard
And your plan of attack is quite weak.
THE CHORUS OF FROGS (obstinately remaining in Greek):
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax!
Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
We think that you're being quite rude
Though we have to admit, to intrude
Into [college] this late
Through the porter-barred gate
Is not simple, we sadly conclude.
To [college], without more ado!
(We agree, we agree!)
There's a fellow we wish to pursue!
(We agree, we agree!)
But we found he was out,
And we turned right about
Brekekex! We shall hunt number three.
So we say, on to Blue Boar we go!
(We agree, we agree!)
Where, so we believe that we know
(We agree, we agree!)
Lives this character Dom
Who, with verve and aplomb
Brekekex! Has illegally killed two or three.
MARTYN MARIO LISTER (crossly):
In English again, if you please!
And here, in a galling reprise
Of our first two attacks
(We had better face facts)
He's another of our absentees.
THE CHORUS OF FROGS (concluding):
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax!
Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
We have run out of targets to find
And so, by our powers combined
We suggest that we part
But no worries, take heart
Soon new targets we will have assigned.
Brekekex!
Q. What do you get if you cross Simeon Bird with a kife?
A. |Simeon Bird| |kife| sin(theta)
(Well obviously that's only the magnitude, I mean, that was kind of implied, wasn't it?)
I was brutally, sanguinously and horribly stabbed to death from a bike this morning. Canonically like a Death Circus.
Hello! At 9:00am this morning, I successfully killed Richard Kirkdale (Peterhouse) with a pen labelled "knife".
Killed Alex Carroll at approximately 11:00 this morning...walking past him while we were waiting for our respective classes seemed almost too good an opportunity to miss. Out came the trusty Biro stiletto dagger, into the neck - next please...
As I innocently unpacked my books for a class I discovered that a blue pen shaped knife had appeared in my throat, thrust there by fellow Classicist, Turnus who on removing his blade offered to buy me a pint, which I now accept.
While walking along Trinity street after lectures, I saw Mark Thompson who was one of my targets and discretely stabbed him in the back at a moment when there would be few witnesses.
It is with great regret that I pen this report of my own untimely demise:
While innocently wandering down Trinity Street returning from lectures at midday (while not even armed), I was stabbed in the back by an unknown assailant. Death was instantaneous, and hence I had no clue as to who it was.
I would like to report an assassination I witnessed, I was minding my own business walking down the street minding my own business when I heard a scream behind me, I turned round only to see Mark Thompson lay on the floor after what looked like it could have only have been a frenzied attack. No-one I know however caught a recognisable glimpse of the sick perpertrator, except a flash racing a way from that at speeds no normal human could manage. With his dyng breath the unfortunate late Mr. Thompson told me his name and explained how he was his murderer's target, he was about to say his name when he left this place, and went over to the "other place" (he must have been very bad, being sent to Oxford).
decieded that i owed her for what she done to me.... so i sent her a cheque....should be the last she ever cashes. i await confirmation of the kill
Dear Umpire,
Whilst I congratulate you on your appointment, I have to report my dismay at your execution of your duties to date. Only two deaths on the first day, despite difficulties, is a most disappointing outcome. Amateurs.
Yours,
Christopher Field, MA
It was 5am and I still hadn't got to sleep (I thought I could hear noises outside my door for about an hour before this and I wasn't taking any chances). I opened the window and carefully climbed out, clad in a black hoodie (to disguise me from anyone that might know me and be lurking Xanthylvania at this hour), and scaling equipment (so I wouldn't be any less than 10 feet from the ground until safely miles away).
My target was living somewhere in Corpus, so I took a route to avoid the colleges (out onto the backs and then heading south toward farmland, eventually circling the city centre at about the same distance as Addenbrookes, slowly circling inwards), pausing after every 10 minutes of movement for a 20 minute scan of the surrounding area. At one point I thought I heard movement in the bushes, down a path that followed the railway tracks for a few miles, so I made extra sure that I wasn't seen by running away very fast in the darkness.
When I did finally arrive it was closer to 11am in the morning and the town was busy. I squeezed through the gated entrance and then found a kitchen near to her room. I was hungry, and hiding in a small cupboard filled with tin after tin of baked beans started to mess with my mind.
Thankfully she entered the room, a mere 4 hours later (I was expecting a much longer wait and was only resisting the tomatoey temptation by counting prime numbers, backwards). I leapt out from the cupboard and shot her before running like anything away again, back to the safe confines of my room, via the rooftops and windows. Behind locked doors, I rested, and ate beans. Oh lovely beans.
Dear Umpire, I was mercilessly shot in the stomach today at 3.15pm when forced the leave the security of my room to venture to the kitchen in order to replenish my food stores. The brutal act was carried out by someone going by the name of 'Xanth'. Yours from beyond the grave, Ellen Turnbull
Dear Umpire, who is clearly as hot as ice isn't, (but not as hot as Steve "BoomBoom" McCann),
I visited an old hunting ground of mine - Blue Boar I - stalked in a toilet until I realised that the toilet wasn't my target. Dom Hockley was. So reconnoitred the area. Hasn't changed since last year. No-one was around. Damn.
Noted the hiding places and the wonderful sniping opportunities given by the kitchen, and early warning given by the motion-sensitive lights. Excellent.
Will return.
Flooflebunny
Tuesday promised woe :
A package in my 'hole.
To the market I ran,
To get gloves for my hands.
Returning, I opened the letter.
'Twas not poison, but better,
Some stuff from EBay -
I gave positive feedback, for I had ordered just yesterday.
There was a criminal about,
Someone had to sort him out.
It might as well be me,
Since I had the afternoon free.
No forgiveness was shown,
as I crept towards his room.
Some work I brought along with me,
Because contrary to appearances I do quite want a degree.
Hiding nearby,
I maintained a vigiliant eye.
Suddenly the door swung open;
My target's horror went unspoken,
As I unleashed rubber-band hell -
Sadly it didn't go well...
All my shots missed
So I ran off, pretty pissed.
Killer Rabbit lives still,
And I have failed to get a kill.
But the day's fun is not yet done!
Maybe later will I claim another notch for my gun...
Dear umpire, just reporting a failed attempted assination attempt. As i opened my door to go the kitchen, an assasssin fired his rubberband gun at me. I made a tactical retreat as i dodged the bands and shut the door. He had been sitting nonchalently outside my room reading a book (Princess Diaries, I think). He cowardly ran off after having missed, and my long shot from my window sent him on his way.
Sent my little furry friend "Arfur" with an important letter for Turnus to be left in his pidge. So long!
Eric_the_Penguin
eric_the_penguin attempted a contact poison letter - I was opening it whilst holding a T-shirt and some cocoa powder fell out. Which, given the envelope had "Important Documents Contained" on it, left me a little suspicious...either way, while I now have cocoa powder on my T-shirt and on my floor, I never actually touched it.
Just thought i should inform you i am sending a poisoned letter (cadburys hot choc) to Biffa D. Thus you should expect to here from him sometime tomorrow as to its efficiacy.
Received suspicious looking letter.
Binned it.
We live in the information age. Be careful your target doesn't have more than you do.
Caught up in the glamour and hype, full of hope and a blind belief in impossible luck, these things led me down a path of pure incompetence and onto holy ground upon which my grave lies and i reside, for now and forever. My legacy? - a light snack for kestrel, who lives on...
kill made!!!!
it's murder on the dance floor..... little lottie herron, she was a good girl, mild mannered, loved by all who knew her... but she did like a drink or two.....and to frequent seedy clubs in her pyjamas.
now she's dead. don't do it kids
(although bannanas, top or otherwise, have no seeds)
Deastset Umpre....
I challenge you all to fine d a better olace to die! Enibratede (too big a word to soell under alcohol infulence), with friends, celebratidn fiends bithdahy, danciung and raising money for charityhu akll at once! Hurrah! RAG rules!
Please cforawd police forwce app;licfation form.
Tjanlos
Lottie
10:45 Go to Newnham. Go to target's room. Not there. Discover from neighbour that target already killed in Cindy's that evening. Return to room.
Popular Lottie.
Monday pm: Woke up. Got target list. Laughed like the psychotic killer I know I will soon become. Googled. Praised the Cult of Blogs and Journals for their knowlegde of my targets. Constructed nefarious devices. Drank the blood of previous victims.
Tuedsay am: e-Stalked targets some more. Went to sleep, clutching a knife to my breast.
Tuesday pm: Survived the night. Woke up. Planned slaughter. Made many knives. Found picture of target. Smiled evily. Left for target's Society Meeting. Found target already there, preventing me from viciously stabbing them as they entered. Stared at target for several hours. Got slightly drunk.
Wednesday am: Lost target. They left early, damnit! And no chance to plant a cunning letter about their person. We shall meet again.
it was dark. i nailed a dude from downing.
I stalked the streets, repeating the name I had memorised but a few hours earlier. 'Samuel Borin', my prey. I was the hunter, he was the hunted. Little did he know of the horrors soon to befall him... The rain poured down in unceasing torrents as I overcame the last of the defences erected by Downing College to prevent just such an occurence. The door swung open, code broken and I raised my eyes to the top floor where my quarry resided in ignorant, unknowing bliss. He was not present, I entered the room of one of his companions and lay, waiting... My prey entered, he glanced over the inhabitants, obviously wary, but his ocular skills were no match for my cunning subterfuge. My dagger strike was quick and fatal, into the small of his back. He was paralysed as he lay on the ground, spasming as his motor neurons fired erratically during his death throes. His eyes held nothing but surprise when I closed them and walked away, checking the next on my list...
11:15 Treacherously murdered by Dominic James Graham Hockley, who was using non-player accomplices.
By killing two of his targets or assassins, Dominic has redeemed himself. He is disappointed that he seems to be doing most of the killing this game.
Dear Mr. Umpire,
I thought I would like to write to you regarding an offer of a bounty upon the heads of several individuals. Namely, if Mr. Adam Baird-Fraiser or Mr. Christopher Field (MA) are fatally wounded, the live assassins concerned will receive a packet of bourbon biscuits per person; non players may also get one if they attempt this, but that depends on my mood. If Mr. Martin Lester is attempted, a packet of bourbon biscuits will also be considered!
After all, going wanted is the way forward.
Yours sincerely,
Anonymous
PS - No, suicides don't count, unless they are too hilarious to not be rewarded, as it were...
Once again, the Umpire reminds players that the existence of a bounty on someone's head does not make them a legal target for you when they would not otherwise be one.
Furthermore, remember that the Umpire's room and staircase are out of bounds.
Across Cambridge I rode
To womble's abode.
I scoped out the region
But passers by were legion.
They looked at me all funny, like
So I retreated on my bike.
Dear Mr Umpire,
I would like to refute the ridiculous assertion that prior to my very-nearly-successful attempt to shoot Killer Rabbit, I was
"sitting nonchalently outside my room reading a book (Princess Diaries, I think)"
The book was in fact "Rhyming couplets for Dummies." As a response to this slander, I am hereby offering a bounty of, er... a Bounty bar, to anyone who eliminates Killer Rabbit. I note that he is no longer Wanted, but don't let that stop you.
Must go now, I'm off to the library. I need to read "An idiot's guide to coming up with bountys".
Sincerely,
Fat Freddy's Khat
The Umpire reminds players that the existence of a bounty on a player's head does not make them a legal target when they would not otherwise be one.
Dear Umpire,
I would like to ask Fat Freddy's Khat to remove the bounty on Killer
Rabbit's head, as it was not turely slander as I said 'I think'.
I only caught a glimpse of the book and so did not see the title as clearly as i thought i had!
Also a bounty bar bounty for my death is pretty insulting, and anyone attempting it must really have no life.
Thanks, keep rhyming, v impressed
killer rabbit
Inside [some college]
Find The Chorus of Frogs I could not, though
He has silly hair
By substituting
His pseudonym for his name
My haiku is wrecked
I, Sam Chandler left a poisoned letter for my target Merriset in his pigeon hole. If he opens it without gloves he deserves everything he gets, because I don't think it could be more obvious such a letter was from his assassin unless it actually said so on the front.
Dear Umpire, Today at noon, I checked my pigeon hole and discovered an aromatic and slightly damp envelope, and a CICCU flyer. I used the latter to pick up the former, and then dropped both in the bin.
Five boxes of raspberries are offered for the deaths of each of Matthew Johnson, Adam Biltcliffe and Adam Baird Fraser. Should the assassinations not be carried out in a timely manner and the raspberries become unfit for consumption, a bounty of fifty pence and a chocolate bar or flapjack from the Computer Laboratory cafeteria will be awarded instead.
Again, the Umpire reminds players that the existence of a bounty on someone's head does not make them a legal target for everyone.
After my impromptu reconnaissance last night on The Space Beatle, I now felt ready to make my attempt, having gained a working knowledge of the building. Upon my return (by a more clandestine mode than asking The Space Beatle to let me in) I found his room to be deserted and so staged a tactical withdrawal to return at a later date...
I'm afraid an attempted attack upon Wilderbeest has gone horribly wrong, and the person upon whom I administered a stern coshing followed by a sucking of the soul was in fact an innocent civilian. Next time I shan't get it wrong. If there is a next time.
For killing an innocent, Louis Jagger is made wanted. He will be redeemed for killing two of his targets or assassins or two wanted criminals.
On the 27th of Novermber 1986, an assassin named Batmo was born. He lead a quiet life until, at the freshers fair of Cambridge University, he found his calling. He knew he had an evil streak in him from the moment he broke his brother's leg in a friendly game of football some 14 years ago, but he had not yet discovered his true wickedness. The freshers' fair changed that. He found the assassins' stall. He knew he had to join. This is his destiny. When he arrived home on the 17th of October, he found an email waiting for him. It contained 3 names. He chose to attempt to kill Meee! by poisoned letter, a rather nasty way to die, he thought. At 17.20 he posted this death containing letter to his target, cackling to himself as the envelope fluttered down into the depths of the postbox. It was ready to be picked up in the morning by a postman, blissfully unaware that he was delivering a letter that would terminate someones life.
Batmo strikes. Hopefully he scores.
I am writing to inform you of an unsuccessful attempt on my life.
I went to collect my mail today and found a suspicious envelope in my pigeon-hole. On taking it to my room, I put the envelope up to the light and to my horror saw that there was a note enclosed saying the envelope contained seedless raspberry jam. A pink splodge could also be seen under this writing. I speedily disposed of the still unopened envelope, glad to still be alive.
P.S. I am eating raspberry jam sandwiches as I write this.
I have shot myself in the head.
Someone knocked on my door claiming to be from microsoft, so I promptly stabbed him with my trusty penknife. I was slightly disappointed when it turned out he was actually an assassin, but at least it livened up the evening.
Is this a dagger I feel behind me,
The blade stuck in my back? Damn, my shot missed thee.
I have life not, and yet weaponry still.
Art I not, an assasin, foolish
and underplanned to fight, or art I but
A genius of planning, yet in execution,
My failings from my heat-oppr??ssed brain?
Dearest Maz
Upon checking my mail today I came across a highly suspicious envelope (or maybe three if you count the corporate spam and the CICCU leaflet). Upon returning to foxypad the front door sounded an alarm and the blast doors slammed shut, indicating that all was not indeed well, and I had to use the master override to gain entry.
Using two of Lord Sainsbury's finest biohazard gloves (available for free with any purchase) and a pair of hazardous object tongs (available from Ryman the Stationer) I opened the envelope above the hazardous waste disposal chute (available in all good college rooms). Sure enough some poison fell out, so I flushed it away and decontaminated the letter for storage in my album of failed BPLs.
Love and Kisses
Foxy
Earlier this afternoon in the dead of night that is 3p.m. I decided to make an SAS style swoop on my target, the Ten of Wands. I creeped up to my targets door only to find it locked. Foolishly, I knocked and out came my target, 8 foot tall and armed to the teet, facing me with only by 5p cheapo biro shaped razor sharp hunting knife. She fired the first shot, which I managed to block with my knife, this lenghtened by life but ruined my weapon, then the second shot was fired, this was impossible to block and struck me square in the heat, right atrium, I think, and I sunk to the floor, dead, but that wasn't enough for my killer, she wanted revenge! She proceeded to shoot a further 37 shots into me "just to make sure!" If you see a blood-covered bullet-riddled body lying around the city of Cambridge in some industrial bin, please say hi to me!
"Choose three cards, to represent your past, present and future."
"There. What are they?"
"Hmm. Your cards are... Strength... the Ten of Wands... and Death."
"What does that mean?"
"Just let me get my gun, I'll get right back to you."
I arrived at Robinson College, a mere child of 19, hands untainted by the blood of others. I swiftly made my way to my targets clearly labled room, where i found the door unlocked and the light off. This worried me, visions of an ambush flooded my mind, and my small knife suddenly didnt look quite so lethal. I decided I would trust my cat-like reflexes and stepped quietly into the room. My target had his back to me, so i expertly located his kidneys and punctured the left one. In his dying moments he tried to turn, giving himself an impressive gash halfway round his circumference. I felt a part of me die, and deep within something dormant stirred. Then i did a little dance.
i've been killed, was stabbed in the kidney and bled to death.
?? quatre heures d'apr??s-midi, j'ai entendu "toc toc!" ?? la porte. "C'est qui?" j'ai dit. "Je suis un journaliste," il a repondu.
Malheureusement, il n'a ??t?? pas euphorique que je n'ai pas ouvrit la porte. Je suis desol?? :(
I sent a poisoned letter to Andrew Beale of Selwyn College today. It wasn't a very good one though.
Sadly, i have died. Some treacherous fool sent a special card to me, and stupidly i opened it. Ah well thats me out
While hiding at my department, I overhearded a stranger discussing assassins with a colleague. He then took a gun out his bag to show it off... so I shot him. Unfortunately, after talking to him afterward, it seems that Chris Knowles wasn't actually playing the game.
As I slunk into Robinson the storm clouds gathered, a potent sign from the gods, but for good or bad? As I pondered this I crept unnoticed up to my targets room silently drawing my RBG in preperation for bloodshed. I spy him, innocently typing at his laptop, surely this will be easy I muse as I rap on his door... No answer..damn he's canny and he's locked his door, as I ponder my next move a boy with a shock of ginger hair rounds the corner. Momentarily I consider if this is my target, but I dismiss the idea, after all he is still in his room...isn't he? Sadly my lack of reconnaisance was my downfall, for all rooms at Robinson have a door that opens silently onto the balcony, thus my target escaped (passing pleasantries with me) up to the room of a fellow assassin. My spider sense was tingling, but before I could figure what it was a man lunged at me with a knife cunningly disguised as a spatula...I raised my RBG and fired but before the second shot hit him his knife plunged into my side. My dying vision was of my target meekly hiding in a corner while his friend and I bled to our deaths...
O umpire, thou art the fairest in the land,
Here in this email i shall hand,
In my report of what happened today,
Twas a bloody. And violent. And magnificent fray.
c. 5:00pm *Knock knock* Who is it, ponders I, and with subtlety and silentitude, I see my would-be assassin via the technology of peephole. OK, I ponder more, methinks I should keep quiet and within the minute, off he goes.
c. 5:20pm Still enroomed I hear talk of The Assassins from beyond my door and, putting one and one together as we mathmos do, silently escape my room via the medium of window. Walking around outside, assassin and friend (a fellow student of my college) walk past. Like a good college buddy, the game was not given away.
Now on his own, outside looking through my window, Mr Assassin asks if I know the character he is looking for. "Oh yeah. Cool guy he is." And off I trot to a fellow assassin's (we'll just call him X) room just a stair climb away.
c. 5:30pm X comes downstairs to help me fight off the assassin and, like all good backstabbers, wait around the corner until the bloodbath was through. X lunges at the assassin, armed with his trusty spatula who at precisely the same time pruduces his Magnum 'laccy band gun. BANG! STAB! WAZOO! Dead. The two of them.
I celebrate my victory of having killed my assassin without lifting a finger and commemorate the brave X for giving his life so unwillingly. I fear he will be looking daggers at me from beyond the grave, but I shall drink to his good name tonight.
HIP HIP HURRAH X!
c. 5:40 Chat to assassin guy. His name is John.
6:00 Dinner time. Mmm beef chow mein.
5:30ish. Biffa D knocked on my door screaming of an assassin waiting for him outside his room. I went down to have look and a shady looking bloke pulled a gun at me. I lunged with my trusty wooden spoon / knife and we agreed it was a mutual kill. He said his name was John and left rather quickly.
I have just allowed somebody into our house who claimed to be 'Inflammable Jim', and who came asking for a 'Louis Jagger'. I have let him in but he has not turned up outside my room. I therefore have reasonable claim to believe that somewhere, downstairs, an assassin is waiting for me. I must be brave. I shall investigate.
To quote that bloke on Scott's expedition, 'I am just going out now. I may be some time.'
Your favourite Space Beatle.
Dear Lord Umpire,
I was riding down the [road] last night at a time approaching 7:00pm, when I decided to pay a visit to an associate of mine. After leaving my horse in a very poor set of stables (no roof to keep it dry), I entered his fine country abode. I saw through the window of his study that he was hard at work, and so I decided to make my visit a brief one.
I had decided that I would make my visit a surprise, and so I knocked on his door and when he asked who was there, I made up a terrible excuse on the spot. He was not convinced, and so I left the vicinity.
A few minutes later, after observing him looking out of his windows suspiciously, I reentered the corridor. As I entered, his door opened and a head appeared. He threw something towards me (at least I think it was intended to be towards me), and so in my anger I drew my pistol and attempted to dispatch him. Unfortunately he closed his door, and the stout oak protected him from the shots.
Feeling that I was not going to get any further tonight, I decided to make a hasty tactical retreat whilst I was ahead.
As my anger had been roused by this incident, I decided to pay a visit to a young lady who had offended my honour in the evil fortress of [a college]. After climbing many staircases I eventually reached her abode. There were no lights at her window, and her door was locked. As my anger had died down, I decided that such things could wait for another day.
I retrieved my horse from the equally poor stables at the fortress, and returned to my castle.
Yours Sincerely,
Martin Matthew Mariuz Mazreal, third Lord of Leicester
P.S. I am a lord, and as such I am entitled to make the occasional tactical retreat when there is no call for one
Knock Knock.
Who's there?
The JCR Comittee.
I see.
I realise I have no ammuntion on me
I find three carefully sharpened knives
I open the door and hurl them into the barage of automatic weapons fire.
I miss
So does he
I close the tattered remains of the door and take up my trusty (water) pistol
My friend has run away, but left me a note: "We're going to get you"
You don't say
Neither do I. Eric_the_Penguin
I met a fine lady; my will
Was that my first kiss she'd fulfil.
But fate is a tonic
So very ironic;
She wound up instead my first KILL!
Yes, I know, unchivalric to the hilt, but The Space Beatle has finally sucked its first lifeblood: Helena Hollis is no more. The actual kill, a swing of a cosh preceding a wave of a miniature Dustbuster vacuum-cleaner, was relatively stylish in nature. Walking down the street on the way to a Chinese takeaway, I approached my target and proceeded to embark upon a discussion of our respective AG experiences. Our conversation reached its apex with the words (mine) of 'The main thing about the Assassin's Guild, though, is never to trust anyone. Even your friends.' It was at that moment that I made my decisive move. The rest can be left to your imagination.
About an hour ago, upon luring Louis Jager out for Chinese and preparing to dispose of him with a 'poisoned conker', he killed me....
Good morning,
Or, hopefully, not in the case of one of my targets... 8am, poisoned letter placed for Cipher.
*looks innocent*
On Wednesday evening, upon leaving formal hall I found in my pigeonhole a small envelope, addressed to me, with the Jesus College crest on the envelope. Even in my somewhat less-than-sober state, something didn't seem right; then I realised that Jesus has never sent me a letter with the college crest on it. My suspicions aroused, I later opened the envelope outside my house with appropriate precautions (wearing gloves, holding my breath, and earplugs in case of madness-inducing melodies...). A white powdery substance fell out of the envelope; so I rapidly disposed of it, and retreated indoors.
Marlon the Grasshopper enjoyed the fine food and wine of Clare College, boasting to his neighbours that he intended to kill one that was amoung them. Having never witnessed such an act of mischief before they were naturally very excited and encouraging. Afterwards he was in such good mirth that he sidled up to his victim in the Cellars and plunged a dagger into her abdominal cavity. Until this moment the victim had thought Marlon was just some arthropod who enjoyed plants, and thus felt safe far outside of Histon Fortress. Oh well.
Unfortunately I am no longer. I'm dead, murdered by someone who I though was a friend. We had braved the wilds of Wales together, been hit by the same hail storm but that was not enough. In a formal at Clare college (good food - I would recomend it to anyone) in a reunion of all the brave souls that had lived through a Welsh field trip, Marlon the Grasshopper waited until I was in the bar and drunk and then STABBED ME. Bastard. It was very quick - not much pain and then all over - I am an assassin no longer. However, I am still drunk from the formal which is probably why I am babbling away in a semi-coherent fashion. I shall stop now.
Totes Maus in Space Beatles Haus,
Toetet ihm und rennt daraus.
Hahaha, du bist tot.
Translation/summary: Fledermaus, either killed legitimately by herself (Incompetence list for corpses?) or separated from her soul by Space Beatle's weapon, leaving an alive but soulless body, was reanimated as a zombie by Ape City, smeared with contact poison and sent lurching along St Peter's Terrace to Space Beatle's house. Upon opening the door, Space Beatle received a faceful of bloo goo and regrettably expired.
Nowhere in the rules (to my knowledge) does it state that dead persons may not be USED AS WEAPONS.
<groans like a zombie>
Mmmmuuuurrhhhhhhh mmmmmrrrrrgghhhhhhhh uuuuuurrhhhhhhhh braaaaaiiiiins mmmmmmmm Louis' braaiiiinns mruuuughhhhh uuurmmmmmgh
</groan>
Helena just came up to my room and after a brief and pleasant conversation coated me with shower gel! Well, what with her being dead and all, and what with shower gel not even being a valid weapon, I was somewhat surprised, I can tell thee. Turns out that another Petrean, David Smith, has become aware of my Wanted status and has determined to do away with me as a sort of 'cheap' option! Talk about unsporting. Well, it seems that he and Helena devised some sort of 'zombie' get-up by which David would kill me via his zombified partner. As it turned out, Helena agreed with me that what she did was not a means of killing me rather than a means of covering me in shower gel as a kinda light-hearted revenge, but David seems to think I'm actually dead. Which is 100% unadulterated rubbish. Anyway, not only am I halfway to being no longer wanted, but if David himself turns up, knife in hand, I shall strike with the cosh and be completely free of my accursed wantedness!
The Umpire notes that nowhere in the rules does it state that those who attempt necromancy will not be MADE WANTED IF THEY DO NOT GIVE THE UMPIRE ALL THEIR POSSESSIONS AND SPEND THE REST OF THEIR PITIFUL LIVES AS HIS SLAVE. Thus David Smith is made wanted for attempted necromancy, interpreting the rules with astonishing stupidity and annoying the Umpire by being a poor slave.
On a more serious note, remember that any weapons not described in the rules must be licensed with the Umpire before use. Using unsanctioned weapons may, among other things, cause your kill to be annulled and make you wanted. Players are advised not to waste their time by attempting to license necromancy.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!
Dave Smith, unsure as to whether his preposterous use of (dead) Helena as a zombie had killed me, just came up to my room WITH A KNIFE to make sure of his killing! BUT I WAS TOO QUICK FOR HIM!!! One lightning blow of my cosh, snuck in before he could extend his knifing arm, later, and David is unconscious, and fresh meat for the lovely Soulsucker I possess!
You know what this means?
THIS MEANS I'M NO LONGER WANTED!!!
[My target], you are safe for a further night...
Yours,
The Space Beatle.
For killing two targets, assassins or wanted criminals, The Space Beatle is redeemed.
I caught my boyfriend playing with my weapon, so I unloaded into his face.
I then had sex with his corpse.
I also saw a squirrel the other day, I do not recall how voluptuous it was.
I'm sorry to all concerned, but it would appear some people find necrophilia amusing (you know who you are...).
The Umpired received this message from Tom Booth's lawyers:
Given the astonishing number of bounties placed so far this game, Mr Booth would like to express his disapproval and disappointment at the general unsportsmanlike attitude and lameness of so many assassins. Mr Booth would like to remind those listening that the purpose of an assassin is to kill those people he is assigned, and, should it prove necessary, eliminate those who attack him. To hire out a further assassin by placing a bounty on the heads of one's targets removes the purpose of an assassin entirely, and those without purpose should themselves be eliminated.
Mr Booth would like to suggest that no further bounties are placed for the foreseeable future, given the number already standing. To encourage this state of affairs, the killer of any assassin who henceforth places a bounty will be rewarded with a pile of those biscuits known as "party rings".
Mr Booth would like to thank you for reading, and encourage you to get back to drenching the streets of Cambridge with blood, as God intended.
Christopher Field reports:
To the anonymous bounty poster:
I lured the Umpire out with the promise of looting the basement of Kings for computer hardware. Then I shot him. Please deliver the reward ASAP.
Christopher Field, MA
Bounty Hunter
The Umpire reports:
I'd just finished watching an exciting episode of Yakitate!! Japan, when my darling husband, Christopher Field MA, entered the room with Neill Campbell. He told me that there was some old computer hardware being given away in King's and invited me to come with him to look at it. Of course, I agreed.
As we were walking through Tree Court, he took out his gun and shot me from behind. It seems his desire for the bounty was greater than his love for me.
However, I did pick up two kettle extension leads, a reasonably nice old Dell keyboard, some crazy parallel print server thing and an ADB to RJ45 Ethernet transceiver. I was a little late for Denotional Semantics, though.
Sacre Bleu!!! Et j'??tais absolutement certain qu'il ??tait un assassin de moi :( Je me sens tr??s stupide. Adieu, monde cruel.
For shooting an innocent he believed to be one of his assassins, for writing reports in French and for generally being a special boy, Alex Labram is made wanted. He will be redeemed if he kills two targets (his own), assassins (his own) or wanted criminals.
It is with the greatest regret that I must report to you the death of one Samuel Kyle Burnand, at the hands of . . . well . . . me, actually. Hmmm . . . that makes it rather more difficult for me to sound upset, doesn't it? Alas.
I had attempted to assassinate him earlier this week, thinking to catch him on his way to a society meeting. Having managed to arrive on the scene just as he entered the meeting, I resolved to return at the end, but once again my impeccable timing (or, rather, the fact that the meeting had finished early) allowed me to enter the court just as he was leaving it from the opposite side.
Today, however, by a stroke of luck, I happened to catch him leaving the cafeteria. Drawing my trusty dagger (cunningly disguised as a pen with a Post-it note on it), I moved in closer, and (apologising very politely) slid the blade into his side. The wound was not immediately fatal, and no one (least of all my target) seemed to notice, but sure enough, in a matter of minutes he lay dead at the bottom of the stairs; by this time I had of course made a swift but subtle get-away.
I offer my most sincere condolences to the family of the deceased, and am saddened to think that there will most likely soon be another untimely death to report.
In the lunch hall did I reside
Taking my tray out to the side
I was heavily fed
With pasta and bread
And a knife plunged deep into my side
12:56 Exit lecture and cycle to near target's college. 12:59 Proceed on foot to target's college, and locate target's room. 13:01 Scout out the vicinity, and collect my thoughts ready for a surprise, tactical and hopefully terminal assault. 13:03 Knock on target's door, hide in kitchen. 13:04 Utterly fail to kill or maim target in any way whatsoever. 13:05 Run away with my metaphorical tail between my legs.
"Excuse me, do you have the time?"
"Yes, it's... 1.25pm."
"Thank you. You know, I drew a card for guidance this morning."
"Er. Okay."
"It was the Chariot. Funny that I'd meet you beside your bus..."
"Look, really, I don't even know you, why are you telling me this?"
"No reason."
[BANG]
I just killed someone... and yes, I did cycle out to Homerton to do so, Damien John Maguire is somewhat dead due to a shoggoth death-star...
So here I sit, door wide open, half asleep. I just dropped in to check the e-mails, and grab my bag. Five minutes earlier and I wouldn't have been there, five later and I would have just left. Damn fate...
So anyway, back to the story... I just check up on a few things when I see a pair of girls knock on my door. Alarm bells should have been ringing, but a combination of a lack of sleep and to much maths leads me not to move.
One, from down the corridor is a mole, and asks innocently have I seen one of my neighbours. Which I havn't of course, but they already know that. As suspicion creeps in, I realise that my weapons are locked safely in my cupboard. Damn again...
At this stage its far to late, and the death star hits me. I'm dead... Damn...
Dear Lord Umpire,
As an addition to my previous letter, when I was so angered by my associate, I hastily wrote a short message with a rather fatal tone, and left it in his post box.
Yours Sincerely,
Martin Matthew Mariuz Mazreal, third Lord of Leicester
A letter. For me. With just my name. And URGENT stamped on it. I pick it up with thick gloves on. It makes a rustling noise when I shake it.
Hmm...
I open the letter with gloves on. I put letter in my portable letter incinerator.
Damn the internet.
I am also instructed to tell the umpire how handsome he is.
I have never met the umpire.
A note on my door. "Sorry, I missed you earlier. I'll call back...". Better service than the average call centre.
RemedialSaucer reporting - have checked out surroundings of target. Went twice to knock on target's door, no response, befriended target's neighbour and told a clever lie about books. Will try again at various times tomorrow.
While lurking one of my targets, I embarassingly managed to make an attempt on a non-target. He fitted the physical description of my target that i had obtained (at least from a quick glimpse), could be either the target or one other person due to the room layout, and was moving fast. This made me think he was the target and leap out.
For wounding an innocent by stabbing him in the arm, Jacob Samuel Corteen is made wanted. As the innocent was not killed, he will be redeemed for killing one target, assassin or wanted criminal.
Dropped a poisoned letter into Eleanors pigeonhole this afternoon.
Oh dear, came to my pigeon hole to find a letter which rattled when I shook it; easily disposed of with gloves and long pointy implements!
Dear Umpire,
I would also like to place a bounty on Mr. Tom Booth. Why? Pure comedy value, nothing more. I would also like to thank him - having a bounty makes me feel very loved.
Yours sincerely,
Anonymous
Once more, the Umpire reminds players that the existence of a bounty on another player does not make them a legal target.
This is an announcement by the Central Committee.
Earlier today, a miscreant was identified by the militant arm of the State Security Service. A dangerous counterrevolutionary, he was earmarked for immediate elimination.
An assassin was chosen for the task and sent to execute the target. Painstaking research was carried out, the physical appearance and habits of the target noted, and then with the aid of patriotic citizens the target approached.
At this point however a crime against the People, the State and the Revolution was committed. An individual who is already marked for liquidation shouted a warning to the victim, who fled.
There ensued an epic battle of throwing knives accross the lawns of that hotbed of capitalism and counterrevolutionary activity known as [college]. Unfortunately the agent of the Committee was wounded in the leg, and then dispatched after another half-dozen knives were exchanged.
The target is still at large, but will not live for long. His activities have become a menace to the State and the People and he will be eliminated with extreme prejudice.
Let it be known that such behaviour is not tolerated by the People's Revolution and that any individual aiding or abetting any of these criminals, or engaging in similar activities, will be put on the Death List with immediate effect.
No-one can escape the justice of the People forever. Power comes from the barrel of a gun, and the State has many guns to call upon. Other assassins have been dispatched and the head of the target will be taken before the week is out.
I was wandering back to my home for a nice quiet evening at about 18:00 today, when I noticed a shady looking character strolling casually towards me. (Well, he had a beard). I kept my eye on him as he approached, before a very helpful friend shouted "Run, he's trying to kill you!" I reasoned this was fairly watertight logic and duly fled, only to be persued by a knife hurling maniac. Turning round to surprise my attacker, I replied with my own volley of carefully aimed daggers. Which missed. But so did his. So, picking up fallen knives the battle continued. Then with a clever flick of the wrist, my next blade removed his leg. "It's only a scratch" he shouted before realising he couldn't stand up and promptly fell over. Cheekily, he still insisted on terying to skewer me and several more blades passed close by, as I approached his mutilated form knife raised for the kill.... and missed. The second one got him square in the chest, and he suddenly collapsed with a sigh onto the once green lawns. Teach him for trying to pull off an inside job using members of my staircase.
Dearest and most excellent Umpire, I bring unto you the following NEWS!
On seeing that the most dangerous, devastating and only slightly muppetly Corky had gone wanted, I went to his room.
ZOMG! Outside stood a person with a water pistol and a knife! I stabbed him for bearing, but he turned out to be only a policeman. Perhaps next time the Umpire will come to visit and I will stab him. Who knows?
Then Corky came out and I quickly stopped bearing, for fear that Corky might make a terrible mistake and stab a legal target.
6pm approached Alex Labram's room. Knocked on wall.
6:05 killed by Alex Labram's friend, called by IRC. Suspicious-looking fellow he was.
Right - so Katie unfortunately let on about her evening supervision and my associate and I felt obliged to stalk over there and shoot her a little bit. Sorry, Katie, sorry. Very sorry.
I've been cruelly murdered by a mad gunman my dear staircase-mates let in unquestioned... oh teh woes.
At the Bun Shop this evening I was reliably informed by Constable Heron that Alex Labram had gone wanted for shooting an innocent, writing reports in French and being a special boy. Having no weapons on my person I managed to gain access to one of his knives that he left on the table next to me. Being a good officer I threw the knife across the pub rendering his arm unusable. Having no other weapons on my person I had to leave it at that.
After watching Wallace and Gromit, Constable Heron and I gave chase across Christ's pieces, whereupon our target managed to evade us. Constable Heron and some vigilantes went to lurk near his room while I went to Sainsburys in case he was after the last minute price reductions. Finding nothing but reduced beer, I have retired to my rooms to drink it.
| Rank | Institution | In (MB) | Out (MB) | Total (MB) | % |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 18 | Corpus Christi College | 21401.57 | 11823.84 | 33225.40 | 1.92% |
I have been killed by The Bandwidth Bandit. He shot me in the back!!
After much web research, I finally decided that there is only so much you can learn from satellite images and plans, and that a ground recce was required.
My preparations proved useful, and I found my target's room with relative ease. Sounds indicated that the target was probably in their room, however I was short on time, and ill equipped for such an overt assault, having only my trusty knife for self defence. At 1917 I made use of my target's lavatory, and swiftly departed.
Well, you put the poison in
you hope gloves don't come out
poison, poison -- laughing all the while --
you write the poisoned letter and you seal the flap...
that's what it's all about!
Oh, the poisoned letters!
Oh, the poisoned letters!
Oh, the poisoned letters!
into the pigeon hole, ra ra ra!
Having proceeded to target's college, located target's pigeonhole (no mean feats, I might add, for one so geographically challenged as myself) and placed said letter therein, to leak glitter until such time as it be found, heard to rattle and discarded, I attempted to seek my target's room to make reconnaisance for later reference. However, to my eternal shame, this proved too much; the lure of the lecture which I really shouldn't miss was enough to draw me away. After losing my way only three times I arrived at said lecture, vowing to return to my target...
Letters are not usually crunchable, or shakeable, hence it was disposed of into the bin.
Well, at least my neighbours love me, even if nasty men around the college are trying to knock me off. A friend came to tell me last night there were two people lurking outside my door, only worked out today they were probably assassins. Also, a cunning letter in my pigeonhole today, printed name on a cambridge envelope, but sadly for the killer made a rattling sound when I picked it up. 'Aha,', I think to myself: 'A cunning trap for Peach?' I asked around to make sure no-one else had one [very suspicious, this nondescript and yet highly specific mail] and sure enough, it's the only document issued. A very nice neighbour and charming gentleman very kindly slit it open over a bin for me, and sure enough a stream of sugar poured out. So ha! to you Mr Killer! Your careful printing (and it was a cunning ruse, I deny it not) was not enough to fool the mighty Peach!
There once was a devillish leech
Who tried to kill poor Princess Peach.
But devoured by fear
He said "I dare not go near,
So I'll use poison and stay out of reach!"
The Umpire notes that getting other people to open your mail will make you wanted. However, the offender in this incident is already dead.
Last night I saw the dangerous wanted criminal Alex 'Corkscrew' Labram at a showing of Wallace and Gromit. Although we were bound by a social no-kill, I coshed him in the leg as we were leaving the cinema for a laugh, and made him hop the length of the Grafton.
I've also tracked down Inflammable Jim, but he was also not to be found when i called by on thursday evening, around 9.30pm.
Somewhat inebriated from a good formal, I made my way to my quarry's abode, only to find for the third time that day the damned Space Beatle was out...
Received a hell of an official-looking Cambridge stamped letter from some mysterious third party. On opening it a whole bunch of flour showered me, which I presume signifies the end of my brief assassinating career...
Killinat3d!!
Iwas shot this morning at about 7am, couldnt tell you who it was but i really shouldve locked my door
I went to Queens and got Thomas Mason with my patented killinat10n device
I was myself killed in a brutal firearms incident as I prepared my morning cup of coffee. An unidentified assassin snuck up, asked me to confirm my identity, which I unwittingly did, and he then blasted me with a handgun. Dying rather put me off my breakfast.
Making good use of a cancelled early morning boating session, I proceeded to the house of my target, Noir-Mort. Annoyingly, it was actually a proper house with a front door and I was forced to press the call button and say I had a 'package' to deliver. Noir-Mort emerged brandishing a knife, but to my horror I realised she was dressed in the garb of the Holy Order of Travis Fans, to which I also belong. A brutal knife fight ensued and I retreated, to mull over the fact that one of my targets was a sworn sibling to me...
An attempt was made upon my life this morning when the clock stuck a 25 past 8. There was a call upon my door to which i answered with my knife.
ergh. wet. grim. cold. (in no particular order)
umbrellas, good disguises? you decide
erm...
yeah...
raisin splits and opal fruits, those were the days...
snickt! kapow! infundibulum!
i'll myocardial *your* infarction...
Also, earlier today I received a poisoned letter which was very poorly made and extremely obvious. I avoided its contents, though it no longer matters.
Boy, am I grateful for a moment's industry last night.
As I lay flat out in my bed, waiting for the helicopter blades of sleep to slice my gently parachuting consciousness into many, many flittering shards of blissful memory, a sudden and most powerful updraft of thought delayed that destructive encounter for a few seconds.
I had not locked my door.
Wearisomely dragging myself the aching yards over treacherous terrain of festering clothespile abandoned, I completed surely the most important, if the most subtle, of the day's tasks, thinking nothing of it when the winds gently died and I floated back into bed.
This morning, however, I woke up at about 10:00 and lay in bed, wondering whether to attend my 11:00 lecture. It so happened that by the most wonderful of coincidences a certain person had chosen that exact moment to ATTEMPT ENTRY INTO MY ROOM!
I heard the handle turn. I heard the shifting rub of draft excluder on painted wood. But I also heard the door's lock bump almost pathetically against the little indent in the wall.
I could swear I also heard a tut. But by then I may have been dreaming again. After all, it was the least I could do to reward myself with an extra two hours' sleep...
Has Inflammable Jim been quenched? Find out soon.
Your loving Space Beatle.
Silly boy, bringing a knife to a gun fight.
It is with great sadness that I report that a combination of my assassin's cleverness, my stupidity and his rubber band gun have unfortunately lead to my death.
Another official Cambridge letter! U fool- these things neva get sent individually, & certainly neva rattle wen U shake them. Flour, was it? I assumed sugar. Guess it's in my nature 2 assume that even some jerk tryin 2 kill me is sweeter than they seem. But no-one fools Princess Peach with phoney officialdom! Rest in peace, Sir Humphrey!!! xxx Princess Peach p.s. I'm coming 4 U, U floury douchebag
chris korek dispatched. won't bore you with the details.....
ok...so maybe i will...
waiting outside piele carpark, it's 1:56, i'm going to be late for my 2 o clock. just a minute more.... pretend to be on your phone big guy...they won't suspect a thing. there's a bike...not him. just keep tapping random digits into your phone and looking up now and.....WAIT ... that's him. that jimmy carr look he's got going shows even beneath his helmet.
drop the bike down a gear and tear off after him. i'm closing in. he's not going the way i expect, i'll be later than i thought.
i check my pocket for the switchblade. the sense that claret is imminent makes my fingers tingle as they find the cold hardness which means death for one of us... he doesn't hear my approach, the grease on my bearings silencing my free wheel....
he falls, quietly, the look of shocked incomprehension frozen on his face.....his eyes say "who are you" but he'll never know. a passer by screams but i'm already lost in the traffic.
goodbye korek, you'll never know how close i felt to you.....
Dear Mr Umpire,
once again the sorrowful duty of reporting my own demise falls to me.
Happily cycling to my supervision, I was rudely poked in the shoulder
moments before I would turn into the drive. Upon turning to inform this
pushing fellow cycler of common curtisies I began to feel my arm go weak and
my last sight was of this world was the image of my vicious assailent
pedaling into the distance. Luckily my supervisor noticed no change in my
attitude towards work so I'm fine there, though that being sad it could be a
handy excuse...
We received word from Military Intelligence that the suspect was at large, with orders to kill on sight. I was nominated for the direct assault, so I donned my camouflage and made my way to said target's residence. With only fifteen minutes to complete the mission, timing was crucial. My target reached her door, and began to unlock it. I raised my gun and fired... too late! The door opened, the shot went wide, and quick as a flash, she was gone. The suspect lives... but only lives to die another day. We shall not fail a second time...
I was innocently making my way back to my room today at roughly 2.20, and as I fumbled with my key an armed assassin leaped ferociously out of the toilet on my staircase. I was completely and culpably off guard, and even his hesitant peering round the door barely registered at first. He loosed a shot, missing me completely. I was rather laden down with books, I didn't have a free hand to unearth my own gun, and I was completely without cover in front of my door, so I decided that discretion was the better half of valour and speedily barricaded myself in my room, just in time to lock him out. By the time I reemerged cautiously, gun in hand, he had vanished. I am now still alive, but getting paranoid...
2.45 pm: Arriving at Robinson from a slightly unusual angle, I carefully searched the gardens before ... 2.55 pm: ...finding myself, quite by chance, where I wished to be. I mounted the stairs... 3.0 pm: ... and, after a slight pause and checking that my knives were in place, knocked on the door. 3.0 pm and 2 seconds: A voice calls, 'Come in'. Can it be this easy? Suspecting the worst, I pushed open the door, ready to flee. 3.0 pm and 30 seconds: The room's occupant, one Alasdair McClenahan, looks puzzled. I smile. I slip the knife silently into his heart.
3.5 pm: He behaves in a very gentlemanly manner and offers me a drink. Cheers!
Arnaud DuClare sought out Cambridgeshire Constabulary Safety Camera Enforcement Officer for a discussion of an issue of great mutual importance. Namely death.
Although staying in full view of the spy-hole and being clearly unarmed, all Arnaud was granted for his courtesy call was the sound of poorly-muffled footsteps behind the door as Cambridgeshire Constabulary Safety Camera Enforcement Officer assessed the threat posed to him.
Dissatisfied with his potential victim's lack of decency in accepting the offer of a pre-execution chinwag, Arnaud proceeded into town to consult with his Special Source. After paying him the customary ??1.40 as usual, the Source informed him that everyone needs a Big Issue in their life.
That meant trouble was brewing.
Arnaud left a note suggesting the worst possible retribution for Cambridgeshire Constabulary Safety Camera Enforcement Officer's discourtesy. It mentioned a school reunion... organised by a Johnian.
If members of the public will insist on travelling too fast in such obviously dangerous areas, such as outside our office, then they should be prepared for both getting caught on camera, and any measures later taken by this Constabulary. In this instance we are still reviewing whether a fixed penalty will be issued or if we will have to take the matter further.
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I can't bElieve he's actuAlly signing It OMG! I can't belIeve he'S actually sigNing it !
I went to my pigeon hole this evening. There was rather a lot of mail contained therein. I noticed one letter had my full postal address but, curiously, stamp. Donning my gloves I removed the item. It made a curious noise that suggested it was full of powder upon shaking. When I opened it, it was indeed full of a noxious substance. Thankfully, I did not remove my gloves at this point, because the flier that was next to the envelope was coated with a pungent smelling gloop vaguely reminiscent of Vick's vapour rub. I binned both of them.
On friday evening, around 5-6pm, i paid a visit to Ally, and unwittingly passed her on the staircase on the way up to her room. Cursing my bad luck, i left, and returned the following morning. She was out, but i left a calling card and note on her door.
Sorry I've been lame
It's the wet weather you see?
I don't want a cold!
In other news, I headed over to Emma at about 5.20 this afternoon for a long lurk of Amos, but after only five minutes a young lady in a towel appeared and asked to use the bathroom I was lurking in, so I gave up.
Beetles taste like apples, wasps like pine nuts, and worms like fried
bacon.
The six official languages of the United Nations are: English, French,
Arabic, Chinese, Russian and Spanish.
Dolphins sleep with one eye open.
Unfortunately, minutes ago, I was killed while attempting to assassinate someone. Their staircase required card entry, so I entered through a ground floor window into a communal area, where there was a pool table. I approached the room, and tried the door first, which was locked, so knocked and hid in a nearby kitchen, but my target did not emerge in the next several minutes so I assumed them out and went to converse with their neighbours to gain useful information. However on exiting this other person's room, her friend the assassin made a bang kill on me with a water pistol. Oops
So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a sense we have come to our target's college to cash a kill. When the architects of our guild wrote the magnificent words of 'The rules' and the 'Changes for this game', they were signing a promissory note to which every Assassin was to fall heir.
This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of death, mafias, and the pursuit of targets. Though it is obvious today that Fat Freddy's Khat was protected by friends and a death was not possible insofar as his life was concerned.
I was visiting [someone], ironically, and while realising that both Thufir Hawat and [someone] were playing the assassins game, decided to go round armed.
As i reached [someone]'s door, turned round to see a girl standing against the kitchen wall, reaching for an RBG, i turned and while falling on the ground fired at her, shot her. She did fire back but i am pretty sure that she fired after i shot her, and the band most likely hit my left arm.
I feel really bad as i wasnt even targetting her :(
I'll try not to kill anybody you isn't my target in the future, honest i will... O:)
I would like to report that I was savagely killed in a gun fight that I initiated; I was minding my own business, lurking in wait for my target when along came Stephen Matthew Thomas McCann brandishing his weapon; I knew that if I was noticed it was going to be the end for me, therefore I attempted a pre-emptive attack and tried to fire my gun but it didn't work, darn my inability to remember about 'bang' kills! Oh well, it was fun while it lasted, 'til next game.
"where Thufir Hawat goes, death and deceit follow" - Lady Jessica
Dearest Maz, who although stunning is not quite as handsome as Steve McCann,
Waiting in the queue for the new Wallace & Gromit film, my RBG fell out of my coat through a newly formed hole in the bottom. A computer scientist from Trinity known as Ramsey Khalaf picked it up, and preceeded to start waving it around in a dangerous fashion. So I stabbed him for bearing and threatening to kill both me, my girlfriend, and another assassin who I was with. I then recovered the gun, thus keeping Cambridge safe from one more random compsci.
The film was very good. I'd heartily recommend it to your umpiricalness.
Yours
Nick Plummer
I saw my target innocently chatting to his friends, he looked over to say hello; little did he know of my plot for his assassination. I was a little nervous at this point as this was to be my first attempt, but remained focused for my attack. He then walked over to me; so oblivious to my plan that my victim thought I was signaling to hug him but instead I pierced his heart with a dagger rapidly, even before he could see my weapon. He was left starled, his T-shirt growing red with blood and without anyone to help him. Now my killing spree really begins...
RemedialSaucer has struck again!
Silent as a shadow, I approached my target's room, and behold, his door was open. I quickly sidled into the room, weapon drawn, only to find it empty. I decided to wait.
Ten minutes later, nothing had happened, so I hatched another clever plan. I saw that the target was cultivating anthrax spores [washing powder], and I saw that his computer was turned on, and then it dawned on me: impregnate his mouse with anthrax!
I deftly typed a message into his computer
("Dear Remedial Saucer,
by the time you read this, you will have only minutes left to live.
I have impregnated your mouse with Anthrax spores. Soon, all will be black.
Sleep with the fishes.
Yours sincerely,
RemedialSaucer")
and having impregnated the mouse, I left the premises.
Unless my target is cleverer than I expected and handles his computer with plastic gloves, I shall require a new target.
The second was the laying of 'anthrax spores' on my mouse, which I wiped off which a cloth before using...
I wiped them off - I lifted up my laptops screen where my assassin had left me a message in notepad informing me of his not-so-cunning plan, so I looked down and wiped off before using the mouse.
If you clean contact poison from a surface without touching it, it does not kill you.
The Umpire notes that you ought to bring weaponry with you to an attempt, rather than attempting to construct it from items found at the scene.
Have sent kh a poisoned letter, apologies for the lame attempt.
Today I recieved 2 assassination attempts, and I want to check if I'm now dead or not. the first was a poisoned letter, supposedly containing vaseline, which I assume must have dried as neither me or my friends could determine where it was suppose to be.
If contact poison has dried or is in so small a quantity that you do not notice it, it will not kill you.
Today I knocked on Tinkabell's door. After an infinitesimal pause she answered in a cunning disguise, to the extent that I was fully convinced the person I was talking to was actually a man. Some pleasent banter later I departed, mission unaccomplished.
For the control of the of the supply of melangohol, the Great Colleges long ago declared a state of kanly - an formalised vendetta. This was codified into the rules of the war of assassins, a treatise laying out the bounds of what would otherwise be no-holds-barred warfare. The treaty is enforced by the Imperiversity, ruled over by the vice-padishah chancellor and the constant manipulations of the Cycling Guild.
--from "A History of the Imperiversity", by the Princess Corkscrew
Dearest and most excellent, besocked and fluffy Umpire, it is with the greatest joy that I send by ELECTRONIC MAIL unto you this report:
I saw a rather Special Boy in town today, and again in the CMS, but I didn't inhale.
He looked a bit like THIS:
Ed Heaney.
Having made the long and arduous trek from native Sparta to carry out the assissination decreed by the Kings, I found the home of my target, Pembroke College to be somewhat harder to enter than I'd planned. A mighty oak door stood between myself and the pigeon hole of the intended victim. Clasping a cunningly concealed poisoned letter in one hand, laced with the very deadliest of honeys, and the handle of my Greek-made RBG (the genius of Archimedes!) I patrolled the perimeter of the college in search of an entrance. Sadly, none was available, and after several more passes and with the lure of wine women and song to drag me away, I was forced to trust to the fates to deliver my fatal message for me.
Dear Umpire, I would like to formally congratulate "Spartan" on his assassination attempt by poison letter - even when a ginger hand reached inside the envelope and encountered honey, so official looking was the letter that I did not quite believe I had been killed. Until, that is, I read the letter itself, cunningly disguised as a questionnaire from "the student opinions board". Take my death as a warning, you others! I now gracefully retire from the game, and go to write a long overdue essay! Yours at peace, Jackie
Checking my pigeon hole this morning, I found a card from the Post Office. Apparently someone has tried to send me a letter, but has neglected to pay any postage thereon. I will therefore have to walk most of the way across town to the depot, and pay ??1.21 in order to pick it up.
If, as I strongly suspect, the letter is from one of my assassins, I have this message for him/her:
"While I am most impressed with your sense of humour ? trying to get me to pay for my own assassination: quite brilliant ? I feel I must remind you that you may in the process have poisoned a number of postal workers (though far be it from me to suggest that this was your intent)."
Of course, if the letter turns out to be from my mother, I shall be perfectly safe in picking it up.
Or so I assume . . .
Dear Umpire,
Today I saw Miss Sarah Tang. She was fluffy and bouncy and somewhat paranoid. I also feel that her $UNDISCLOSED_ACTIVITY_OF_AN_OVERTLY_SEXUAL_NATURE needs a little work.
Christopher Field, MA
Biscuit Monster
Dearest Fluffy Umpire,
Today we spotted a Mr Duncan Brewer and a Mr King of Wrong walking around
market square. We followed them for comedy value all the way into Heffers
and stuck a sticker on Dunky's back. They were completly obilivous to our
existance, even when they left Heffers and we were lurking very suspiously
around the bookshelves.
It was very funny, wish you could have been there.
Lottie + Co.
I left Trinity and crossed town to Emma to lurk Amos's room just before the start of hall. I arrived at about 5.30 and hid in the conveniently placed bathroom, waiting for him to make an appearance. Dinnertime came and went; his light was still off, I couldn't read in the light from the window, and didn't want to turn the light on in case I gave myself away. More importantly, I was getting hungry, so thought I'd better leave and head back home for dinner myself. Probably worth trying his door all the same.
Approach door. Hear noise. Pause. Hear more noise. No... I don't think Amos is going to want to be disturbed. Leave.
As I'm walking away, I realise that at least I know where he is right now, and he has to come out sometime, right? I contact one of my mentors, who suggests I wait. So, being a public-spirited individual, I head back to the bathroom.
At about 6.30 I see someone leaving the room through the frosted glass of the bathroom window. Gender is difficult to ascertain, but they're wearing a red dressing-gown, and look to be of more feminine height. She goes out into the corridor, so I dash round behind her and enter the room.
Amos is lying in bed. He stares at me. I stare at him. I shoot him. I introduce myself. His girlfriend returns, and he introduces her. He says he would offer me a beer, but... I understand.
Ironically, he had apparently joked with his girlfriend, just before she left, that an assassin might burst into the room and shoot him while she was absent. Well, I'm always happy to be of service.
I also feel I should apologise to them for being a creepy psycho stalker freak. But it comes with the territory.
Lying there in [post-coital] bliss less than nine hours into a visit from my twice-adored girlfriend, she takes my dressing gown and leaves to go to the bathroom [just next door]. Hitherto stark naked, I decide to cover a part of myself (and only that part) on the slim chance that a neighbour drops in during the twenty seconds or so she's away. As she's leaving, I mention how funny it would be if during the said twenty seconds when my guard is down someone tried to kill me (bed in disarray, boxers at end of said bed; visualise the scene). I lay back blissfully. Fifteen or so seconds later a long-haired man comes into my room with two guns and shoots me twice in the chest. Oh... I say I would consider offering him a beer under different circumstances (very very different circumstances). "No worries," or the like, says he. I wish him good luck in his killing and he leaves, just in time to meet my girlfriend returning from the bathroom. What a way to go, eh?
However, the thought of killing remained in my fevered brain and so I continued to the home of my second target. A thousand curses on the infernal genius who equipped the doors of her abode with key-card operated locks! However, luck was with me. A cleaner opened the door and when I asked for Nedward Monkton she directed me to her room. My heart was pounding with mixed trepidation and fear... would the carpeted corridor be the scene of my first kill?? Sadly, it was not. Nedward Monkton was out. So I left a poisoned note at the foot of her door.
THE ASSASSIN
by Nedward Monkton
"A. SASSIN" called by to kill me when I was away
I am most DEEPLY AND TRULY SORRY, Mr. Sassin
because once I had seen the BEAUTIFUL, FLOWING SCRIPT of your NOTE, held in
my glov??d hand
I knew you must have the most PERFECT, MELODIOUS KNOCK known to man
and I almost WEPT, partly to think that the OPPORTUNITY of hearing this
knock had EVADED ME
but mostly because it PAINED ME that you thought there was an "E" in
NON-TOXIC when writing the disclaimer for your poisoned note
THE CHORUS OF FROGS:
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax
Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
We chorus folk two privileges prize:
To amuse you, citizens, and to advise.
So, 'mid the fun that marks this sacred day
We'll take the time to tell you how we play
Th'assassin's game, and there I now will
Relate to you how I did make a kill.
This Henry chap - his folly we regret,
But the lesson learnt today he won't forget.
SCHTIEL:
If I've any knowledge of killing at all
I can tell you with confidence, what did befall
Was a stupid, retarded and silly attempt
Which I think I must tell you I viewed with contempt
Though which, rather flukily, didn't go wrong
The target is dead, as you hear in this song.
SandwichToaster reporting an untimely death by rubber band in his bedroom.
Hi! I killed this guy last night, using a banana which had the word "gun" carved into it and by getting close to him and shouting "bang!". His roommate and a friend of mine who was there with me witnessed it and agreed that the word "gun" was perfectly legible, though he said he was planning to contest.
You may not label arbitrary objects, such as bananas, as guns. Thus Olekrios lives.
THE CHORUS OF FROGS:
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax
Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
And so onto [college] we did go
Where the target of Schtiel didn't show.
Though thrice upon his door we knocked
We really were not very shocked
When that dread portal sadly failed
To open, and, life uncurtailed,
The target on his merry way
Proceeded, and we went away.
I left my 11am lecture at 3.17pm, having sat through a subsequent two hours of SPS lectures in the same lecture theatre and then waited inside for a further hour and a quarter in case anyone had got wise to my habits. Then I exited through a skylight, crawled across the roof (taking care not to be silhouetted against the skyline) and, having carefully scoped out the area with binoculars, abseiled down into a disused internal courtyard.
From here I proceeded cautiously through a manhole into the sewers and through a tiny tunnel guaranteed to thwart any pursuers of greater stature than myself. Half a mile later, I found myself in a small chamber wherein, five months previously, I had concealed a small cache of supplies, including a tin of beans, some anime and a small DDR machine.
Having secured the entrance, I rested here for several hours until I judged that the time was right to approach my next target. I made my way through the underground waterways, finding my way through the pitch darkness by means of the map I had meticulously memorised in preparation for the attempt. After listening beneath the exit manhole for several hours in order to find a safe time to emerge, I found myself in the middle of Corpus territory.
I quickly scaled the walls and made my way in through a second-floor kitchen window which some strange, unparanoid person had foolishly left unlocked. Fearing that I might encounter an adversary patrolling the corridors, I made my way spider-like across the ceiling instead, utilising my many months of assassin training to their fullest as I made my way to the room of the target herself.
Unfortunately, the building was not as uninhabited as I would have liked, so I had to be sure to keep constantly on the move such that no-one saw me for long enough to have their suspicions aroused. I therefore embarked on a wide patrol route around the target's corridor, the adjacent corridor, the rest of the building, Corpus and part of St. Catharine's as well.
On my seventh pass through, I noticed that the pattern of light from the keyhole falling on the wall opposite the target's door had subtly altered, and knew at once that the door was unlocked. With all my assassin-senses ramped up to the max, I crept across the room and put my ear to the door. The pattern of footfalls inside the room told me at once that the target had her back to the door, so quick as a flash, I burst through the door, shouting "bang!" as I ran past her, and leapt out of the window.
I broke both my legs as I hit the ground, but this seemed a small sacrifice for the payoff: for the next two days, I'll be totally out of bounds in my hospital bed! I hope they serve beans.
Dark. Deftly dispatched. Deeply distressed. Decidedly deceased.
In a stairwell.
There I squatted,
For a time.
In a stairwell.
I was not spotted,
For a time.
In a stairwell.
There I lurked,
For a time.
In a stairwell,
Ye Gads! It worked!
The kill was mine.
I write this report from beyond the grave. My brutal death opccured this morning at midday. I awoke, still reeling from the effects of matriculation dinner and the several glasses of wine and port that were still present in my system. Unable to resist the call of nature, i stumbled blindly into the corridor. I glanced to my right only to see a fleeting shadow, my heart froze and like a rabbit trapped in the headlights, i stood helpless as my attacker, who called himself Hydra, stabbed me brutally in the back and front my body several times, and left me in a pool of my own alcohol rich blood. He left with a cheery wave whilst my last thoughts whirled around in my mind, what will the bedders say??? Oh the pain, the pain......the....pain..........
rattling letters mean GLOVE FEST
Ed Heaney.
Corkscrew had been a very naughty boy ( and a bit of a muppet). I decided to go and give him a spanking but sadly he appeared to be in bed/out. I then went and found another naughty boy in Christ's to entertain me.
I sent two people
Letters which I hope they'll get
And kill them both dead
THE CHORUS OF FROGS:
We are sure we should win in the end,
Brekekex!
CUDDLES:
[silence]
THE CHORUS OF FROGS:
Yes, we knew we should win in the end.
This afternoon at approximately 1600 hours, in one fell right hook (for that is the order in which I dropped off my parcels) I polluted ALL of my targets' pigeon holes with anthrax-talcum powder letters in a move reminiscent of Hannibal at the Battle of Cannae. After growing bored of trying to find either Thufir Hawat or Stephen Matthew Thomas McCann, and feeling like a bit of a stalker in the process, my ruse took bloody forever to execute, involving multiple trips to the armourers (Smiths and Superdrug), and a Japanese tourist asking me why I was putting talcum powder in an envelope (because my supervisor needs a bath). I expect at least one of them to have fallen victim to my not so cunning plan and come up with a pretty awful explanation as to why they fell victim to it. Oh yeah, my other target was The Space Beatle.
To quote the ancient poet, yea, what fools these mortals be!
Discovered in my pigeonhole..a letter, 'dressed to me!
'Tis sellotaped together and inscribed in scribbled hand
'Tis perched unopened on my desk...'tis blatant from the brand
'(Insert name here and college too)' the letter is a trap
Who dared to think they'd outwit me with such a scheme so...unfortunate?
It shall remain as (poorly) sealed as when it was deposited
Within my sacred portal with the aim of death. But was it? Did
The sender have an altogether innocent design?
Is the letter just a note of thanks from some old mate of mine? We shall
discover, but, alas, not 'till my bones are dried
For that damn letter shan't be opened right until I've died.
-Your (strangely poetic) (yet still very loving) Space Beatle.
Dear Umpire,
Whilst your appointment as umpire has signalled in an era of good tidings, I fear the peasantfolk of the assassins' guild are not improving as much. What kind of person leaves a BPL for someone such as myself, who must practically be considered royalty?
Yours,
Stephen McCann, MA
Most Feared Assassin in Cambridge
(aside from Carrie Oliver, obviously)
The war of assassins gave genesis to many elaborate and subtle ways of
causing
death. However, lesser assassins inexplicably continued to place their faith
in the art of "consignia" - poison delivered through the mail. Mentats have
long known that even with the best practioners, this practice held little
chance of success :- rarely even were the instruments even convincing items
of mail, let alone sophisticated in their poisons or method of dispersal.
--from "Kanly for Dummies"
At 4pm this afternoon, I knocked on the door of my target Nuck, but received no reply. I waited a few minutes to see if he would emerge from or return to his room, but neither event occured, and other calls on my time necessitated my departure. I'll be back.
<initial set up question> Have you heard the one about the locked door?
<predictable answer> No.
<witty punchline> I can't tell you - I'd never get through it!
<tumbleweed>
Communications operator: "Police Emergency..."
Caller: "Um... Look
I've lost my glasses, the ones for my nearsight."
Communications operator:
"Right."
Caller: "And I'm trying to get my lunch and I can't see to do my
potatoes very well."
Communications operator: "Well I can't come and look
for your glasses I'm sorry you'll have to peel your potatoes on your own."
Caller: "I've... I've looked everywhere. The only thing I can think of is
that they, they slipped off this, er, cord... that I had round my neck."
Communications operator: "Well, I'm sorry this is for life and death
emergency line, I really can't help you with glasses."
Caller: "I'll have to
phone the, the taxi. I went in a taxi this morning at 10 o'clock..."
Communications operator: "Hmmm hmmm..."
Caller: "...to Waitrose, I mean I
have to try everywhere you see."
Communications operator: "Okay, Thank you
now. Bye bye."
for the second time this week I found myself outside los dos toiletes's door this evening with the intent of gaining entry. Despite having noticed from the outside of the building that the room looked occupied, los dos toiletes managed to convincingly pretend to be absent - despite my careful foresight to stand out of view or the spy-hole. Will have to hang around for longer next time (or come again when she's actually in)...
Cycled out to New Hall (which as far as I'm concerned is a long way from ANYWHERE.)
Target wasn't there.
Cycled back again.
Bugger.
That is all.
Finally got around to paying a visit to some of my targets. Took a trip to New Hall; Felicity was locked up safe and sound in her building... needs more time than I had to spare today. Then popped next door to Fitzwilliam, however fearing the deadly Biclops, Chris retreated to London or so his hall-mates claim. Left a minty surprise in his p'hole pending his return.
I got killed by a poison letter
THE CHORUS OF FROGS:
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax
Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
The cheeky damn target was out.
His neighbour was rather suspicious.
I retreated, a cowardly rout.
I though this was rather judicious.
His death I will still bring about
Brekekex! When the times are propitious.
After consultation with my neighbours, I was informed that one of my assassins had come round "all sneaky like an arsehole". I assume this to be the Chorus Of Frogs' courtesy call on Sunday.
It was decided by all neighbours that any assassins not native to the corridor would be put in the bin.
Because I have far too much work to do I dispatched a poisoned letter full of deadly talcum powder to Thomas Fitch of Girton at 7:35pm on Friday. I'll send report text later dependant on the outcome.
Whoever tried to poison me didn't take into account my sterilised surgical tools. Better luck next time.
I walked all the way to find Molten Larva but they wouldn't answer the door.
I then went back into town for my next target but couldn't find the right court in their college.
This evening at approximately 2015 hours, Jaws (that would be me) and my accomplice Breakdancing Badger proceeded to hell (St John's college) to kill my target, Talan Le Geyt. The stench was awful, but we stoically took one for the team and proceeded to said target's door. Having reached the door stealthily, I tried to burst in. Unfortunately the door was locked, so I ran away. Fortunately the target ran out with a sword, and after a brief struggle was slain my Breakdancing Badger. As he was bleeding out, the subject confessed that he had earlier this morning killed a friend of ours - the honourable Soleil Kellar (may she rest in peace) - and so we take particular pleasure in informing you of the subject's death.
And may we take this opportunity to send out a warning. Our thirst for murder is not abating. Unless the referee runs around Caius naked we will start killing innocents and police.
Dear your royal umpicalness,
I have been hunting tonight. It has been awhile.
I accompanied a fellow assassin 'Jaws' to St Johns as he intended to take on the might of Talon (Hydra?). We found the relevant building, and scanned the area. After checking out the kitchens i noticed a shady figure emerging from the toilet, and going into the target's room. I was unable to shoot as he was not a legitimate kill for me!
We waited and bluffed to his neighbout when he asked us who we were. I convinced him we were waiting for a guy called 'robby' and had never heard of the assassins. 'assassins who? how do you kill!?'
Jaws knocked on the door of the target asking him if he knew where robby was, however he suspected and answered through the door, here was an assassin with cunning. I could tell.
we went looking for my target in [college] however could not locate him.
we returned to John's. Jaws decided he would try rushing into Hydra's room. However, the door was cunningly locked. I knew he was cunning.
I was stationed around the corner. After trying the door, Jaws went into the kitchen. Hydra emerged with a huge double handed sword. He jumped around the corner weilding his mighty weapon however i was too quick and in an instant he was dead with a shot to the head and a dagger thrown incapacitating his right arm. He was left bleeding on the floor, a huge inconvience to the Bedders no doubt. Jaws rushed in and stabbed him with a dagger, creating further blood spillage.
He had been courageous and cunning however no one can outsmart a break-dancing badger and my bands of death.
death will come soon to you all...
The Umpire reports:
Upon receiving this report, I briefly ran naked around my room in Caius (NB: this may be a lie). If this is not sufficient, then I look forward to a new addition to the wanted list.
I've also just lost the Game.
This evening, I noted two suspicious looking characters loitering in my staircase as I was returning to my room. Not much later, a knock on my door. Two gentlemen told me a compelling and most interesting, yet utterly irrelevant story. The story was not, however, interesting enough to persuade me to open my door.
A little while later, a hand tried my door, which, of course, was locked. However, by this point I had realised that they were not going to leave until one party lay in a pool of blood. Better to fight now than later, when my bladder would eventually force me to leave the safety of my room (and weaken me in combat).
I grasped my sword, and proceeded to check the landing. It was when stealing a glance round a corner, that, before I could bring my unwieldy broadsword to bear, I was greeted by a loud bang. My head was ripped from by body by the mere prescence of a rubber band aimed in my direction from such close range.
Hydra.
Toronto, CANADA
The quiet suburb of Castle Cove was rocked by tragedy this evening. A few unsupervised children, whose identities are withheld by law, took an evening stroll. They wandered into the abode of Luke Norman (18) with a "toy gun" they had picked up on the way. That toy gun proved to be all too real, and loaded.
Dr. Ashley Martin, the renowned child psychologist, has interviewed the children and is certain that they meant no harm. "They honestly did not think that pointing the gun at Mr. Norman and shouting 'BANG' while pulling the trigger would have any effect other than they had witnessed while playing with their own toy guns."
This incident brings up the issue of whether children are exposed to too much violence and death through the media, and whether schools should place greater emphasis on teaching their students the difference between reality and make-believe.
I approached Dusty Rhodes in the MCR at his college, held a pen to his head, said 'bang' and fled, cackling with homicidal mirth.
Sadly, you cannot use a pen as a gun, whether it is labelled as one or not. Nor can you use a banana for this purpose. You may use a pen or a banana as a knife, but only if it is labelled as one. Thus Dusty Rhodes remains alive.
went 2nite 2 [college], psyched-up, ready 4 a kill, but target cud not be found. left a poison letter 4 when he returns.
Upon returning to his sometime abode, weary from a debauched evening (or it least the equivalent thing for a member of order insecta-think "A Bug's Life"), Marlon the Grasshopper's eagle eyes (stolen from a nearby eagle) immediately picked up on the presence of an envelope on his floor.
Being naturally suspicious (afterall most mail usually ends up in the pigeonhole) Marlon donned his fetching purple gloves and proceeded to peel away the paper. Inside was a very neatly written note and a medium dollop of some king of sugar/ketchup concoction.
Regrettably for the miscreant who perpetuated this deed, none of the substance made contact with Marlon's chitinous exoskeleton. Oh well.
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