The Assassins' Guild - Week 2 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 2 NewsWith my previous attempt (the letter) on Horatio seemingly foiled I tried lurking his room tihs morning at 0920 but I had to leave in 10 minutes as oneof his neighbours was moving around too much for comfort.
Standing in the pouring rain during a stake-out is nothing new to a watchman. Nor is not seeing a glimpse of the object.
Waiting in the lift
Up and down and up and down...
Phear the lift monster!
Twas a dismal day on a dreary lane;
I went wandering by
To kill a man with my cane
And then shoot him in the eyes.
Into his hostel I did sneak,
But his door I could not open.
On my leaving, I had a peak,
I will return Kestrel.
What do you get if you cross Corkscrew with a gun?
A BLEEDING CORPSE ON THE CMS FLOOR!
Wandering merrily back through college to my room. The sun isn't shining and the birds aren't singing, but for the purposes of this report it would be useful to imagine that they are. Isn't it wonderful to be a Caian?
But wait! There's someone in a blue jumper hiding just outside my bathroom! Kill kill kill!
I didn't offer him a hug, but being a happy fluffy Caian himself, I'm sure he doesn't mind.
I left a small surpise...laced with a little shock, in supercoolcarl's pigeonhole at a half after nine on the 23rd of the month. Hopefully there was enough poison to eliminate him, however I await confirmation.
Yours in blood Noir-Mort
Received a posion letter from Nair Mort? (can't read name :D) However, being able to smell the washing powder through the envelope, the envelope was opened with knife and spoon (both boiled to clean afterwards) and no part of the envelope, letter or poison was touched.
Today, at 4:10pm, Philip Dubb was brutally knifed in the chest whilst exiting the Biology of Cells Lab. He exited life instead.
I was killed by a vicious knife attack (stabbed in the back)at 4.05 pm today by the zoology museum while leaving a practical.
"Hey, did you lot hear about what happened to the head girl today?"
"What happened?"
"She's been deprefected!"
"How....!"
"Yeah, tell us!"
"Well, it went like this you see..."
"Hurry it up man, we don't got all day!"
"We ain't got all day, you mean."
"WhatEVER."
"Well, yeah, she got caught making out with Alex in a classroom."
"Alex who?"
"Welch."
"No kidding!"
"Alex Welch in Year 10?!"
"Yeah."
"But..."
"Yeah, I know!!!"
"DUDE!!!"
"... But....."
"AMAZING!!!!!!"
".... But...."
"The whole school must have heard about this by now!!"
"... But she's a GIRL!"
"Yeah, doofus."
"Talk about HLA eh guys?"
"Dude."
Today at 4:30ish I lurked for Henry Fovargue, but was unsuccesful in my quest. Next time I won't try anything while an assassins' pub meet is on.
I checked the screen. This couldn't be right - an incompetent in my college?
One delicate and subtle ruse later, I was face to face. One delicate and subtle bullet later, the honour of my college was restored.
The game continues.
Dearest Mr M.M.L. Umpire
This afternoon, I was followed around Queens' College by a short man in a long black coat who looked rather like a hobbit. It wasn't Dave Birch, for as hobbit-like as he is, he is also dastardly handsome - almost, but not quite as much as yourself, or even Steve McCann (MA, of course). And Dave would have said "Hi" or some-such comment, because he's nice like that.
I suggest that we go to Queens' en masse, and hunt for the Shire.
Yours, in awe of your umpirical godness,
Nick Plummer
I endeavoured, through the use of magnetic fields, to trap his particles. Unfortunately this didn't quite work, and I'd left my ant-communicating device at home, so couldn't call them to my aid. Oh well, still beats the Fantastic Four's unstable molecules (unless you believe the whole story about him being a two that was just bitten by a radioactive square...plagiarism? nonono, 'research'...).
Marathon, that's another one.
Henry Pym
went a lookin for sarah tang at 6pm today but to no avail
17:00pm Went to Newnham to pick on Miss packer
She wasn't in and appeared to be away for some time judging by the note on her door "we need to watch OC when you get back" and her pigeon hole was full of stuff so I left a poisoned flyer in her pigeon hole.
I got killed last nite by a poisoned flyer in my pigeon hole by Hampster. Gutted!
Dearest Maz, the bestest umpire of them all
What would happen today but my VERY OWN BROTHER attacking me with my giant banana knife, so beloved by the stunningly gorgeous Flying_O (though of course, not nearly as stunningly gorgeous as yourself, or even Steve McCann)? So of course, I stabbed him with my much smaller and subtler 'ickle pocket knife. This stabbing of weapon wielding randoms is turning into a bit of a worrying habit...
Yours
Nick Plummer
This evening I killed Austin Anderson, although I'm afraid that I can't remember the exact time - I think it was at 1950hrs, though.
The Umpire notes that it was in fact 18:49.
I am now dead, I was brutally muredered two days ago after being declared incompetant just outside my room by bang kill on my way to a rehersal
On that note, I have dropped off a poisoned letter to mr gen at [college].
hi someone tried to kill me with a woeful and pathetic attempt at a poisoned letter in my pigeon hole. the poison was leaking out. how sad.
As you may already know, I went inco-bashing today :D Killed no one. Oh well. It was fun and the curry was good too :)
I followed yourself and a few others around the streets of Cambridge and got shouted at by the Emma porter when going after Jessica Allen. Dined with the rest of the squad before retiring back to my rooms to contemplate the next SWAT run.
incobash means LOTS OF STRANGE PEOPLE
Ed Heaney.
Comrades,
last night an operation was undertaken to preserve your ideological purity and root out the counterrevolutionaries hidden within your ranks.
This purge of the Security Services was undertaken by the Secret Police and a cadre of hardened soldiers from the People's Army.
One miscreant was apprehended and summarily shot. His family will be billed for the ammunition used to execute him. Other miscreants barricaded themselves within their rooms, or were absent, but these cowardly activities serve only as further proof of their guild. These individuals will be brought to justice.
You may sleep safe knowing that the State has the interests of the Revolution and the Proletariat at heart and will stop at nothing to eliminate the counterrevolutionary elements within its society.
I was passing near Churchill this evening anyway so I thought I'd drop in to have a look at the incos there (Exercise: Define a Riemannian metric on Cambridge so that Churchill is 'near' Robinson. Note: Do not attempt this qustion until you have done the easy ones. Minkowski (1912) proved that the problem is unsolvable unless 'near' is used in the cosmic sense).
Unfortunately, Philip Dub was not in, well his door as locked anyway. Sneaking up the next staircase though, I was pleasantly surprised to hear voices coming from Ben Crittenden's room. Or so I thought. After lurking outside for a while wondering why noone answered my knocking, I suddenly realised that the voices were actually coming from the next room along *d'oh!* (Exercise: design acoustics for a stairway in Churchill so that dumb assassins with seriously underdeveloped aural abilities can't tell where noise is coming from. Note: It means *SERIOUSLY* underdeveloped).
Eventually I got bored of slinking around Churchill, which was dark and full of people who's windows I kept walking into, so I headed south to warmer climes.
Dearest Umpire, we invited a certain person named Martin Lester, a Caian, we are told, to watch South Park along with the rest of us. Unfortunately, he was most unsporting, and refused. Everyone else had fun. This Martin Lester chap is rather boring.
Ed Heaney.
This evening I, along with a group of other adventurous folks, journeyed to the abode of one Edward Heaney to watch a cultural and educational film. Unfortunately the Umpire decided that boring maths was more interesting, and didn't join us.
Is Martin Lester a freak? A good question. I think the answer is obvious when you consider the fact that he chose Denotational Semantics over the genius that is the South Park movie. I suppose there was some incobashing and curry too.
The Umpire reports:
This evening I was invited to experience the great comic work that is the South Park "movie" or "film". However, I already had some strict, monotonic function that required my attention. I categorically deny that I spent the evening continuously inspecting chains leading from bottoms to the fixed point in some domain, tricks being used to find their least upper bounds, with streams of semantically useful propositions streaming from my hands. In fact, I find the notion offensive!
I have made two comparitively mundane attempts upon the same person, this evening; at 9.45 I gave a poisoned letter in to Michael Royal's porter, vaseline/ washing powder being on the inside of the envelope.
Petruska, Plucker of Bone Marrow,
You are as vicious as the Cam is narrow.
Twice you've come to take my life,
Pen-gun, poison, next the knife?
This poison letter might have worked
Better if only you had learnt
That my room number is not my address -
Envelopes with it are very suspicious.
In ammendment to my last report, there are now no more incos in Newnham. I have bang killed Alex Marley, Kelly-Anne Packer and Lulu Messenger - it was all so easy. They let us in when Luci promised biscuits and then prompty died to my RBG. I have to say though, it is most disappointing when your inco's door is open, and you can manage to walk the entire way across the room and THEN bang kill them, without the slightest hint of effort.
My Dearest Lord Umpire,
Today was a less than fine day weather-wise, but a fine day for incobashing. At approximately 4:45pm I saddled my horse, and set off for the fine establishment known as `The Anchor'. This well known assassins meeting house was already full of at least four actual assassins when I arrived.
After some procrastinating and some drinking, we left for a tour of the city of Cantabridge, initially heading for Queen's College. After an unsuccessful visit, we then visited some other colleges, including the Market Hostel portion of King's College.
As we gained entry to the building, a suspicious looking young man with frizzy black hair ran down the stairs, saw our band of men, and promptly ran back up the stairs. A couple of men who were with me decided that this was their cue to fire, especially when he suspiciously said "I am not, and never have been a member of the Assassin's Guild".
After several rounds of fire had missed, we gathered to discuss the situation. I grew impatient as they discussed whether a police officer should be sent to intercept the man, and simply threw a knife around the corner, hitting him in the nether regions. In his death throes he reiterated that he was no a member of the guild. In retrospect I believe that my choice was not the correct one, especially when you were standing behind me...
We then left the building and continued our tour. When this had been completed, with a grand total of one (1) incompetent killed (astonishing is it not), we retired to a fine gourmet restaurant.
With our repast complete, we went for some light after dinner entertainment (South Park: Bigger, longer, uncut). This fine show would have finished off an excellent evening, had I not been filled with remorse for my earlier actions against an innocent person.
At approximately one hour to midnight I returned to `The Anchor' to retrieve my horse from the stable, and then set off at a gallop for the college of Fitzwilliam.
When I arrived, I hitched my horse to a post, and entered the building. I could not believe my look when I saw a young man inside holding a paper aeroplane with the words `Poison Dart' and `Knife' written on the side. I promptly pulled out my pistol and shot the man in the chest. It turned out that this was one Joe Nicholl, a man on my list of men with bounties on their heads.
I felt that this was a fine start, and proceeded towards B staircase. I had received news of the redemption of one of the persons on this staircase from an unnamed source, and so I knocked on the door of Chris Doman. He did not answer and his light was off, so I made ready to leave. On my way out however, I met some people who told me that he could generally by found in the room of someone on the floor above.
I was mildly suspicious, and realised that he was likely to betray my presence, but I felt that this did not really matter much. I followed the gentleman upstairs, and sure enough he gained entry to the room, and promptly shut the door in my face. I had expected this, and so I retired to the kitchen, and listened to their conversation.
It turned out that the person that I was after was indeed present, and he was considering jumping out of the (second floor) window. I thought this unlikely, and so I waited a few moments. Sure enough I heard the door open. I waited for him to pass the kitchen, and (to his credit) he threw a knife at me as he passed. This came very close, but my shot to his chest came even closer.
With a full day's work complete, I decided to return to my fortress. However, due to a lack of communication routes from my abode, I stopped off on the way to write this (short) message.
Yours faithfully,
Martin Matthew Mariuz Mazreal, Third Lord of Leicester
Have delivered to Stephen McCann a poisoned letter which I fully expect to fail - still working on my new killing invention...
you suck
killed the inco rebeka graham
stabbed her
not much sattisfaction in the kill
I, Big Dave aka Rupert Roe, was unfortunately and embarrassingly slain by a classic poisoned letter in the Caius MCR on the morning of 25th October. As I gasped my last breath I was just able to read the name of my arch nemesis.... Professor Plum.
Squashed!
O, squashed by mine errors and the gnarled cunning of experience!
O, how the hunter doth turn hunted, and my happy body to a mottled pulp!
My advice, all ye who listen to these deathly words, is to HEED OR BLEED!
LAMENT TO A PULVERISED SPACE BEATLE
AVETE!
Oh, how I leapt out from my bed!
No ardent thoughts burned in my head
Save this one: "O, I shall be dead
Unless this morn I go to kill
One of my targets! One day 'til
My inco deadline!" 'Twas my will
That I should keep my lively state.
Now with grief I shall relate
How Will was o'erturned by Fate.
GAUDETE
With greatest glee I went to [college]
The parting clouds and freshly cooling breeze
Filled me with joy. What joy? The joy of all!
With sturdy cosh and lethal mini-vac
There was but nothing I could ever lack
On this, my quest. Accomplished, surely! Seize
The day! Or 'Carpe diem', if you please!
DESPONDEO BREVITER
There was a young lass from [college]
Whom yours truly ne'er could hit.
For never was she
Quite present for me
When outside her room I would sit.
MILIA PASSUUM (ITER MEUM)
I consequently went to seek a place called [a] Road;
The hiding-place of my intended secondary prey.
I passed through King's, and laughed inwardly then at how I thought
Clare College must feel so very inferior when they Catch glimpse of King's
great chapel looming o'er their little court.
I walked beyond a field of cows. Why cows, O King's, and why not goats?
A goat is versatile, you see; a cow, I fear, is milky meat
In hidebound cover fit for feet. But goat is more, but goat is horned
And goat is with a beard adorned. O, use it as a stern defence
For property, in the stead of fence! And if the goat grows old and slow
Then take its horns, and whirl it round, and lease it at thy foe!
Thus on I went, and turning into West Lane countenanced
My own quite lovely Faculty of English. An abattoir it seems
To all who look upon it, pinkish beige, and shaped like brick.
O, how this building fosters all my hopes and literary dreams
And still resembles something I saw floating in a pool of sick!
A short while later, I was there.
I had now reached my target's lair.
QUO VADIS?
I entered via intercom;
The house was clean and modern.
I found his room almost at once
And held my breath, and backed off.
And then I breathed, with courage swoln
Enough to essay knock on wood.
There's someone there. I have to think:
What could put him off the scent?
"You know where Harriet lives?" I asked.
In weary voice he said no.
"Weren't you meant to show me round?"
A hoarse, confused denial.
The door stays fastened. I don't mind;
He'll have to come out at some point.
I settle in the corridor.
I could wait all day. Allons!
CULPA UNA
You should underestimate no man;
However tired he seems, he'll have a plan.
ADVENTUS
Ah, who is this? A tall, dark, (handsome(?)) guy,
Who down the corridor appears to fly!
He's dressed in black; his belt is made of steel
I wonder if he'll help me ope the seal?
CULPA DUA
I thought that with my weapons out of sight
I would be safe from any sort of plight.
APOLOGIA
Cut me some slack, I beg of you;
A callow fresher knows not what men do!
I'd been watching that damn door, my friends, non-stop, I say, throughout!
How was I meant to know he had a frigging BACK WAY OUT?
CULPA TRIA (CULPA ULTIMA MAESTISSIMAQUE)
He asked me, very nicely, whether, pray,
I was an AG member.
(pause)
I said yea...
EXITIUM
Two elastic bands
Two bullets Two holes in my stomach
Two seconds Two live.
Two late.
Two bad.
DESPONDEO LOOOOOOOONGE
Eheu! Helas! Alack! O, zut alors!
Gott in Himmel! Bugger! Dang! Two doors
He had within his room, not one! The first
I had my beady eye on; the reverse,
The one which led out to the garden, no!
In consequence, around, with gun in tow
The building he had walked, suspecting me
To be just what I was: A young would-be
Assassin. Well, no more. I am a speck
Of disappearing flesh and bones. Oh, heck!
He claimed I was his first kill in two years.
(This came quite close to filling me with tears.)
And now I've told my tale, I am left
Thus to lament my bitter life bereft
Of purpose, sense and any sort of fun
It looks to me like age and scars have won
This little battle. Oh, but there'll be more!
(And next time, I won't use the door!)
PRO TELIS
O cosh, Crafted out of a Peterhouse prospectus,
Everpresent companion.
O hand-held mini-vac,
Thou sucked out souls like none before.
Now clean my room.
SALVETE!
There was an assassin called Lou
Whose number of kills came to two.
It would have been more
Had he known of the door
That his target so boldly 'scaped through.
Those fancy assassins think they can go round and do whatever they like. Ha! Well I've taught one of them that dragging people out of bed in the middle of the night is impolite and that he shouldn't do it again.
The Were-Rabbit, unable to possess any victims was forced to dispatch a poisoned letter to try and deal with the elusive Were-rabbit
Dear Referee,
Today I found in my pigeon hole a letter. Concerned by the fact that it bore a printed address yet no stamp, I went to my room and got my very thick winter gloves, and camera. On closer inspection of the device, I saw what looked like white-tac or glue in the corner of the letter and so opened it with caution, wearing my gloves. These events were captured on film. I have disposed of the poisoned letter, and my only hope is that my bedder does not fall victim.
Let this be a message to you, 'were-rabbit'. I believe that many of the Wallace and Gromit models burnt down in a shed a week ago, and unless you want to suffer the same fate, I suggest you come up with a better attempt on my life.
In the meantime, to the referee: our thirst is still not quenched, be advised.
Love,
Jaws.....dun dun duhhhhhh
I made a second attempt this morning after my class around 11:15am on Kestrel, but he was not home.
Having made two attempts, Dusty Rhodes is removed from the list of incompetents.
Upon returning from my daily lectures I found another envelope in my pigeon hole, curiously containing my address but no stamp. I opened it wearing my protective gloves, and to my lack of suprise, found it to be a letter smeared in jam. I binned it.
How perfect is this? Just opened a glittery poison letter from Professor Plum. Professor Plum! Princess Peach and Professor Plum- a killing match made in heaven.
Crying shame I'm already dead, really (damn you Tom Booth)...
LURKING
by Nedward Monkton
LURKING is an interesting and sometimes even PROFITABLE use of an afternoon
(but always be sure to find out first where the toilets are)
This afternoon I found a suspicious looking envelope in my not-so-regularly-checked pigeon hole. Especially the fact that the inside seemed to contain two contain two sheets of paper folded in a strange manner and the letter being bumpy caused me to think that opening it in safety with a pair of gloves might be the safer option. I did so and discovered what a poisoned letter looks like. Excellent, now I can send my own to people! Sorry to Alex for the failed attempt - I really liked the pictures of dead me in the letter.
Tuesday am: Woke up. Was confused combination of smallness of hour and wakefulness. Went to lecture.
Tuesday pm: Checked incompetence list. Found people in college. Prepared weapons.
Later, Tuesday pm: Went to see James Paul Fisher. Forgot about bang kills. Shot at him. Threw knife at him. Decided that having missed twice, I should run away. Ran away.
A few seconds later, Tuesday pm: Was stabbed while running away. Felt stupid. Had a chat with my killer (James Paul Fisher). Went home to bleed to death.
Dear Mr Umpire,
Realising that with my new found incompetent status somebody might actually try to assassinate me, I resolved to redeem myself by taking out one of my fellow incompetents, Gabriel Wu.
My journey began well enough. I made my way to his college and with the aid of a helpful passer by ascertained the location of his room. I then proceeded to lurk outside his stairwell while pretending to chat away on my mobile waiting for him to leave for dinner.
After about 20 minutes of this, my frustration grew the better of me and gripping my trusty RBG I knocked on his door.
No answer.... I then walked around the building and seeing that his lights were off realised that he was probably out. So I went home, reflecting on my incompetency.
########################################################################
Gabriel, I'll have another go at killing you tommorrow morning... probably
around 8am. You'll recognise me as the fellow in the Christ's hoody... Would
you mind being around this time?
########################################################################
The Funky Monk
Spotted Matt Young, incopetant assassin of Queens' College whilst walking to a supervision, one clean shot through the heart, dead!
Have you ever been to the college of Fitz?
It's a nice place, but hardly the Ritz :
In my opinion the functional decor
Could do with some red splashed from ceiling to floor.
Not nearly enough bloodstains, that's the main trouble :
So I set off to produce some, right at the double.
Three little incos were my chosen prey,
Each would be slain if I had my way.
First up James Paul Fisher, who forgot to close his door :
Soon his life prospects looked exceedingly poor.
Shot several times in the head and the chest,
He went into terminal cardiac arrest.
As he died I interrogated him about his Fitz chums
But sadly he said they'd already succumbed.
Some other assassins had stolen my kills!
If I find out who, they'd best write their wills...
Dear Mr. Khat,
my will is in order. I leave everything to the most wondrous and handsome umpire of this game. I would say that you have offended my honour, and challenge you to pistols at dawn, but I can't be bothered.
Yours faithfully,
Martin Matthew Mariuz Mazreal, third Lord of Leicester
P.S. If you can be bothered, you can probably manage to find out who I am
This evening I went to kill three Newnham girls on the Incopentent List, one of them my target. Having carefully sussed out from the matriculation photograph what they all looked like, I sequentially tried all their rooms and got lucky at the second: all three of them inside and the door unlocked. Despite one of them not having her trousers on, I shot inside and stabbed them quickly. Unfortunately, they all claim to be dead already - more specifically twice already. Very unfortunate, given that Lulu was actually my target at the time of killing her. Please count at least that one as an attempt...
We received listings of those whom the Guild wished to be disposed of. Acting on this list, the room of '0071' was duly lurked, as instructed by my superiors. Unfortunately, said person was non-present, and continued to remain as such for a prolonged time period. This being the case, and with other pressing matters to attend to, I was eventually relieved of my duties. Perhaps we shall meet with better luck another time...
Have posted a lovely little letter by the magic of steam to killer rabbit.
Hope he likes it.
And the paper.
And my frilly handwriting.
And the noxious flour.
Huggles to all non-contaminated persons,
Flooflebunny
PS The Umpire has a hot arse. But not as hot as Steve "BoomBoom" McCann's.
Tonight i recieved two suspicious looking letters! I donned gloves and opened them, one was winking at me - a sparkly poison (who uses glitter as a poison?!?!) and the other looked sticky, i touched neither.
one was from proffessor plum, the other from A. ssassin, i seem to recognise that name hmmm... maybe someone i knew in a former life.
In a last-minute bid to avoid incompetence, I left a poison letter for Richard Gibson.
Oh wow - my first ever BPL!!!!
Thank you, my adoring public, thank you.
Richard Gibson <3 Cipher
Richard Gibson <3 Cipher
Richard Gibson <3 Cipher
Marlon the Grasshopper took an early morning trip out to one of Cambridge's more renowned beauty spots, namely the west court of Churchill College. Prior to this Marlon had done enough research to be (almost) certain that his target would be appearing at some point in the near future to attend his 9am physics lecture. Sure enough, as Marlon was loitering on the floor above his sensitive knee-high ears picked up sounds from the vicinity of his prey's bedroom. A door opened below and from his well-concealed vantage point Marlon spotted a face, which having a memory like a Grasshopper-sized elephant he duly stored. 0071 appeared to be with a friend and as they left the building Marlon followed from a safe distance, tailing them all the way to the bike sheds. It was here that he confronted 0071, safe in the knowledge that both hands were likely to be grasping the handlebars. Marlon calmly presented his water weapon and politely enquired "Are you dead yet Mr Cittenden?" to which Mr Crittenden sagely replied "I am now" and thus he was duly shot. His soul, in remarkably good spirits then departed to the lecture. Oh well.
I, Ben Crittenden of Churchill college, was assassinated at 8:51am on Wednesday the 26th October by Marlon the Grasshopper. RIP.
I am writing to report an unfortunate failed attempt to rid society of another incompetent sole ruining the assassin name.
I slick brush off of the porters got me to the desired location, and there I was at the door, Glock-17 drawn by the leg, safety off, ready to open fire, and demise my advisory. However it was not to be, no reply and the door locked, I had been eluded for the first, and last time by 'Heidi' (Jessica Allen)
To try and console my disappointing lack of encounter I attempted a similar attack on 'Mr Gen' (Edmund Hastings) however after much furious searching in the labyrinth of skank hole that is Kings, i eventually found his room uninhabited.
Dear your Holy Fluffy Umpiricalness.
Hope you and Mr McCann liked thier presents. We hope you will find them useful at some point in the future.
Love,
The Manhunt
PS... the present was almost as fluffy as you, Mr Umpire!
Oooooh Panties!
The Umpire reports:
I'm glad to see I get the same special treatment as Corkscrew.
Unfortunately, due to a rambunctious night spent playing table football, i overslept and missed my date with Gabriel Wu (Sorry Gabriel - I'll be back for you later!)
Instead I stretched my incompetency in another direction and went to visit Jessica Allen. I found her rooom easily enough and deciding that lurking would be too boring, knocked on her door. Understandably she seemed somewhat hesitant to open her door but I knocked again and asked if she was in until she eventually opened it. Unfortunately for her, I was an assassin so I quickly made a bang kill. I then had a nice chat with her corpse.
About around 12:19 today my studies were rudely interrupted by a knock at the door. A quick glance through the spyhole revealed a friendly-looking chap in a rather fetching blue shirt who, on interrogation, identified himself as TheFunkyMonk.
Since I don't actually know anyone called TheFunkyMonk, I regret that the only explanation I can give for my subsequent actions is gross carelessness.
I foolishly opened the door a crack to get a better look, only to be confonted by the barrel of a gun and a loud bang. I then proceeded to squander my last breath on polite conversation. Alas, I fear there is little honour in being an assassin's first kill.
Thus am I removed from the gene pool.
Having made two attempts, TheFunkyMonk has been removed from the list of incompetents..
I went to get my target, but I think they were still in bed because their bin was outside.
At about 12:30 today I saw Marlon the Grasshopper behaving suspiciously aroung the entrance to [college]. Following him in, I saw him walk round three sides of [a court] before delving into an adjacent one. Honestly, he might as well have been shouting out his intentions for all to hear, he was so obvious. Clearly incompetence of so great a nature couldn't be allowed to survive, but unfortunately as he never found his target he never produced a weapon, so I had to leave him be. In a way his own incompetence saved him.
An assassin, I went, eager for bloodshed,
My weapons were wicked to wound my target.
In secret I waited to surprise my victim,
but long hours lasted with a lack of action,
and desperate, I decided on a direct approach.
Ringing on the door, I revealed a tale
of a fictional friend I could not find,
an Ed Basan (understand who will).
But a warrior of worth, my target was wary,
and secretly spied me then sent me away.
I thought to watch, should he think to look out,
but I could not forsee a concealed door.
I would not give up but was wounded,
As I stood on the street I was stabbed fatally.
I could not admit that I was killed, then
"Better death than dishonour," I could not deny.
In courtesy he repaid my candid defeat,
and now may my kin be carefully told
the way of my passing; my perilous life
and final defeat are owed a funeral
with my killer a guest...
In the true tradition of terrible verse
facts may not be followed if faithfulness
and accuracy are less amusing.
All my apologies for appalling alliteration.
Another assassin came round to my room today. After she left I caught up with her in the street and stabbed her in the back.
Have now opened Horatio's poisoned letter. My room smells of talcum powder.
I see that Stoneface's callosity has inspired yet more epic poetry. I would like to commiserate with Ms. Wilson, whilst at the same time drawing attention to the [poem].
FOR GOD'S SAKE, EVERYBODY, THE MAN IS DYNAMITE! STEER CLEAR!
Thank you for your time. Heed or bleed.
| Rank | Institution | In (MB) | Out (MB) | Total (MB) | % |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 11 | Churchill College | 29255.90 | 13569.39 | 42825.28 | 2.46% |
No more incos at Tit Hall. Knocked at Ellie's door this afternoon at 16:00. Unfortunately my poor victim had to get out of bed to be killed. Standing sleepily in the doorway half-way through a giant yawn, I slipped my knife straight into her heart. She's now gone back to sleep and is hopefully resting in peace.
Today at approximately 4:51 i lurked [my target's] house for 2.54 seconds, before deciding that prioritising the Assassins Guild over my essay AND my girlfriend was just a little bit too sad, and running away sobbing softly
The Umpire reports:
That's so pitiful I'm not even going to award competence for it.
The uncomfortable sensation of the Kings breathing an incompetence deadline down my neck roused me away from my noble studies to locate my target. Accompanied by an associate, I trekked through the enormous region of King's college in search of a notorious assassin. Having finally found his abode, a subtle test of the door was followed by a not so subtle knock, which in turn was followed by a loud "Obviously too smart for that" to my companion. We lurked a few moments in the hope that his vanity would cause him to come out, if he was indeed in, but to no avail. We left, disconsolate.
Twenty noughty-five is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that Amardeep Lidder needed to blow off limbs will now be content, and will have a rude awakening if they open their mail as usual.
Some idiot left a poisoned letter in my pigeon hole that was opened by my girlfried. For some reason, they put a romantic card in my pigeon hole and my girlfriend got there before I did. I havent touched any of the poison, and so I believe whoever left it there has just killed an innocent - that innocent being my girlfriend. May whoever sent it die in hell....
You are not allowed to get other people to open your mail. For carelessly causing the death of his innocent girlfriend, andre is made wanted. He will be redeemed for two legal kills of targets, assassins, criminals or incompetents.
Amardeep Lidder is no more. I went to his house, was let in not once but twice, and killed him with my kife.
I didn't enjoy that. He was a friend. But in this place, a friend is just a target you haven't got round to yet.
Woe is me!
For my sin of incompetence, i was cold-heartedly shot by one i would have called friend. Harker knocked on my door at precisely sevenish and deflected my suspiscions by looking mystified when i half hid behind my open door and eyed him with naked terror. As i thought to myself "i wasnt on the imcompetents list earlier, will it have been updated?", he thrust geology notes into my hands and asked me questions of magnetic fields. As my eyes glazed over he fixed them that way with a bullet to the chest, splattering my blood all over the wall. The moral of the story: never answer the door unarmed, and kill all your friends before they kill you.
Unfortunately, Thomas Fitch used a water weapon in a no water area. Thus the kill has been annulled and he has been made wanted. He will be redeemed for killing one target, assassin or wanted criminal or two incompetents.
THE CHORUS OF FROGS:
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
Again we went off hunting in a certain unnammed college,
And again we knocked but there was still nobody to acknowledge
So with our allies by our side we headed onto King's
Where inco-bashing lured us in like a very alluring thing.
Vinnie, I advise you to go stroll round Market Square
(We will know just who you are by the strange aspect of your hair)
And Edmund, you could help us by, when choosing next year's room,
Selecting one we could get into, so we could seal your doom.
Chrrr.
It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a knife rang out.
Have just made a poisoned letter attempt on each of my targets.
Biffa D out.
Just sent the most obviously poisoned letter in the world, EVER, to buggrit
yesterday i recieved two poison pen letters - one from alex at newnham and one from _____ (can't remember!). I avoided both by opening them with a penknife, being careful not to touch the contets, deadly butter in one, and highly poisonous (and smelly) jam in the other.
Feeling pleased with myself i went about my evenints activities - only to find that an assassin from my own collegecaius was out to get me - one of my boatie pals had opted to point me out, and was taken completely by surprise - Gilbert killed me as i was leaving a caius film night, stabbed in the stomache.
Killed Alex Pryor outside the Bateman Auditorium last night with a pen labelled "knife" in tipex.
My big plan for this week came around the middle of the week. From an anonymous source I learnt that Felicity was planning to stalk one of her targets at Mill Lane. So from Thursday onwards I have waited patiently for Felicity to reveal herself post-lectures. Sadly though there has been no sign... It's not over yet though...
On my way back from sainsbury's I spied Jx (Jonathon Wei Sing Lee) sitting in Old Court. After very obviously staring at him and then walking towards him slowly, he got spooked and ran off like a frightened rabbit. Burdened by my shopping he easily escaped. thinking I was gone he returned. Fiendishly I ditched my baggage and rejoined the chase. After a long standoff on either side of the grass that must not be crossed on pain of death, I got bored and made a move. A pythonesque chase ensued with us running round and round the edge of the grass, until he broke and made for the fellows gardens. At this point I unholstered my trusty sidearm and followed.
Predicting these same circumstances I had already bribed the gardeners to change the feeble chain once blocking the entrance into an impregnable wall of steel, for which flesh and bones were no match. Thus cornered, he was dispatched quickly and humanely.
In a desperate attempt to cure my target's chronic halitosis (and also because it was the most noxious substance to hand at the time) I have not so much laced as smothered a simple missive with common or garden toothpaste and dispatched it via [college] Plodge to one Dusty Rhodes.
Pathetic, I know.
Mr./Ms. A. Sassin sent me a surprise in my box today, but I've become wise to such maneuvers and gloved myself before opening the letter. Too bad, Mr./Ms. Sassin. Dusty Rhodes will never die!!!
Last night I visited my target Martyn Mario Lister in [college]. I'd managed to find a picture of the guy but do not think he was in. If you're 0ut, Mr.Martyn Mario Lister no Killin4tion for you!
For too long I had remained bound to my desk, the sheer weight of paperwork threatening to crush my fragile morale..."You need to rest" they said, "thats a nasty cut you've got there"..True my side still lanced with pain at every movement, although I still cannot remember how I came to be inflicted with such a lethal wound..... Needless to say I still burned with righteousness and felt the need to open up a can of justice on someones ass...... Thus I made my way to PringleMuncher's residence, previously I had not had much luck entering his abode such was the security in force...and today was no different. "Curses" cried I, as I settled in for the long haul, under the guise of an organ grinder (the type with the monkey not the kidney)I waited outside... I lurked, skulked, malingered, loitered and reconnoitred.... Finally my thesaurus read cover to cover and yearning for the warm embrace of the police force I trod wearily back to base, my quarry is, for now at least, unharmed.
Tonight the King's Bar has had the old red colour-scheme restored to some of the wall.
What would you do if you saw someone who looked just like your target walking down the road? Normally you'd think, hmmm, shouldn't take chances, i'll follow him and see where he goes. Ok, he's entering the college my target is from, so good so far... now he's entering the staircase my target lives in. When in a previous game you've killed a targets identical twin brother who was wearing only boxers you kind of think, the same thing cant happen twice... but, apparently it wasnt my target... even though i called his name from about 2 foot away with a gun pointed as his head and he DID NOT REACT!!! How more suspicious can you get? Bang-killed him, oops!
For shooting an innocent, Stephen Matthew Thomas McCann is made wanted.
Unfortunately, I'm dead. Knifed several times, in fact. (See cartoons for details.)
Still, my assassin was very nice about killing me, and generally a lovely person, despite the social inconvenience of wanting me dead. Maybe next time I won't leave my door unlocked.
Whilst this kill was both lame and easy, I feel I made up for it at least somewhat by the fact it was made with a raccoon. Admittedly this is neither big nor clever, but many of you will understand that, deep down, it makes me feel very, very special.
Dearest umpire
I would like to apologise for my appalling behaviour this evening in setting up George Marshall. As such, I have composed a brief poem, entitled "Dear George..."
Dear George
You had it coming
It's better this way
To be betray(ed)
By someone who knows you
Than a random who don't
It's your own fault my friend
For picking on Caians
The most silly of notions
You should have known we'd
Catch up to you eventually
I hope you'll accept
This apology in poetry
I know it's not savoury
To be stabbed in the back
Especially while tipsy
But you must stop pretending
And lying 'bout your name
It really is quite lame
You say you're called George
When we know its really Simon
Nick
...
I also apologise for the appalling rhyming. But I won't write a poem for that.
Yours
Nick Plummer
The Banach-Tarski theorem walks into a bar. Silly really, the second one
should have seen it coming.
A man walks into a building. Ouch.
First target's abode found after a brief search, however too many people around, so I moved on.
Second target's abode I completely and utterly failed to find, despite a long search, and finding just about everywhere else in that college!
Third target's abode required lurking around just to get through the outside door. Once inside the lack of people around by then made it impossible to actually make attempt on target, despite awhile spent lurking. Damn card-locked colleges!
I knocked on my targets door, she opened a tiny crack, which was just enough for me to shoot a band through and hit her in the chest. She was lovely, and i commended her enthusiasm and told her to play again next term. Join the police and get a gun! Who needs confidence when you can get a gun!
At around 8.30pm I answered a knock at the door, and was shot in the chest.
Upon looking at my reading list and descovering the pages are double sided, I promptly microwaved my own head, thus killing myself and hopefully ascending to the giant doughnut in the sky...
Standing in the dark closet waiting from somewhere near 9pm (didnt think to check when i started the lurk) with only the noises from the corridor, and the infrequent changes in light levels under the door there was not much to keep me company. But eventually i heard the targetted person James Gill arrive back to his room, i jumped out and bang-killed him, he was startled and then explained that he made his room full water because it had a shower and he didnt read the rules before signing up. I wish i'd known that, i was worried about being chased out of hughes hall with a CPS when i had arrived. Oh well, i guess i'm redeemed now. Thankfully!
I think i'll ask Johannes how he learned to stop shooting innocents :)
Stephen Matthew Thomas McCann is indeed redeemed.
Dear Umpire (who is indeed handsome but, as has come to my attention, not as handsome as Steve McCann),
I would like to report the unfortunate death of Mr. Philip Garsed, who fell to my gun while walking his bike and four friends home from a night at the Curry King. Hopefully the friends were not too traumatised, I did try to make it as quick as possible, even if I did have to shoot him twice to make sure. He made a very cheerful corpse, and reasonably fit too, although not as much as etc. etc. ...
Fondest regards,
Sarah Donnelly
PS. I don't yet know how the bike felt about the incident.
A late night out with friends came to an abrupt end last night. Walking down the road with four other people, I should have been fairly safe, but this was not to be the case. As I made way for an exhausted running person coming past, she turned round and shot me in the chest. My final words as the road faded into darkness were "ehh... what the...". A fitting epitaph I think.
Today I received a poison letter from "Martyn".
Dateline: Xanthylvania
After a short period of recuperation in Addenbrooke's, a strange place devoid of beans and anime, I returned to the Xanthcave to plot my next move. Luckily, in my absence my computer had illicitly obtained the latest series of Lovely Nurse Nuns Saga X: The College Years, fresh from Japan. While I was enjoying the amusing exploits of Sister Shining Jupiter Heart Heart Robot and her feisty pals, I schemed in a most productive fashion.
Awakening the next morning, I emerged from my rejuvenative bath of baked beans and apple juice and placed a small garden gnome in my bed, to trick my bedder (who I have for weeks suspected to be the only one of my assassins to which I am not allied). Just then the clock struck 7. Only 5 hours until people would be leaving lectures and thronging the streets, attempting to kill me.
I quickly made my way through the sewers of Cambridge, emerging only to complete Max 9000000 Turbo Plus Panic on the Dance Dance Revolution machine cunningly hidden in one of the cubicles of the ladies toilets in the Senate House. Finally, I reached my destination, the fortress of my old master, Girton College.
Having used a secret route which cleverly avoided the vicious Simon Ford clones doubtlessly awaiting me, I found myself in the room of the nefarious incompetent, Andrew Clyde. As he seemed to be out, I found myself a hiding place and feasted on his small but perfectly formed collection of baked bean tins (with sausages in!).
It was not long before he returned, and, taking advantage of this fact, I shot him while leaping out of the third storey window so as to avoid his seeing my face. Fortunately, after the events of a few days ago, I had come prepared for such an eventuality, and my parachute opened just in time to catch in a tree and prevent my legs being crushed a second time. However, my joy at this was tempered by the sight of three rabid Simon Ford clones rounding the corner and readying their mind lasers to destroy me once and for all.
To Be Continued...
Once again, I'm dead. Lightning doesn't strike the same place twice but unfortunately the same can't be said for bullets as I was once again shot at point blank at the threshold of my room. Lulled into a false sense of security by the early hour and Girton's distance from Cambridge I left my door open, and returned to find a well-deserved bullet. I'm really not very good at this whole staying alive thing
Lazy student.
You can't fire me, I qui...
As I dangled from the tree, the three rabid Simon Ford clones approached, ready to destroy me with their mind lasers. I was disappointed that they seemed to be breaking our no-kill agreement, but was in no position to fight back. The clones fired at me, but fortunately my years of DDR training paid off, and I found that dodging the beams (by swinging from the tree) was no more difficult than the 9-step track Extreme Paranoia Max 5,000.
After I had been dodging lasers beams for several minutes, the clones were forced to stop firing while they recharged their lasers. I took advantage of this break in the action to reach for the magical badge of an anime gnome maid character pinned to my chest and called upon its power to transform me into my magical girl alter ego, Super Sparkling Sister Simone. As my clothes magically disappeared (leaving me briefly naked) and were replaced by an unusually short nun's habit (which was just about the right length for me), I was released from my parachute and fell to the ground.
By this time, the Simon Ford clones had recharged their lasers. Two of them fired at me. Luckily for me, they were aiming at head height, so the beams passed over me and the clones shot each other. This left one clone for me to deal with. I was initially reluctant to attack him in case he wasn't targetting me, but then I remembered that I had already deduced the targetting for the game from information passed to me by my extensive network of allies. I turned towards him and used my super-secret special move, Bombastic Baked Bean Bullet, to shoot him.
With the immediate threat gone, I quickly transformed back into my normal self and went to lurk my target, Thomas Fitch. I hid in a cupboard in the kitchen, waiting for him to come to get breakfast. Unfortunately, I was disturbed by Robert Chipperfield, so I fled into the gardens and hid for two hours, disguised as a gnome.
Eventually, Thomas Fitch passed me on his way to the bike sheds. I quickly ran up behind him and bang-killed him. However, I was concerned that Chipperfield might be following me, so I couldn't use my usual route back to my room via Homerton.
Instead, I switched into a fireproof coat that I carry in my rucksack for occasions like this and headed to Girton Crematorium. I sneaked into the morgue, moved one of the dead bodies and lay down in its place. I put a note on myself saying that my ashes should be delivered to King's College, then took some sleeping pills so the staff would think I was dead.
While I slept, I was placed in a coffin, which was cremated. However, I was protected by my fireproof coat, so my body was intact when it was mailed back to my college. When I woke up, I escaped from the package and ran back to my room to feast on baked beans.
Dear Mr Umpire,
I know that I am incompetent. It's not something I'm proud of, not a worthy status for an illustrious assassin like me. But I just don't want to go and do anything! It's not because I'm lazy, or morally opposed to killing people in cold blood, or that kind of thing, it's just that when I'm incompetent my name is such a pretty pink colour. It's much nicer than that muddy green!
Maybe if I could have a pink name when I was competent, I would go and get redeemed!
Yours,
Kestrel
Comrades,
This is an update as to the progress of the operation to rid our Security Services of traitors and counterrevolutionaries.
The elite covert wing of the Security Services, comprised of the most trustworthy and politically sound operatives, has as you are well aware infiltrated many of the branches of society in order to root out dissent.
One of these operatives had penetrated the NatSci 1A Materials course and had set himself up in a practical class in order to wait for signs of counterrevolutionary activity.
Sure enough, a suspicious individual named Andy from Girton was a member of the class. A person of this name from this college was known to be on the 1A NatSci course and had been marked as a dangerous dissenter. The operative strengthened his ties with the target, setting up for a brutal knife-kill when leaving the room.
However the operatives of the Security Services are trained well. Not content simply to go on a name, the unnamed operative wisely checked the class-list to determine for sure the surname of the target.
Alas, the names were not the same and only the inspired check had prevented the operative from eliminating the wrong target. He will continue to infiltrate the course in order to check for further signs of dangerous activity. The wrongly-named individual had after all managed to attract the attention of one trained in sniffing out dangerous spies and traitors, and as such is surely worthy of further investigation.
Once more the people are reminded that the Security Services exist for their protection and work tirelessly to maintain the proper revolutionary fervor in their charges.
Adam Biltcliffe reports:
While idly perusing the reports from the past week at my desk today, I chanced upon the most vile slander perpetrated by three otherwise-upstanding ... well, slightly upstanding ... ok, horizontal members of the Assassins' Guild community. Namely, the most undeservedly disparaging comments made by Adam Baird Fraser, Ed Heaney and our illustrious Chief of Police Lauren Grest with regards to the esteemed Umpire's decision to prioritise Denotational Semantics over their own sordid pastimes.
On behalf of theoretical computer scientists and domain theorists everywhere, I am therefore offering a bounty consisting of a beautifully-typeset summary of the axioms, inference rules and noteworthy schemas of S5 modal logic to anyone who should bring about the deaths of any or all of these three undesirables. I expect retribution to be swift and complete. Educating them as to the beauty of a fully-abstract PCF semantics before they die will receive bonus points.
Once more, the Umpire reminds players that the existence of a bounty on a player's head does not make that player a legal target.
Cannonball drench
Transmission impertinent ptarmigan defunct
Ministry comprehensive kiosk intransigence
Decipher middle loam myriad both paranoid
18:40 : arrive at Christ's plodge. No sign of Chris.
18:43 : say hello to AbF as he walks past.
18:45 : Chris arrives, walks past me. Draw knife, say 'Chris', and stab him as he turns round. He took it in good spirit, despite being somewhat stressed at the time. We had a pleasant chat before he got back to the job of organising a piss up in a brewery, a most commendable plan :)
It is with sadness that I report my death at the hands of Stephen Chester. Having found out that I was organising a trip to Milton Brewery, he turned up at the meeting point and stabbed me in the back! :-(
I have just intentionally coshed myself on the head. Why, I do not know. Despite being unconscious right now it has not affected my ability to use my computer.
Taking advantage of our new-found policiness, and our ultra-cool hats, we sallied forth to bash incompetents in Bateman Street. He was out. We cunningly allayed all suspicion with our fiendishly well-thought-out cover story and came away again.
Went for a walk to see my good friend Horatio. I think he's avoiding me. I'd had left him a note but in my rush this morning I forgot to bring his death warrant.
??Donde est?? mi target? ??Ole hombres! No estaba all??. Pah, conferencias :(
Buzzed around outside Marlon the Grasshopper's College for about half an hour on Saturday morning. Then I remembered that fleas are quite a bit smaller than grasshoppers, so I buzzed off.
Knowing his desire to arrive 20 minutes early for lectures, I decided to beat this bumbling incompetent scum to the building for a brutal stabbing with no witnesses. On arriving, I noticed no one was there, and my intended target must have been in an even more incompetent mood than usual as he did not arrive to the building until I had enterd the lecture, where my razor sharp knife turned into a cheapo biro by magic. My intended target was a certain Mr. Gabriel Wu aka Infinite Entropy, he will not be so lucky on Monday, ha ha ha! (That's an evil, not jovial laugh!)
A relaxed saturday lunchtime sat in my room chatting with a friend was abruptly ended as the door burst open and a single gunshot rang out. The look of surprise on my face was mirrored by that of my friend as the blood spilled through my chest and into my lap. I was secure in the knowledge I had died a noble death in service of my city.
Dearest umpire, I should like to report thusly:
Upon this very Saturday, at the hour of 6pm, I did lurk, along with Simeon and his brother, the residence of one Simon Dowrick of Jesus. Apparently Samuel Borin, whom we encountered there, had scared said Simon Dowrick away.
5pm - went to Jesus to find Simon Dowrick. Found his room. He was not there. Lurked in his kitchen. Frightened neighbour who came into kitchen. Eventually Simon turned up. Fired at him out of the window. Missed. He came up the stairs. Fired at him again, and missed. He ran off via the basement. I checked the basement, then continued lurking. I was almost portered. Alchemist and some others arrive, looking for him. Make a no-kill agreement (temporary) with them. We check around a bit. They go, and I continue hunting Simon.
6:30 pm - Finally there is a showdown on his staircase - I have the upper hand, having two RBGs and a kife to his cap gun and kife. Eventually I hit him with a band. I then chatted to him before departing.
Note to self: the RBG can indeed hold more than one shot. Twelve, as a matter of fact.
I think I killed Mike, although it really is a matter of opinion cause he claimed he didn't hear the "bang". I managed to convince him in the end though so ha! I just made my first kill. And oh yes I was severely wounded in my left hand.
May my rotting corpse report to you the events of my death (apparently).
At 1845 today, there was a knock at my door - someone asking about an email they sent earlier. One male, one female - surely not baddies? Apparently they were, and on opening the door the girl ('were-rabbit') alleges she bang killed me. I hid behind my door and stabbed her hands as they came round the corner, holding said weapon. At no time did any of her rounds actually connect. However, she continued firing and protested that I was already dead. So I gave up, taking her word for it. The bang kill obviously ripped through my ribs like a knife through butter - only I didn't feel it. So we agreed that I was dead, and may I wish good luck to [various people]. I feel for her next victim - don't be fooled by the innocent looks.
It's all getting dark now, I'm going to a better place.
Arnaud DuClare dropped off a special letter for Cambridgeshire Constabulary Safety Camera Enforcement Officer at [a college] 10 minutes ago (16:40), a mere 5 minutes before his competency deadline.
It was ironically disguised as a letter from the NHS, and contained pepper as the 'toxic' agent.
The offensive article was disposed of through the correct channels.
In another fit of lameness, I have dispatched a poison letter to Dom Hockley. Since he survived the first one I am not expecting this one to do the job, but I have been busy and unable to go and lay the smackdown in person.
Hello Mr Umpire. Yesterday we saw Lauren and AbF and Corky all in one place. None of them were doing or wearing anything that could possibly make me wish to repeat one of the endless incessant injokes that have gotten so dull and tedious recently, but for some reason, Lauren was the most paranoid of me shooting her. Anyway, they were locked in King's college, so we let them out. Not very professional if you ask me.
Hope you enjoyed your raspberries.
David.
I was having an interesting lunch with friends, when a scandalous event occured. A rogue, or tyrant if you will, of the group made vicious movements towards a cat... at first it looked like he was stroking it, but it knew what he was doing. The Cat tried to back off, but being trapped on a tall pedestal, it fell and hit about 3 shelves on the way down. What a complete bastard!
Your umpireship,
I am writing to report a rather botched attempt at an assassination. Whilst sauntering past [a college] with my friend who had come up for the weekend, I remembered that one of my targets was in there and, having explained the game to him previously, I asked if he wanted to come and see an assassination. Unfortunately, upon arriving at my target's (Thufir Hawat) room I heard he was on the phone and, being the magnanimous soul that I am waited for him to finish. It was then that some very audible schoolboy whispering ensued, in which he persuaded me that he would knock on the door to entice him out. I recount the exchange here
James (for that is his name): alright is that Richard
Thufir Hawat (from behind the door): No
James: I thought this was his room
Thufir Hawat: It's not
James: Are you sure you're not Richard, come out and prove it
Thufir Hawat: No
James: Is this not F staircase
Thufir Hawat: No, there is no F staircase and you are very badly disguised assassins
Me: James, you utter tool.
I am totally embarassed to have to report this, and promise that I will redeem myself as soon as humanly possible.
Best Wishes
Horatio
Three o'clock on a lovely Sunday afternoon. A perfect time for a spot of inco-bashing ... or so I thought. As Lady Luck would have it, upon arriving at the inco's door, I discoved one of my targets, the world-famous Tom Booth, also lying in wait. A nervous couple of minutes followed while I persuaded him I would bow down to his superior skills and leave. Having convinced him thusly, I shot him twice in the chest and watched him collapse against the wall. The king is dead. Long live the king!
It would appear that being Caian isn't all it's cracked up to be.
A guard was posted at the abode of Merriset, as he had been reported to us by Intelligence. Luck was, however, against us, and we deemed it necessary to relieve our guard of his position in order that eating might also be carried out.
Oh sigh - incompetency approaches again... With this in mind I sent a poisoned letter to Aidan Robison.
Went to [a college] to hunt Inflammable Jim. He was not there. I left a message, wishing him a belated birthday, signed A.ssassin, outside his door.
I will return soon...
Hi. Just tried to get Horatio again. Lights were on, but it looked like he was out, so I tried waiting for a while, but nothing happened, unfortunately. Eventually left at 2000 after too many of his neightbours went by and disturbed my position, but at least I knew that none of them were my target.
Dearest umpire, I bring unto you more news as to the location of the Shire within Queens' College!
Today, while handing in an essay, I saw a man who looked a lot like Frodo Baggins, except that his head was ON A MAN'S BODY! Perhaps the hobbits are now breeding super-charged HobbitMen (tm), with the hope of integrating them into Cambridge society before destroying it from the inside. I was unable to get a photograph at the time, not having a camera with me, though I have constructed this photofit of the creature:
Action must be taken, and soon!
Yours
Nick Plummer
This morning I drew the card Temperence. I assumed this meant showing a little restraint for once, so settled for the idea of lurking. But which poor unfortunate should I pester? The fact that the next card I drew was the Blue-Eyes White Dragon (I swear I have no idea how it got in there, damn Yu-Gi-Oh! is everywhere these days! Nothing's sacred anymore!) made things a bit difficult to interpret, naturally. I took it to signify "incompetence"... and since I was passing by Trinity anyway, lucky Tinkabell got my attentions.
Unfortunately, she wasn't in; either that or she has the patience of a saint to put up with somebody chucking the contents of a pencil case at her door for about five minutes.
At this juncture I decided the Incompetence card probably meant myself, and just to cement my new position of Most Incompetent Non-Incompetent, created an extremely rapidly-manufactured (I believe the technical term is "half-arsed") poisoned note to leave under the door and left.
I probably should get out of the habit of soliloquies like this one; the bus driver is giving me odd looks again.
Suspect: Dowrick, S. a.k.a. "Zeta"
Charge: Gross Incompetence
Suspect apprehended in corridor outside room at 2020 hours. Ran the suspect through with my sword, but upon closer inspection, suspect appeared to have already been killed previously. Will submit complaint to CID regarding out of date intelligence.
Suspect: Ssassin, A. a.k.a. "Tinkabell"
Charge: Gross Incompetence
Suspect located in room at 2040, but refused to answer door. Waited outside room, but had to leave as a neighbour arrived shortly afterwards. Will return with warrant.
Dearest umpire, today I found myself ignominiously but fallaciously destroyed when someone ran up behind me and shouted "Bang!" Thankfully it was only Bryony being invisible.
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