The Assassins' Guild - Week 3 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 3 NewsBordenville, COLORADO
It has long been noted that falls account for 46% of fatal injuries in the home. Of the 2.7 million falls that resulted in death in the past year, only 5% of the victims were under the age of 40, and it was noted that twice as many males died as females.
At a funeral in New Bordenville, friends and relatives noted their shock that Serena Allery (20), against all odds, had taken a tumble down the few stairs leading down from her front door. The physical cause of death has not been revealed, but a few unsupervised children found her body lying beside a garden gnome holding a fishing rod, which had broken off at the hilt.
Ms. Samantha Piper, Bordenville's leading forensic doctor, refused to comment.
The children are currently undergoing counselling, and are not expected to retain any lasting trauma.
STAIRS
by Nedward Monkton
Stairs are an interesting analogy for LIFE
When we have a long climb ahead, we wish there was an EASIER WAY THERE
When we are at *THE TOP* looking down, everything ahead looks like it IS the EASIER WAY THERE (and the big things suddenly look so much smaller)
And losing one's footing on the stairs is a good analogy for BEING SHOT AT WITH AN RBG
well, it is if you think really hard about it
Bubbling, bubbling, around the corner,
Eruption occurs, spraying molten larva,
She says 'bang' as the still red-hot knives fly,
But they hit her just harmless pens as I die.
Today begins operation CLASSICAL PINCIR MOVEMENT!!!
We attacked from two sides:
1). his backside
2). his blindside
This was most profitable! Rofl lurking
Am I really that obvious? I was trying to be supersecret and yet he still noticed me...oh well, one should never assume only one person is after you - it might just not be the really obvious guy with hair, but another less obvious guy, with hair. Did I say we had hair? Well, maybe we don't, maybe we just have tortoises, can't give anything away in this game, now where's my beard comb?
With tears in my eyes,
I report my demise.
Early this morning, leaving my room
I saw a dark figure prowling the gloom.
I thought "An assassin" and hurried away
But it wasn't enough to save me this day.
For just seconds later, I found myself with no head.
From behind me had come a barrage of lead.
It was a second attacker, that I had not spied -
In the market square I fell, and lay where I died.
Congratz to my killers on a well orchestrated hit.
But I'll be back as a policemen, you can be sure of it...
It came to my attention that the evil overlord Martin Lex-ter, was threatening the world (well, me) with his Incompetency Laser of DOOM (version 2.0). Consequently, I did some bad shiznitch, innit. Erm, yeah. Didn't get her, no...
1. Decided to go looking for Sarah Tang and/or Flooflebunny, armed with killer rabbit.
2. Discovered I couldn't get in as it's card locked.
3. No-one seemed to want to do anything helpful such as let me in.
4. Damn.
5. Went home again.
lurked outside target and inco paul rapkin's room after gaining entry to his house.... shot him with a sawnoff 12 bore as he came up the stairs...blew away his left leg first. he drew his knife even as he tumbled back down the stairs... the pump action jammed but i managed to finish the job. taking off teh top of his head and leaving him slumped and bloodied, the ex-contents of his skull dribbling down the wall above him.
nice
grunt grunt gargle gargle
Well, I was just walking through CMS, worrying about my first supervision when some shady character, Ed Heaney, called my name and then stabbed me under the shoulder blade. It was a fairly deep wound - I lost a lot of blood before dying. Those poor students, especially The Fun Police, will not have a supervisor this afternoon. Why don't assassins think about the students before undertaking senseless killings?
I was sitting in my room, happily failing to work, and there comes a knock at the door. A figure I don't recognise is visible through the spyhole, and tells me that he's interested in joining the sailing club. In 4 years here, noone has ever come in person to join the sailing club, certainly not from a different college, and certainly not when I'm not even President or Secretary. Whats more, my address is, oddly enough, not available on the internet through google!
Long story short, the police force is a man down. Does that make me competent again? :)
I regret to inform you of my untimely death at the hands of Ross Edmondson, who shot me in the groin with a rubber band gun.
4 o clock was the time when I arrived in Blue Boar Court. I was feeling hungry so I hunted down one of the boars and ate it. It turns out they're actually just ordinary boars which have been painted blue, a la the Hound of the Baskervilles. I was very dissappointed, but ate the remains anyway.
After that I got on to the busy task of trying to dispose of the inhabitants. I successfully found the targets room but it seemed to be locked. Retreating to the stairwell in the hope of finding somewhere to lurk I ran into a minion. It was small and green with pointed ears, like, ooo, say gremlins (disclaimer: actual descriptions of people in this story may not be based on what they actually like). Consulting my 'Janes Guide to Minions' I noted this for what it appeared to be - a nextdoorneighbourbeast. According to the book it was 'mostly harmless' itself, but had a habit of alerting all assassins in the vicinity to the presence of intruders. Also the 'Book of Rules of the Game' (which surprisingly enough, I have just lost) stated that to kill a nextdoorneighbourbeast was very bad ethics and might cause one to get into trouble with the constabulary. Considering all these things, I suddenly remembered an urgent appointment I had with a big cup of coffee, and left.
My Lord Umpire, Lord of the Morning, Prince of the Dawn, true defender of the light, before whom the world kneels in awe,
I was passing near to a strange fortress at approximately 16:15 today, so I decided that I must investigate who lived within. I hitched my horse to a nearby post, and walked up the deserted drawbridge. This place made me very nervous, but eventually I reached a seemingly topless tower, with a narrow, winding staircase within. I started to climb the staircase, and realised that this was the abode of one of my targets.
This lucky coincidence definitely made my day. I had just reached the top of the first flight of stairs, when I espied a fellow member of the guild. I greeted him, and he informed me that he was after a different target to me, which was lucky as I would have had to kill him otherwise (I like my bounties to be as large as possible). After many hours of climbing I reached my target's room. The room was part of a double set, to which the door was open.
I entered the set and found that the door to my targets room was unlocked. 'Success!' I thought, but I was wrong, as it seems that my target had in fact left the door unlocked when they had gone out. I contemplated waiting in the room, but decided that it would probably be best if I waited in the privies next door instead.
I positioned myself so that I would not be seen until the last moment and waited. And waited.
After an hour of this highly interesting waiting, I heard a door open. I waited until the person in question walked across the doorway, and then...I discovered that it was not my target. I asked her, in order to make sure (even though this person did not match the description I had acquired), and was told that she was in fact supposed to be an accomplice of my target, and that this was something she was not very good at, having not noticed that I was there for over an hour.
I took this to be my cue to leave (as the use of the privies was required), and after asking her to tell my target that I had passed by, and would no doubt be back, I made my exit.
Yours faithfully,
Lord Martin Matthew Mariuz Mazreal, Third Lord of Leicester
Players who send the Umpire excessively large attachments, particularly if they send, say, BMPs instead of PNGs, risk being made wanted for criminal wasting of bandwidth.
Bwahahaha! THE BANDWIDTH BANDIT is nothing compared to me.
I did CONSIDER sending a large picture to illustrate this fact, but I feel that perhaps being wanted is not all it is cracked up to be.
lol BANDWIDTH.
??Pod??a una target estar en el pa??s? Me siento afuera para una hour. ??No, Ninguna suerte!
Q. What do you call a Spaniard who has misplaced his automobile?
A. Carlos
(You see, Carlos is a Spanish name, but also sounds remarkably like 'car loss', a rather clumsy way of referring to a missing automobile, a reference to the other part of the initial question, making this a pun. This particular pun was chosen as a subtle reference to the pseudonym of my lurker, which by itself is really not quite as witty as mine.)
Shock! An incompetent in Twinity?! This college can't stand for such things! I ought to have stormed straight to her room and brought her down, so to speak, but I couldn't be bothered. Instead, rather than working, I carefully crafted together a batch of presents for her. Some Daily Telegraph vouchers (if she doesn't want them I suspect she knows someone who does, this is Twinity for heaven's sake...), a McVitties plain chocolate digestive, and a small sketch of something that is either a dog, pony or dinosaur, I haven't decided yet, which I drew instead of doing work this afternoon (albeit for a very short part of this afternoon). Only one of them is poisoned, and incredibly poorly at that, but it ate up some time :)
The Chorus of Frogs
Why will you not come and play?
Was outside ages!
TRINITY BAR
by Nedward Monkton
TRINITY BAR is a fascinating place
It is a very RELAXING place to meet up with Trinitarian friends, and the bar staff are alternately CHARMING and SOCIOPATHIC
One day Trinity bar will be an idyllic place where INCOS may walk free and safely in their NATURAL HABITAT
But at the moment it still seems socially acceptable to STAB them several times while they are in conversation...
Also the Coke tastes extra Coke-ish and it makes me wonder what is in it, especially when the bar staff are having one of their SOCIOPATHIC TURNS
I was finally killed tonight and although it was hardly a savage attack, I think it was a pretty ok kill all the same. Thanks to my assassin as I can honestly say that this game of paranoia is too much for me and I am glad to be out of it, due to my recent constant harassment from assassins like poison letters and 7.30am wake-up calls on a Saturday morning! Good luck to the remaining members of Trinity Maffia (you know who you are).
As usual, I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of a 'Maffia' in Trinity. Move along now.
Dear King Maz the Umpire, who is as hot and creamy as the hot chocolate out of the machine in the Chemistry Department, Today was another disappointing day for the Flooflebunny. Firstly, I stalked an inco hoping that, as I had heard, other assassins bearing big, spiky weaponry (but not as big as Maz's, oh no) might be slaughtered like piggy-wiggies if the darling inco were not there. But someone else had eviscerated her last night.
Too little blood, too much paperwork, I sighed, and hopped off to my next target.
I found my nice little hiding place, and waited. And waited. I heard an alarm, and stirred my floofy self. But to no avail. Alas, my target wasn't one of those "hard working in the morning" types. Or one of those "shower in the morning" types.
Or one of those "morning" types.
These non-floofy youths of today. Tsk.
Signing out disappointedly and without (much) blood staining,
Flooflebunny
(probably doesn't matter now since she's dead...)
I got peckish this morning so dropped by her pigeon hole to see if the biscuit was till there, it was, sorry =P
(OM-NOM-NOM)
Crossing Cambridge as part of my regular patrol, I was startled by the appearance of Merriset. Seeking to succeed where our other guard had failed, I followed said person until within striking range. Stealthily, I drew my knife... and was saved by sheer luck, for catching his reflection in a shop window, I saw that this was not the true Merriset but merely a decoy. I sheathed my knife and faded back into the background - foiled once again, but saved from a fate worse than death.
| Rank | Institution | In (MB) | Out (MB) | Total (MB) | % |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 35 | Christ's College | 13935.44 | 1952.30 | 15887.74 | 0.74% |
I added further damage to the corpse of A. Ssassin. 13.25pm It all seemed so perfect, a room at the end of a corridor, a dark alcove and some knowledge of Tinkabell's movements. She arrived back from the Sidgwick site right on time and was promptly bang killed, only to then speak those disappointing words: "sorry, someone has already killed me".
after a recent altercation between my hand and a pane of glass I would be grateful if i could retire from the game. thnaksd supercoolcarl
Upon discovering that I had been labelled as incompetent, I felt compelled to visit my target Tom Branton and ask his opinion. I may have phrased the question badly. Actually, I said "Bang", while carelessly pointing my gun at him. This received no reply, since he was dead. A few minutes later, the incompetent supercoolcarl declined to give a response to my percussive enquiry, tapped in Morse through his door. Of course, he may have been out.
I was tragical shot at four this afternoon, having cautiously opened my door a small amount, gun in hand, to a mysterious visitor who managed to open fire first (bloody bang kills...!).
Once dead I invited my killer in and showed my plans for an evil weapon of massive power (that should hopefuly make an appearence next term in games of capture the flag. HeHeHe.)
Having made two attempts, Merriset is removed from the list of incompetents.
Buzzing around outside Springfield, I was kindly let in by one of my target's housemates. My target's door was wide open, as were his defences.
Five score hours ago, a great Umpire, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the EndOfPL Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to tens of Assassin freshers who had been seared in the poisen of bad letters. It cam as a joyous daybreak to end the long pigeon holes of worry. But one hundred seconds later, we must face the tragic fact that the Fresher is still not free.
I was not deceived by the suspiciously rattling letter left in my pigeon hole. Although the silvery death hearts of doom were very pretty, I am afraid to say my assassin's endeavour to spread the message of death has failed on this occasion. Best of luck on next attempt.
Dear Mr Umpire,
I hereby submit to your umpricialness a report of the events involving myself and Penfold, that took place between half past five and six o'clock on the evening of the first of November, MMV.
Our first three targets were all located at the great fortress city, Stealing Zone.
Calling upon shlemazle matz produced no answer, and since there did not appear to be any lights on inside the room we left quickly.
We were informed by a source of inassessable reliability that pink vodka was absent. With four targets in total we considered it prudent to move on.
Biffa D answered to our knocking but was able to evade my initial attack, slamming shut his door. Remaining ready for a counterattack for a brief period, we satisfied ourselves that no such attack was coming, and left the city cautiously.
Our fourth target, supercoolcarl was located some distance away at the Justice and Clarity Of Memories. Attempting to find the exact location of the target, we came across the body of one who had recently been killed, and had stumbled towards the gatehouse before dying. We reached the target location, and were quickly informed that the target was present, by a person who also notified us of a distinctive identifying feature of the target and then allowed us to attack. My partner made the lead assault and experienced no resistance whatsoever.
We then returned to our respective stations.
Yours sincerely,
RTFQ
My dear umpire, I present to you a prime example of police incompetence...
Tonight, myself and a fellow officer of the law, RTFQ, met at 1730 hours for a spot of incobashing. Each attemp became more and more interesting. Our first port of call was Robinson, where we had intelligence indicating no less than three incompetents...
1. Maayan Linglingai Ashkenazi a.k.a. "shlemazle matz"
Simply wasn't in.
2. Wendy Ho a.k.a. "pink vodka"
Wasn't in, but her neighbour was there to tell us that herself.
3. Christopher Doris a.k.a. "Biffa D" Was there! Answered the door! Slammed it shut before either me or my partner could stab him.
...psyched up, and determined to make a kill tonight, we moved on to Memorial Court, where lived...
4. Tom Nixon
a.k.a. "supercoolcarl"
He was there! He is now... either dead or alive. Probably.
On arriving at his staircase, we spied a man entering Tom's room. We drew our swords, and ran towards him.
"Do you think I'm really sad enough to be in the assassins"
We paused.
"Who are you here for?"
I pointed at the door he was standing next to, and simply said, "Tom". He informed us that our target was in his room with some others, watching a film, and suggested we snap the light on as we go in to surprise him.
I did so. I was confronted with at least six people. At this point I realised what a fool I had been. Perhaps they were as confused as me.
"Who's Tom!"
"I am"
I lunged, and stabbed him through the stomach. I turned off the light as I left.
...yet one question still haunts me. Was it, in actual fact, supercoolcarl? Why identify yourself to your assassin? Was he caught sufficiently off guard to make such a blunder? I cannot know. My paranoid instinct tells me that the real Tom Nixon is still alive, and cackling inanely at us for believing his "I'm not that sad" line.
The Umpire notes that the person killed was in fact Tom Nixon, who claimed not to be playing as he had resigned from the game that afternoon.
Having some time ago completed my player database for this game, I set my laptop to psychological profiling on the remaining [number removed] players in order to determine their movements for the next three weeks, while I puzzled out how to take down my next target. Choosing a player at random, I hastily dismantled my old wreck of a computer, and combining the parts with my GBA and my mini digital camera, I assembled a surveillance droid to scout out my target's abode. Adding a shell made from empty baked bean tins, and painting the whole deelie with the spare juice disguised the droid nicely as a charmander, which I programmed to regularly photograph the area around my target's room. Settling in for a mammoth session of Disgaea I waited, and planned possible avenues of attack during the attack animations.
Just as my crack-nurse-commando-squad was dealing their final blow to Ultimate Super-Robo-Prinny-Baal Mk. Pringer X-II reports of an opening came in. Sneaking into my target's corridor at 5am (via the customary rooftop and sewer combination that works so well these days) and selotaping myself to the ceiling of a locked toilet cubicle wearing the exact shade of reversible clothes needed to perfectly blend in, I set about the long wait for my target to come back from lectures, running through the script for puni puni poemy over and over in my head to keep myself sane.
As voices of conversation approached, I quickly reversed my clothes to blend in with the corridor, and slashed my bonds with a small knife-sharp Vegeta action figure I keep secreted in my sock, and broke into a run. Passing my quarry at high speed I unloaded a single shot to the back of his head as he was opening his door, and I continued my run while shielding my face with a poster for Spriggan, not waiting for the three Robinson incompetents to catch wind and corner me. Reaching the end of the corridor I dived out of the window to catch a zip-line conveniently placed there before the game, and started to glide over to the roof of Trinity old court. Reversing my clothes to a third colour in the process, I landed on a springboard to hop me over to the roof of a passing bus timed perfectly for a getaway out of the city, since I now believe my room too dangerous a place to stay for the rest of the game.
There's a DDR machine in my tertiary hideout in Newcastle that I can use for the next week. I'm sure I can pass the oni challenge of the logical song, super speedy mix 300 feat DM Nanoki by then.
Today, while visiting my college, [College] for a supervision, I chanced upon that esteemed publication, [College]stone in my pigeon hole. Now normally, this pleases me greatly, however on this occasion I was displeasured to find that on the back page they had spelt the name of the most handsome of fellows, Christopher Field MA, wrongly as "NIGHTWING", when in fact we all know that it should be written "^Nightwing^", or even "^^" for short.
As a result, I am placing a bounty of formal at [College] on the editors of [College]stone.
As usual, the Umpire reminds players that the existence of a bounty on someone's head does not make them a legal target.
11:30 - Chris Doris casually informs me that he is an incompetent. Feeling that he deserved some sort of favour in return I informed him that I was off to fetch a knife.
After a tense half hour in the JCR each waiting for the other to make the first move, we decided on a game of pool to the death. With the agreement signed we faced each other across the baize, whereupon I thrashed him utterly. Having already had first-hand evidence of his utter lack of honour I was even ready for his flight across the room and swiftly knifed him in the lung.
Today a contract was signed.
A contract of doom.
"JAMIE BRANDON VS CHRISTOPHER DORIS:" it read,
"Will play a game of pool. If Jamie wins, Chris dies at the hands of Jamie by knifage (pen/pencil). If If Chris wins, Jamie will never kill Chris. The game is a no attack zone. Signed, CDoris, JB."
The game started out well.
It ended poorly.
I lost.
"Balls."
Yours,
A. Sassin aka Chris Doris aka Biffa D aka Super Cool King God of Forever (d. 2005).
PS - Jamie is a bastard, but OK at pool.
"Arthur", "Lancelot", "Arthur", "Arthur", "Dinsdale Piranha", "the carnivorous pram", "Arthur", "Spiny Norman", "Arthur" (pr. "Throatwobbler Mangroves"), "Martin Marvellousz Lester", "Arthur" and "Martin Marry-us in Leicester Cathedral" would like to increase the killing by ... diversification, thereby placing Bounties on all male Constables of the assassin police force whose pseudonyms neither contain the word "organs" nor end in "of the yard".
three days of incompetence later, i am finally dead. avoided half hearted mail attempt and stalker in the toilet. got cocky. it all escalated too quickly.
left room unlocked. ba, this cambridge trust and happiness. returned to my room at 8am having left it at 1am. who's on the prowl at that time? formidable indeed. holding greasy phone in my hand in a half daze. that's funny, doesn't normally feel like that. beat. ...NOOOOOOOO!
search for comfort. he's eaten my last square of chocolate. WHY? WHY ME???
napped between 1-5. in that time three more assassins come to kill an already dead me. door unlocked, just don't learn.
Draw my gun and fire
Ack, he's throwing knifes at me
TACTICAL RETREAT!
I went looking for the incos Ross and Charlotte but, after lots of waiting around, didn't manage to get either of them.
I saw my assassin, he was asking me where i was, i lied and ran off. Having a friend stake out my room, i went back, oblivious to the other assassin already there waiting for me. Bang bang, he shot me down.
Worring about competance I decieded to go to the highest concentration in cambridge - the wonderful college of Robinson where there were no less than THREE incos.
After lurking around for a while I bumped into Old Stoneface. He had been lurking for a while and had mistakenly mutilated a poor fresher who was lying dead in her bed. Telling me that a certain Wendy Ho had recently ran from her room in fear, I decieded to go and wair for her return...
Needless to say she did return and a fired one accurate shot to her head instantly fatal, and then the other 5 shots of as well...
I visited Mayaan's room. After waiting there for a while I noticed that she was sleeping in her bed, so I shot her. A closer investigation showed that her sleep was actually of the permanent, contact-poison induced sort.
Next I visited Wendy Ho. In the gyp room outside her room I encountered a suspicious-looking person, but in accordance with our new "community-friendly policing" initiatives in the Watch I decided against shooting her on the spot. Wendy's room turned out to be empty, and I then heard the suspicious person escape down the stairs. I didn't manage to find her again.
When I was leaving I met Tom de Rivaz, who told me he would go back and make another attempt on Wendy.
THE CHORUS OF FROGS:
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax!
Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
To Robinson college we went
To make yet another attempt
We found us an inco
But she was quite dead, so
We left to report the event.
THE BANDWIDTH BANDIT:
lol YOUR MOM
THE CHORUS OF FROGS:
Brekeke-kex, ko-ax, ko-ax!
Ko-ax, ko-ax, ko-ax!
Your lines neither rhymed nor made sense
Your rhythms cause aural offence
If the inco won't die
I'll be frustrated, then I
Will destroy you in feigned self-defence.
trecked all the way up the hill today to turn Felicity into history. I wasn't reckoning on her living in a fortress which slightly ruined my plans :( I will be coming again, next time with more time on my hands...
Dear your umpirical wondrousness,
I have disliked this evening. Why, with all your god-like powers, did you choose to send us this evening? I got lost trying to find [street removed] to go inco-bashing, spending half an hour cycling around aimlessly until my bike broke, after which I spent another twenty minutes or so wandering around aimlessly pushing my bike. I also got wet and cold, to go with the lost part. I did not get any incos, which was the aim of the visit, because I couldn't find them as mentioned earlier.
Please send a nicer day tomorrow, and you shall find all manner of bountiful niceness in your pigeon hole as a sacrifice to the Game God.
Regards
Nick
Luci Sandbach reports:
Your Ultimate Fluffiness, the Imperial Maz of Umpire-dom,
I would like to apologise to all those I have scared over the past few weeks, but, despite allegations to the contrary, I would like to announce that I am not playing. At all. Whatsoever.
However, the speculations saying I was playing were very funny. I have greatly enjoyed the attention, but I felt sorry for the players I made paranoid and so I thought I would admit my Innocence.
I'm sure that your Compsciness understands,
Yours,
Luci Sandbach AKA Lucifer
Valued member of the Manhunt
PS: Lottie and I hope that Mr Christopher Field, MA, liked his present.
Having learnt that Biclops was trying to lurk me making attempts at Mill Lane, I decided that it would be safer to go to Girton to get Markus. So I set off, in the (moderate) cold and (very definite) wind. 5 minutes later, I reached Girton (it really isn't all that far away, you know). Having visited several times before, for similarly nefarious purposes, I was able to find Markus's door with little difficulty (only about 10 minutes spent wandering lost through the warren). It was locked. Drat. Ran away quickly. Realised I wasn't being followed, so turned a corner and thought. I really didn't want to have come out here for nothing...there had been a pair of trainers sitting outside his door...they're almost certainly his. Returned. Yes. Now, how should I contact poison them? Vaseline on the laces, maybe.
I'm just about to start applying the substance, when someone comes out of a nearby bathroom. Maybe it's Markus? Then again, he doesn't seem to be taking much notice of me. At this point, I'm standing right next to his door, with a pot of Vaseline in one hand, and an RBG clearly visible in the other. The person glances at me, then gets out a key and starts unlocking Markus's door. Slightly disbelieving, I ask "Markus?" "Yes?" he asks, turning round. So I shot him in the chest, then had a brief chat with the corpse before cycling back to civilisation.
The kill happened at about 9.15am on Thursday, and really was identical to how I described - I was standing right next to his door with a drawn RBG as he came up to it and tried to go in. I blame this kill on Biclops really - I still don't have much idea why he thinks I was lurking targets in Mill Lane, but I suppose I did once discuss the possibility of going after Markus at his SPS lectures at a time when someone could have overheard. So I decided to remove the excuse for him to be lurking me there. Plus it was an opportunity to get another kill. Richard isn't too happy with me though - apparently he'd been planning to walk out there this afternoon. Incidentally, poisoning his shoes would have been legal, wouldn't it? I confess I wasn't entirely certain.
The Umpire notes that in general you should not contact poison items left in public places. Consider, for example, that an innocent might reasonably trip over shoes left by someone's door or move them out of the way.
It is with great sadness that I must report from the other side of the grave that my incompetence finally caught up with me. A lovely young lady ambushed me outside my quarters and ruthlessly shot me. Oh well, such is life.
*Now* I know where St Peter's Terrace is. Nowhere near St Peter's Church. Oh well, it's quite a nice place, and it wasn't raining, which allowed me to disguise myself as a tree quite nicely. Which I did for an hour, until someone let me in to house 7. Here I met a nice girl called Alice, and stabbed her.
Leaving the house, I saw someone who looked a lot like Charlotte, chatting with a group of friends (who were quite likely telling her I was an assassin, as despite looking like a tree, I was quite an unsubtle tree). Asking if she was indeed Charlotte, she cunningly replied "No", then turned around and stabbed me in the arm. This hurt, so I ran away to nurse my bleeding limb and bruised pride :(
Dear Mr Umpire, Someone came looking for me today at 1.05, however I fooled him and then after he had revealed his knife I stabbed him in the arm very close to the chest... Yours in blood Noir-Mort
The Umpire reminds players that wounds to limbs from guns and knives merely disable the limb hit; a hit to the head or chest is required to kill.
I was shot at about 13.25 today walking down West Road. The assassin said his name was Richard Gibson.
The reason he shot me was that my RBG was visible under my coat, and he believed that this made me a legal target.
The Umpire reports:
You are considered to be bearing a weapon if you are visibly carrying it (that is, the weapon is directly visible, rather than obscured by a bag or clothing), even if you are not holding it in a hand.
spentseveral minutes lurking somone's room in newnham college. diddnt like the exposed corridors. left.
Didn't have to go far to find Thufir Hawat's door, but it seems he wasn't in.
Lurked outside where I thought Bo Markus Rikard Forsman's accomodation was for 10minutes before realising that it wasn't and getting some funny looks, and when I finally found it he didnt appear to be in, so after about 15minutes a decided my cover might be blown so legged it. Noir-Mort
Having made two reasonable attempts, Noir-Mort is removed from the list of incompetents.
??Incos que vive abajo del camino? ??KILL KILL KILL!
Darn, Assinated!
And here is my account, an abstract from my blog...
The Assination
It was a dark, stormy night. Had left the front door opened as the ventilation fan wasn't working, then half way through the cooking, saw, out of the corner of my eye, a figure in black walking out of the front door from my room. Was quite freaky. So decided to go and investigate it.
I walked out of the door, and saw the figure making his way down the stairs. I called out to him. He stopped, turned back and asked if I was "Gabriel Wu". I confirmed my identity as he approached me. Then, pulling out his pen of doom, he told me he had come for me, and plunged the wicked object into my heart.
It happened too fast for me to react! And I was without my own weapons! He was really lucky man! I had only left the door wide opened today as I needed ventilation for frying the food, and this was the first time I was cooking. Quite dissapointed that I was out of the game without making any assination attempt of my own, but hey, I'm now part of the police force! That means I can kill anyone who is incompetant!
Two peanuts were walking down the road. One was roasted.
Dear Mr Umpire,
I fear I must protest. After lectures today (say, 11:10 for the benefit of the webpages little time thingy), I trekked far across hill and dale to visit the incompetent residing in St Peters Terrace. Sadly, despite some very, very, VERY subtle hanging around outside, entry to the dwelling was not forthcoming and I was forced to continue on my way. Now I find that it was all in vain, as the incompetent is dead!
I'm not really sure what I'm protesting about, but protesting I am...
Kestrel
Waiting outside someone's lecture room for fifteen minutes gets boring after about five minutes
As I was about to leave the lecture theatre, this afternoon, I noticed something that shouldn't have been there - the chirpy face of Steve-o staring in through the window.
I hastily drew back and settled down to copy up the past few weeks' lecture notes, but Steve-o wasn't so easily dissuaded - after about the third or fourth unsubtle stroll past the door, he eventually scuttled off to lurk outside and I made my escape.
Outside, I settled into a cunning hiding place and watched with amusement as Steve-o cycled past a few times. Perhaps the 'maffia' need to hire new hitmen...
Were-rabbit is invisible.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Baker was unable to identify the culprit from the line-up. Lines of enquiry are still open however, and we remain confident of catching this Harry Houdini.
Ballaghaderreen, COUNTY ROSCOMMON
In the days before the rise of the automobile, there were, unsurprisingly, fewer traffic accidents. It was safe for a few unsupervised chidren to play in the street, without a care in the world, heedless of the pedestrians passing them by. Nowadays, however, parents would do well to teach their children road safety and awareness of danger.
Three or so youths, skateboarding on the sidewalk, nearly came to grief when one of them slipped and fell into the road, twisting his ankle. His friends tried to pull him out of the path of a rapidly approaching car, but would have been too slow.
It was thanks to the heroic actions of Christopher Stratham (34) that the children were all unscathed. He is expected to receive an award for good citizenship at the Town Hall presentations next month.
I do not hold high hopes for this lurkage, but nevertheless it must be attempted.
Due to the extreme number of accidents occurring along stretches of the A14, a revised speed limit of 43.5 mph will apply to the dual carriageway as of November 18th.
So, with my Pym Particles in tow (not to be confused with Pymp Articles, of course, which are generally more pruple and feathery in nature), I called upon the leader of my ant army, their reply was not particularly retellable, but apparently I had contacted him at a bad time, and that if I want his help any time but a Friday night when he has some 'hot honeys' back in his hill is fine - I was always under the impression honey was bad for ants, all the stickyness and what have you. but alas, I was forced to venture out alone once more. I opted not to grow to giant size, as by now I can only achieve a 25ft high form, and only for 15 minutes, and this is not particularly suitable if one wants to be subtle. However, unaided once more my attempt was unsuccessful and so with my quest for justice and tomatoes once more, I returned to my lab where I listened to some rather lovely 'compact discs', and failed to find a satsuma.
Dear Mighty Lord Maz, the umpire
I bring disturbing news of the spread of the hobbits through Cambridge. Today, I walked into a lecture hall to not only find hobbits sat amongst men in the hall, but also a hobbit GIVING THE LECTURE. On brandishing my mighty weapon, the Head Honcho Hobbit (or "3H") fled, but I managed to recover this piece of what I can only presume to be hobbit manuscript:
If only we could decipher the arcane and ancient language contained within, perhaps we might know where they will strike next? For now, keep yourself safe, Sir Umpire, and don't go anywhere near Queens'.
Yours
Nick Plummer
Dearest Umpire, I should like to inform you of some ACTIVITIES I have just partaken in. On finding myself awake at 6:30 am, I contemplated doing the Classical Dynamics I really should have done last night instead of sleeping, but instead I went and hung around, looking suspicious, outside the house of Ross Edmondson, to see if I could change his name from that pretty pink colour to a more dashing, mysterious purple colour. I remained outside his house for a good forty-five minutes, but it was somewhat cold outside; I proceeded thence to the house of Michael Royal.
Why? you ask. Because he is inco, because it was on my way home, because I was bored. I hung around there for another forty minutes or so, then decided that this was pretty pointless, because I had no idea who he was, what he looked like and in fact would have no indication that it was him. Thus foiled, I returned home, passing a shady, paranoid figure running down Hobson Street. I wondered if it was Xanth, going to lectures, but I realised that had it been him, he would have passed there more than two hours ago. The CMS is a long way away, if you take his route.
So, I returned home, and then, dear Umpire, I fell asleep, awaking again only now, to deliver you news of my keen, if inefficient, morning.
Yours in PROFIT!,
Ed Heaney.
Dear Umpire,
I should like to have a quick public chuckle about the fact that Mr Heaney thought I would be out of bed at 6.30 on a Saturday, or indeed any day.
Kindest Regards,
Kestrel
I made the long trek out to the CMS [this] morning, in an attempt to slay the dastardly Aidan Robison. However, he seems to have taken paranoia to a new level through such activities as sitting in lecture theatres long after the lecture ends, and I was eventually forced to retreat to avoid arousing suspicion.
Spotting James once more hanging around outside the lecture theatre, I decided enough was enough. I should have killed him yesterday. So I waited until he had been distracted, then leapt out and shot him in the back. Then I bang-killed him for good measure.
About bloddy time!
We spent some time looking for Ross's house. Infact, Sarah Donnelly went into the wrong house initially, while the other 2 wondered off towards the correct house, and i hung around in limbo. Myself and Sarah eventually got to the correct house, to find Tom lurking over an open front door, waiting for an opportunity to get in without looking suspicious. Michael Wallace was spotted running away at this point because he saw someone who may or may not have looked like Ross. (He claims to have walked away briskly). We did not get in the front, nor did we know if Ross was in. So, Tom and Sarah investigated the back entrance, while i watched the front (knowing Ross had a bike and i am more likely to spot him from a distance that Sarah, having encountered Ross more times than her... i think). After 10 minutes, i heard that Sarah had climbed into the kitchen through an open window and opened the back door for Tom, who strode in and shot Ross who was having a partay!
Having been attacked earlier in the evening by a dish of rice (none of which was labelled knife, thankfully), I had been given enough of an adrenaline boost to warrant going after one of the incos. Myself and my associates, therefore, made our way to the street of a certain 'kat', where, quite quickly, it became myself and an associate, as the other two seemed to disappear (although they were actually doing a very good job of hiding).
We walked down the street, myself bravely jumping at every sound, Deuce, on the other hand, saying incredibly loudly (and also bravely, of course), phrases such as "I WONDER WHERE ROSS LIVES" (I fear this may have been slightly due to his slight inebriation, something which, of course he'll deny, but he did fall asleep on [undisclosed person who may or may not have been Ronald McDonald]'s floor later in the evening - he snores strangely...).
Having located his house, we decide it safest for me to duck back somewhat whilst Tom assessed the situation. This he seemed to do well, suddenly running towards me a minute or so later. He informs me that someone he could say 'may possibly look a bit like Kat', so I, ever cautious, decide to back away from the area a little bit further. My room in [undisclosed college of an overtly sexual nature, but not Newnham] seemed like an ideal spot.
I did not run away.
(it was more of a brisk walk)
Dearest Umpirical Overlord,
After deciding to remove Ross Edmondson from the game late last night, I set off for West Road in the relative safety of a sizeable group of experienced assassins (feeling slightly less safe after one decided to leave mid-lurk).
Ross didn't seem to be using the front door at all in the time we watched - which wouldn't in itself have been much of a problem, except no one else was around to open the door for us.
So, I found a way to get around the back of the house, and climbed in through the kitchen window. After doing this I opened the door for Tom Booth, who went "to the front door" with the purpose of "letting Steve into the house"...
I waited for about 30 seconds... and Tom came back very happy and bouncy with the announcement that Ross was dead. Heh. We found Steve still guarding the front door on our way out.
I don't know where Michael Wallace was at that point.
Regards,
Sarah
PS. You are fit, but not as fit as Steve McCann. PPS. I decline to confirm OR DENY the alleged "BOOM BOOM" properties attributed to Steve McCann. PPPS. In exchange for the kill I facilitated I would be much pleased if Tom Booth were to offer me compensation (preferably of the chocolate variety) for the damage the window frame perpetrated on my jeans.
After a curry, a group of public-spirited individuals (myself, Steve McCann, Sarah Donnelly and Michael Wallace) decided to make their way across town and dispatch the notoriously competent incompetent Ross Edmondson once and for all. After much skulking around on West Road, Michael Wallace and I located the house and began to scout outside it. During our reconnaisance, however, a suspicious man came out of the front door and moved off down the street to talk to someone else. Neither of them were Ross, but Michael, in the best tradition of Trinitarian assassins (and pupils of Steve McCann) everywhere, decided this was too dangerous, and "tactically retreated" to Burrell's Field (where, I might add, he cowered until he heard Ross was dead).
Having separated the wheat from the chaff, and (with apologies to Sarah), the men from the boys, we continued our scouting. Sarah discovered a way round to the back of the house, so, leaving Steve to cover the front exit, we made our way round. There was a party ongoing, but no unlocked doors, and the nefarious gauzy blinds over the windows prevented me from making out Ross inside.
Sarah discovered an open kitchen window, and after much debate, she climbed inside, and opened the back door for me. (For this, she deserves, if anything, more credit for this kill than I do). She then proceeded upstairs while I checked out the ground floor. It turned out the party was in fact in Ross's room, and his door stood wide open. After that it was all easy. The people at the party thought this was all very entertaining and offered me a drink, although, strangely enough, questions were raised as to the security of the house.
Glad I was able to spare Ross from the indignity of a thunderbolt. And since this was my fiftieth career kill as player or police, I'd like to thank Sarah for making it a memorable one :)
"Michael ... "tactically retreated" to Burrell's Field (where, I might add, he cowered until he heard Ross was dead)."
I would like to dispute this claim (and, quite frankly, great slight on my character). My room is not in Burrell's Field.
Lurk.
NO PROFIT!
Metanoid still currently in the process of lurking [college] buttery. Mobile telecom is amazing. I can report whilst on the lurk. Ain't that cool. After finding target's room to be empty, decided this may be best course of action. Will return to target room shortly. Target is a Were-rabbit.
METANOID still aggressively lurking a Were-rabbit at [college]. However. Am now disguised in the purple dressing gown and fluffy too small slippers which signifY membership of the [college] breakfast club. Oh she just left. X0x
"ruggh raggh grunt dribble"
->cheese monster expresses its respect for the artworks
displayed in kill reports so far this term, and hopes to be
able to live up to this interesting form of kill-expression.
"dribble Grushgher gragh gragh"
->cheese monster reminds the viewer that it has no opposable
thumbs and that whilst holding a knife is second nature to it,
holding a paintbrush is a challenge.
random clicking sounds
->cheese monster thanks you for your time
I died this afternoon around 4pm when I headed to the buttery to get some milk. cheese monster was out side my room as I cam out of the kitchen, as soon as he said oh, Dave, I knew what was coming. My body just refused to kick nto action I was far enough away to run but I could not. My weapons were in my room the other side of him. Bugger. I succumbed to the cold hard cardboard of his dagger and collapsed with a gasp of "oh, don't, not now"
Dear Mazzykins,
Today I saw Carrie Oliver MA, the Most fearsome Assassin in Cambridge. I hope you'll understand if I spend the rest of the game cowering in terror in my room.
P.S. I, for one, think you're much more handsome than Steve McCann, BOOMBOOM or no.
Was just on my way to the kitchen when my assassin rushed out of the toilet to kill me at 13:55. Am eating breakfast in heaven. Guess being dead still means I have to go rowing, though...
Tycon worked on the base of Mt. WTF, every week, for all his living memory. And he worked because the gods told him to, for he had many debts. His honour required that he pay those debts, so every week Tycon toiled on the mountain. But even the burden of his debt could not stop him dreaming, and the peak of the mountain beckonned. Tycon worked until he could bear it no more, and so the day came when he threw down his shovel and began to climb in the morning sun.
...and it changed him.
The tales spoke of Mt. WTF. they said it drove men mad, that none returned from the peak the same, but there, Tycon found power, and knowledge. He understood debt, and profit, and how to turn one to the other. He found he could solve problems by meerely shrouding them in accounting until he could move on and have someone else deal with them. His buzzwords were sharp like razors, and he did reap the boardrooms with them and build his empire. Those who followed him found profit and joyful lives. Those who stood against him found he knew their tricks and did use them against them. The slaughter knew no end. Tycon wanted all.
...and they called him Tycoonius, Lord of all business.
...and he did smile.
Hello Mr Umpire,
My stay on the incompetent list appears to have been rather shorter this time; I am dead already.
A certain Mr Birch turned up, going "wheee, I bribed Maz to not make me
inco! With clementines!"
...so I stupidly said "Oh, you bastard, kill me now"...
...and there happened to be a CPS 3000 on my kitchen floor, which he
bang-killed me with.
Curse you, Dirty Birch!
(you should possibly miss out the bit with the bribe...)
For bribing the Umpire, David Birch is made corrupt.
I lurked in [some] Lane,
my lurking was in vain,
so i ran home,
to eat blue foam,
because it began to rain.
I would like to report that I made an attempt on the Chief of Police last night, at approximately 1930hrs.
I'm not expecting competence for it ;)
FORTRESS* by Nedward Monkton
ASSASSIN: "INCO, INCO, let me come in!"
INCO: "No! Assassin, I shall NOT let you in!"
ASSASSIN: "Then I'll HUFF, and I'll... walk away sadly because your room appears to be protected by THREE different LOCKED BARRIERS."
[pause]
INCO: "Are you still there?"
ASSASSIN: (silence)
INCO: "The toilet is on MY side of the door, stop lurking the hallway."
ASSASSIN: "Oh."
*some of the events FORTRESS describes may not have happened
Dear Mr Umpire,
Today I made 2 attempts on Miss Kelly-Anne Packer, of Newnham. In both
instances she was not in either her room or her kitchen. Most disappointing.
Yours,
Lottie
PS Sorry about crap report, am slighty tipsy (nothing new there) and quite tired.
It was 8.30 on Sunday night and I had a looming incompetence deadline. So I decided to go bravely forth and attack one of my actual targets. Arriving in the staircase I scouted around, and found a convenient toilet to lurk in. Just then I felt the call of nature, and there was a toilet nearby SO convenient.
A short while later, I emerged from my lurking hole, to find the door of my targets room conveniently open and unlocked. I burst in, saw a figure sitting at a desk working, and shot it. Just then two things occured to me. One was that this was room 10 not room 9. The other was that the figure I'd just shot was male not female. Oops.
As mentioned earlier, my 'Janes Guide to Minions' notes that killing a nextdoorneighbourbeast is unethical, so I expect your Umpiriness may be taking issue with me on this matter....
Tamsyn Heffernan reports:
I started having an affair with a younger, super-sexy co-worker about two months ago.
I was very nervous and had tremendous anxiety about going to bed with her. Sure enough, the first time we tried I could not perform. I felt worthless and could not believe that I blew an opportunity to be with a woman so incredibly beautiful.
I decided to get some Vjaagra online http://www.[censored].com and give it a try.
The next time we were together things were wonderfully different. My cock was hard enough to cut through diamonds and I couldn't believe how full and swollen it was. We had great sex that day and have continued to do so.
It is my little secret,
but I want to share with other men that Vjaagra does work.
P.S. If you have a problem, try Vjaagra, it is great
http://www.[censored].com
The innocent's neighbour reports:
Apparently today someone assassinated Jacob, my next door neighbour, instead of me. I found this quite ammusing, Jacob found it less so but defended himself well with a compass. I know not who is guilty of this crime, but thought I'd report it anyway.
I was enjoying the quiz machine in Trinity Bar (I had to, I drew the Wheel Of Fortune card this morning and NO ONE argues with the cards) when one of my deck abruptly dislodged itself from my pocket and hit me in the head.
It was the cursed Incompetence card again ("Blue-Eyes White Dragon" in some cultures), which was interesting - was an inco approaching? I turned the card over and noted that the Knight Of Swords was stuck to the back. A military inco? INCOMPETENT POLICE? How terrible!
At this juncture the resurrected, police-ified and now incompetent Andy Davies walked through the doors. I offered innocently to read the cards for him, if he'd cross my palm with silver; unfortunately he wondered aloud why readers such as myself can't get their own bloody silver.
So, I took out my knife and made my own bloody silver.
High Wycombe, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE
The city of High Wycombe, with a population comparable to that of peaceful Cambridge, yet with its reputation long established as a haven for drug dealers, underage prostitutes and senseless violence, yesterday witnessed a horrific incident.
Upon opening his door to a friend, Gordon Ball (21) was rushed at by a few unsupervised children, who bludgeoned him to death with lacrosse sticks. His last words before he succumbed to unconsciousness were, "Is this for real?" He later slipped into a coma and died in hospital from extensive internal injuries.
Senior Police Constable Charlotte Booth, currently in charge of the detained children, has made a statement confirming the doctor's report that the children were certainly under the influence of alcohol and very possibly hallucinogenic drugs. "It is a pity that they will be tried as juveniles," she has been quoted as saying, "as they are old enough and should be able to be held fully responsible for their actions once they had willingly participated in recreational drugs and alcohol."
A family member of one of the children has pleaded with the community as a whole to call for leniency on the children, as they could not fully comprehend the possible consequences of what they had done. However an inside source has revealed that the children are singularly unrepentant.
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
"AAAAARGH!!!! IT'S THE COOKIE MONSTER!!!!!! RUN!!!!!!!"
"Those aren't cookies, you moron, those are oatcakes!"
"No they aren't!"
"KILL THEM ALL!!!!!!!"
"They're houmous, I tell you!!!!!"
"KILL THEM ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Cornflakes!"
"What?"
"Cornflakes!"
"With cookie chips?"
"Perhaps."
"Shall we have some?"
"No, I think we have an appointment with God."
" "
"I wish we could stay, but we have somewhere else to be."
" "
" "
" "
"Well, all right then."
POSTSCRIPT:
Cherry Hinton, CAMBRIDGE
The unmarked bodies of a few children were found washed up on the banks of the River Cam this afternoon. No children have so far been reported missing.
The inquest continues.
Dear Mr Umpire Sir,
I would be very grateful if you could publish this report exactly, after the event of my death, to warn the remaining live assassins that if someone were able to get into your locked room, aiming to surprise you when you returned, they would hardly hide under your bed.
Today I bang-killed the space under my bed. This is usually hidden by a sliding panel; however, upon my return this afternoon, I saw the sliding panel was partially open. Had my bedder been rummaging through the contraband under my bed? Or was there someone waiting to kill me?
I crept quietly forward, special senses tuned for any sign of movement, and then sprung forward to point my RBG at the black space behind the panel and shout "BANG!!!!"
I immediately felt very silly, and apologised to my shoes and sleeping bag for disturbing them. I considered reporting the incident then, but decided that shoes were inanimate objects, and my sleeping bag was far from innocent, and therefore would not go wanted for assassinating my personal belongings.
I enclose a graph that you might be interested in. It should tie in with what has happened to me in the game so far (except, perhaps, you may not know that I met a guy called Adam from Caius, because I don't think he had anything to do with the Guild at all).
Yours sincerely, and with multitudes of happyfluffybouncyCaianhugs,
Jessica
PS. Jessica is not my real name, nor what I am commonly known as, nor is it my middle name. But I like it, because I am American.
Knock-knock.
'Oui?'
'Gordon, c'est Sarah et moi. On peut entrer?'
'Ca va.'
(La porte ouvre)
BANG!
'Sarah! Qu'est ce-que tu as fait?'
Un autre BANG!
'Les autres sont morts. Quelle horreur!'
Dear Maz-y-moo, the loveliest umpire, tastier even than the Minestrone out
of the Chemistry Dep't machine (but not as tasty as Steve BOOMBOOM McCann,
of course),
The Flooflebunny is a little contrite. Ashamed, even.
I lurked the esteemed break-dancing badger, Esq, again. But, contrary to previous
lurkings, his light was on and he was diligently typing away at work, I
presume.
So focussed, so concentrated was he, indeed, that he ignored my plaintive
friendly knockings upon his door.
He didn't even come to the bar of his college. Or a certain comedy ent at the self-same college. Damn and blast.
He clearly isn't trying.
He doesn't even watch through his curtains (they were shut).
Grrrrr... ME WANNA KILL NAAAAAOOOW.
Best regards to yourself and your family,
Flooflebunny
Finally with a target nearby I visited Michael Wallace at 2200 today. After I reached his door it became obvious soon that he wasn;t in, so I left after trying the door and waiting a bit in case he was coming home (not sure how long,sorry).
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