The Assassins' Guild - Week 0 News

First thing this morning I hid my facebook profile, having forgotten to do it last night. Target 3 was not so savvy. He is now dead. Dorian is american. His interests include his lecture options. He is a fresher. He has 44 photos. I located him in a 9am lecture today, and after the lecture I waited for him. 9.53 am. "Are you Dorian?" "Uh-huh". Water pistol comes out of pocket. "Bang". Bad luck Dorian.

Ooh ee ooh ah ah...

Was restless in the night. The fear that I have had for some days now finally reached its conclusion when, in the small hours of the morning, a raven entered my room through the open window, circled three times, then dropped a sealed letter, before cawing once and falling dead from the air. Picking up the letter, I noticed that the seal was blank. Breaking it, and unfolding it with trembling hands, I read the message it contained.

My heart fell at the news within. I was to repay my debt in blood - not my own, but the blood of others. Three names were written in careful script, and three locations. I was to seek out these unfortunate souls and send them cold-bloodedly to their maker. Furthermore, this most shocking method of repayment was accompanied by other news equally as grim. As I attempted to complete my task, the letter warned, there would be three others hunting me. Only by keeping my wits and my blade sharp could I hope to succeed in my task and be rid of this debt once and for all. Failure to comply would me met with swift retribution.

Rushing over to the window through which the raven had flown, I quickly shut it, lest my pursuers should, having already begun their hunt, gain entrance through it. Checking that my door was bolted, I returned to my bed, though was unable to sleep.

In the morning, I arose with the prospect of my grisly duty hanging on my shoulders like a weight. Steeling myself for the deed, I took my weapon and began the hunt.

The assassin and his accomplice walked from their lunch outside Sainsbury's along Regent street, and headed right into Downing. After failing to find a common room or other possible sources of photographs, the decision was made to proceed regardless to the 'marks' room. While the accomplice waited outside, the assassin continued up to the room in question, knocked on the door, and the following conversation ensued... Assassin: knock knock Voice inside room: "Just a minute!" Assassin: ....... Door opens, face appears Face: "Hello" Assassin: "Catriona Brown?" Face: "Yes..." By this time the gun had been moved from the shoulder holster to behind the assassins back, finger on trigger, ready to go. Assassin: "Bang."

I proceeded to ambush Sarah Lilley outside her lectures, and through incredible subtlety and speed managed a kill which had nothing at all to do with superior firepower, oh no.

At the hour of 1353 on the sunny afternoon of October 13, the Ninja Holocaust did ELIMINATE Marta Malaj, beloved staircase buddy and friend of the Ninja. He felt no remorse. The instrument of demise was a banana clearly labelled "GUN" which was fired with repeated incantations of the word "BANG!!!" from a distance of no more than 13 centimetres. The Ninja Holocaust seeks a new, more worthy victim for his carnal pleasures.

Apparently... a short blonde geeky looking fellow with a large liquid dispensing weapon and a knife was spotted outside my room at about 2. Fortunately for him, I wasn't in it. The Tea-Party Crasher

At five past the second hour of the afternoon, Stephen Davidson was, in his room, struck down by Jim. Triumph! The weapon of his downfall was a humble rubber band.

At the minute of 1415 on the bright, clear afternoon of October 13th, Scorpius, having overheard news of his impeding demise at the hands of James Rainford, proceeded to dispatch him with a banana labelled "GUN", from within 10 centimetres, shouting "BANG BANG BANG!!". Scorpius believes James was a licit target, having been assigned as one of his targets himself, and as he was in possession of an obvious weapon. Cambridge will be hearing more from Scorpius soon.

In what turned out to be an unsuccessful operation, Nightsquid lurked long 15 minutes for Wolverine. The Nightsquid shall return.

Moseyed over to Jesus and after scanning a freshers wall of faces before going up to the room of Pink Panda. She was out, but handily I spotted her walking into the college as I was leaving. Assassin: Wen-Xi Chen? She looks bemused... Assassin: You're Wen-Xi Chen? She starts to look suspicious... I pull out my rulerKNIFE and STAB! The Tea-Party Crasher

note to assassins: don't answer to your name. It gets you killed.

Stood in firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt dark planet turn under my feet and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in night.

Looked at sky through smoke heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else.

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach.

Dear Mr. Umpire,

Today at approximately half past 7 I successfully brought about the demise of a meanie who was after my life, by tactically hiding in my room.

At around 7 I heard a rustling outside my door, and decided to have a look to see what the plastic commotion was about - aha! someone wandering around, apparently looking a bit lost, excellent, I watch a bit more (you might say I like to watch, you perverts), but before I can open the door he hides behind a strategically placed hiding behind thing. Then followed a Quite Long standoff consisting of him occasionally sticking his head out, but not quite far enough for me to risk a shot. Obviously being terrified, I call for backup, and it arrives in the form of Rorschach, who despatches the visitor with a click-a-click-click. Oh yes.

So yeah, don't let anyone accuse me of hiding again.

Michael "Rofl Raccoon PhD" Wallace

I just saw Simeon Bird. He wasn't wearing a hat.

(no, rly)

Dearest Fused-Umpire Entity,

It is with some amount of alarm and an even greater amount of drunken amusement that I write to inform you of an attempt made on my life not half an hour past midnight tonight.

A most dastardly Assassin from [I remove the college to protect their privacy] knocked on my door, claiming to be a friend of a (boy)friend - suspiciously, the boyfriend didn't know him. He was handsome indeed, but not as much so as you, beloved Nick-Umpire, or our esteemed COP, although he may have had better hair than the beloved Phil-Umpire (in my defense, I am and was inebriated, Phil-Umpire, and may be less in favour of that hairstyle in the morning).

I had a gun to hand and was about to confront the intruder when a Porter, who had with uncanny timing just finished making use of the bathrooms downstairs, shepherded my assailants - yes, there were accomplices lurking on the stairs - into a neat circle to ask them for identification. Finding them all to be from [again I remove the college, but suffice to say it isn't the one they were in at the time], and finding them without a member of [my] college to vouch for them, the Porter proceeded to march them out of college grounds.

This was amusing and frustrating by equal measures: amusing for reasons I'm sure you understand, and frustrating as they both interrupted our comedy night and then (rather rudely) managed to get themselves removed by a Porter, meaning that I couldn't follow (AND KILL THEM ALL RAAAARGHBLARGHHGARGARBLARGH) without being in breach of the rules, or at the least looking very unsporting.

A (male) friend and I may have giggled like anime schoolgirls after these strange events had had time to sink in.

Yours after reasonable quantities of wine and beer, and with much lightweightedly inebriated admiration,

Sarah Donnelly

Dearest Umpire,

Mentally preparing for another unsuccessful look-out, I left and just in that moment I think I've seen Shaky Pete walking briskly past me. I lurked around for a bit and I've seen him going in the direction of his room. That mus be him! Following him shortly afterwards, I unfortunately had to cancel my activities too soon when I found myself standing in front of a locked door and nobody willing to let me in. The Nightsquid shall return.

Shortly after lunch today I decided it was time to investigate another mark, I found their college, found their out of college residence, and began slowly pacing from one to the other. After about 4 of such trips, the sun came out and the steakout needed to be postponed to avoid slowly roasting alive.

Soothsayer will return, at NIGHT! hehe.....

Scorpius' bloodlust rises as he becomes increasingly frustrated with work. Perhaps this night he will kill.

ting tang walla walla bing bang

Police report no.341002

Time: 1926 Place: Upstairs landing in the Master's Lodge, Jesus College Cause of death: repeated stabbings to the lower and middle back with a dagger not longer than 6" Witness reports: the few we managed to obtain talk of a tall, dark, handsome stranger who mingled with the crowds at the Master's drinks, before dashing out as the victim left, reaching her at the stairs and repeatedly and swiftly stabbing her. Murmurs about a Duke could be heard amongst the attendees, but no one would confirm the identity of said 'Duke'.

Legs was found drinking in a bar and held up at gunpoint by Maria and an unnamed Mafioso, who forced him to join the Mafia.

The Smoking Gnu denies utterly any fatuous reports relating to the death of Jacob Samuel Corteen, and any issues of sportsmanship relating thereto.

My accomplice and I waited casually across the street from the locked door of my target's residence. After roughly 10 minutes a man approached the door and swiped his card, immediately we were behind him and with a quiet thankyou and a smile from us, he went on his way completely unaware he had allowed two assassins to enter the building.

Proceeding up the many flights, the pair arrived finally at the mark's bedroom door. Calmly waiting around the corner, they discussed tactics. The decision was made for the accomplice to go back down the stairs and use the mark's call button, in an attempt to coax her out of her room, and immediately into the claws of the waiting assassin. This plan failed miserably, the mark was far too suspicious to leave her room by the command of a complete stranger.

The assassination was successful however, as about 5 minutes later the mark decided to have a shower. The assassin, waiting silently around the corner from her room, heard her door creep open, and her careful, stealthy progress along the corridor. Unfortunately she rounded the corner to find herself looking down the barrel of the assassins pistol. Content with a mornings work, the pair retreated to have brunch.

Today at 10:40 I went sniffing. Fresh from a kill in the company of another assassin my senses were heightened and I smelt fear in the air. After a test of wills with a college porter we made our way to the marks room. Touching the door I felt it was cold and smelt no blood in the air. Maybe that stench of fear was brunch after all. The Selig will return.

At perhaps 12:30 or a little later I visitied (college) with some friends; visiting the room of the apparently non-present (player) both on the way there and back we nevertheless achieved a kill of Code Monkey's target, whom he shot with my gun.

After some previous unsuccessful strategic lurking, the following happened: Michael Donaghy lets Code Monkey play with his gun. With (person), they go to (college).
Code Monkey knocks on door,
Door Opens,
Bang, Bang, Catch is dead.

Today, from the long hours of 13:40 to 17:00, Scorpius and accomplice Ninja Holocaust lurked diligently and patiently for Sarah Donnelly. That's over 3 hours!! 3 hours of cold blood and morbid desires swishing sluggishly through their bloodstreams. She was simply not to be found. Ninja Holocaust is to blame for this twisted mangle of events.

The Ninja Holocaust wishes to make it known that the stakeout was not a complete waste of time: He attained advanced knowledge of special realativity that can be gained only from hard work in the kind of quiet environment found when staking someone out. The machetes weren't poisoned, just uncomfortable to conceal i.e laziness meant they had to be disposed of.

Also, it was all Scorpius' fault.

I hear this French poem is used by a sportsman? (8,5)

Snuck out of college with an intention of visiting a nearby college to perform the ritualistic dealings of death to one on the list. Unfortunately the fates were not kind as I was held up by the fact that my target was nowhere to be seen... and also the fact I've got load of work to finish off. So the deed will have to wait until then...

The Mafia noticed the existence of a filthy Wanted, Ben Copsey, and his downfall was ordered. A select group staked out his room, and the chosen hit(wo)man knocked on the door, after being given directions by a helpful neighbour. Finding it open, Maria looked in, and shot the figure standing behind the door.

Just now I killed Ben Copsey. I then discovered he was already dead.

Dear Siamese Umpire Twins,

Another attempt was made on my life again today. I am most pleased, as I actually do enjoy the feeling of rather bemused curiosity that occurs on finding that several large cardboard "machetes" have been shoved under my door while I was out.

Not only that, but I even got a free pen out of the whole affair - unfortunately, suspicions that it could have been poisoned led me to lift and dispose of it by the time-honoured method of the poor man's pooper-scooper.* I do apologise to my would-be killers if it actually was just a kind gift; paranoia can make a person neglect common courtesy.

The "machetes" interested me, but again, seemed likely to have been poisoned (I don't know how they could have hurt me otherwise, apart from if I'd tripped over them and bruised my knee somehow) so, with regret, these carefully-crafted instruments of death were also bagged and put in the bin.

If my assassin wants them back, s/he is of course welcome to send me an address for me to send them the machetes (plus a thank-you card, of course)...

Yours with much love and bits of cardboard,

Sarah Donnelly

*Put plastic bag over hand. Lift offending object with bagged hand. Turn bag inside out. Dispose of safely and remember that the maximum fine for neglecting to clean up after your dog can be as much as £500.**

** I don't know what the fine for pens or machetes is.

At about half past six today, I locked my bike outside of Queens' College and made my way somewhat haphazardly through the buildings which make up Queens', a toy lightsaber tucked inside my jacket. Eventually I found EE8, and knocked on the door.

- Is Tom in there?
- Who is it?
- El Mariachi. Can I come in?

To his credit, Tom not only realised that the suspiciousness of this conversation suggested impending doom, but also had a pen to hand with which he lunged at me as I opened the door. However, the reach of my lightsaber, drawn just before I opened the door, was significantly greater than his piddly 'knife'. Which meant that I had stabbed him in the heart before my skin was lightly grazed (I have now recovered).

To add some colour to the proceedings, Tom did manage to somehow, by a strange and inadvisable combination of door, forehead and spectacles, manage to make himself bleed. So his murder will have left him with a Harry Potter-esque scar. Anyway, one-nil to El Mariachi. (Which is of course the Spanish for The Jedi Knight).

This city is dying of rabies. Is the best I can do to wipe random flecks of foam from its lips?

The Duke wandered through the shaded cloisters, deep in thought as usual; the chill of the evening air refreshed his tired brain. A troubled sigh, a frown and then a smile at some happy memory. Lost in thought, it would have been easy for him to miss the shape lurking in the shadows at the base of one of the pillars. Easy for normal people, at any rate.

As the figure crept swiftly and suddenly, but almost unnoticeably, towards him, the Duke readied his hand upon his trusted knife's hilt. The next few seconds passed as lightning, with a whirl of motion from both himself and his assailant (whose speed he was shocked to witness). He found himself with a gun at his head, while his blade was tightly pressed to his hitherto invisble foe's exposed neck.

Both men were panting. As they realised the simultaneous peril, they lowered their weapons.

After some discussion, an agreement was reached.

Today I thought I should finally put my well gathered information to the test so after finding a map of (college) I was off hunting for The Duke. After spending an hour of mine and an accomplice's afternoon walking around (college) I found (court) alas the room was empty.

After a few hours and with an extra accomplice to hand I was ready to return for the duke. Unfortunately the college yielded no duke so we gave up. On the way out however, we spotted a potential and on close inspection of his pigeon hole we successfully identified the target.

Unfortunately this encounter ended with a banana-knife face-off and a 2-week truce.

All together the Aesir came in council, and all the Asynior to speak together, and what they talked of, those powerful gods, was why Kveldulf had failed to kill.

After this failed encounter we decided to join forces to hunt down another target, Judith Reeks, half way there we spotted a potential target which after a quick "Hi Judith? We met on the open day" from The Duke, was eliminated with a loud BANG from the banana of Grilled Cheese Sandwich. Thus begins the tale of the cheesy sandwich.

The Duke crept along the narrow lane, mingling with passers-by and drunkards pouring out from inns. He couldn't see his temporary ally, but knew he must be nearby. As he dashed out from a side alley, he saw the woman they were both stalking. Alone and mournful, she wandered the streets like a serene waif.

Almost sad to assist the death of a soul so innocent, the Duke used his resolve to harden his instincts. He dashed past her, whispering deceits as he passed her ear, then rounded her and did so again. Confused, she turned this way and that, but not fast enough to avoid the figure creeping up behind her. With a quick pull of the trigger she lay, angelic, on the grimy cobbles of the street. The Duke emerged from the shadows and congratulated the killer before parting ways.

Dearest Umpire(s)

I just did my laundry.

I saw neither Joe Nicholl nor Simeon Bird. I did not I lurk for an innocent. I did not lose the game. I did not even see Philip Bielby. This disappointed me greatly. I wonder why he hasn't made any attempts yet. Perhaps you can enlighten me?

Yours sincerely, Charles

PS

Why might one's final fantasy involve furry love? (4)

Dear Gestalt Dual-Entity Umpire,
One was breezing along to a certain college when one, in a pique of curiosity, thought one should visit one's target. It was a little annoying to get into there, but the inhabitants were very nice and let me in, especially after they heard the name of the target.
College loyalty, my arse.
Went to the building and the staircase, but there was nothing. Coughed a lot.
Hung around.
Coughed some more.
Thought one was too obvious.
Coughed.
Buggered off.

Dearest Umpirety, After lurking a moment outside Thomas Barfield's house, a sudden inflow of occupants encouraged me to try to sneak in amongst them. This plan almost failed as one of them turned around and asked me whom I was meeting. I just about managed to get around this so I finally stood in front of Thomas Barfield's door. Knock Knock and the door opened a tiny bit, just enough to score a hit to the head. Mission accomplished. The Nightsquid shall return.

The Journal of C. K. B. Jones - 15th October

I still fear for my life at the hands of those who seek me, but it appears that my fears are at least partly unfounded. I have been the subject of no assassination attempts, nor have I ever felt even remotely threatened. Perhaps it is all some sick joke, and there is either no one out to kill me, or, if my hunters do exist, they may be grossly incompetent. Either way, it appears I am safe for the moment.

The Ninja Holocaust is on the verge of frenzy. Rorschach was a fool to attempt to kill me with a band gun, a true warrior makes his own weapons. Out of cardboard.

My good umpire

It is my pleasure to inform you that i believe Rob Frimston is no more. I sent him a poison letter on saturday, and while dropping it off, poiosned a flyer in his pigeon hole to. I later returned, and both had been removed. Unless he was very lucky, or wearing gloves, the noxious chemicals within the thick sludge i administered should have found themselves within him, and he will be nor more.

Queen of Clubs

FIND THE HALFLINGS! FIND THE HALFLINGS!

The advancing hordes of Uruk-Hai close in around their target...

Mighty Double-Bodied Umpireship,

I present you with a tale of a most exciting time in Sainsbury's!

Within 5 minutes of seeing either Talan le Geyt or a very remarkable lookalike (he looked sleepy), and while I was standing in line at the checkout, not only did I see the floofly Nick-Umpire walk past, but within 10 seconds a very shifty-looking Gordon Ball also emerged!

I tell you, the various excitement hormone-y things in my system almost made me drop my Nectar card, they did.

Then I saved a runaway pram and went home.

The end.

Today at around 13:10 I lurked for a while for Kyramud hodayc (or just Kyramud for short), to no avail. On my way home I saw n highly suspcious people, but alas, none went so far as to draw a weapon on me.

I would like to place a reward of a box of Sainsburys Basic Jaffa Cakes for anyone who kills me whilst they are wearing Black Tie, White Tie, or any other equivalent forms of dress which any two of {the majority of those present in #assassins on kern.srcf.ucam.org, The Umpire, me} would agree is equivalent. This only applies to direct forms of killing, and not, for example, dropping off a poison letter whilst in the required dress.

Robert Crowston

Dearest Umpire

I tiptoe quietly up the staircase, spotting my target's name on the door. Marked as 'in' I know I am fortunate. Careful to remain to oneside, should a firefight ensue, I try the handle of her room door. Locked! Foiled! Stealth to the blazes says I, rapping loudly on the door. Still no response. Could it be the sign indicating easy prey at the bottom of the staircase was the first sign of a trap? No. Losing heart, I start my walk back out of college.

Hang on a girl walking out of the library, fitting my target's description. It's her! Trailing her back up the stairs, I wait for her to enter her room and jump in afterwards my gun cracking like the 5th of November. I stab her once for good measure. Mission accomplished.

Vigilante

Following an intruiging meeting of SocDocSoc (ahem), I wandered around my target's college and stumbled across my target's room. Having waited 10 minutes I decided to give up for the night, then saw a rather Archangel-ish looking person walking towards me. With a shocked look on his face, he turned and ran. chasing through the corridoors for a while, I eventually lost him, being at the disadvantage of not knowing how to get around his college. He shall now pay.

Upon awaking at some god-awful hour it was decided that there were too many wantedses around, so myself and Captain Charisma headed over to the Museums of New (when will they have to stop calling them the 'New' Museums, and just call them the 'slightly New' or 'a bit Old' Museums?) to see if we could find the phearsome Jonathan Alexander Davidson Atkins. Unfortunately, despite encountering the even more phearsome Jacob Samuel Corteen, we did not spot him, so I went back to bed.

Dear All,

The University Of Cambridge has recently been concerned about a number of students, who are felt to not be paying sufficient attention to their studies owing to their involvement with a shadowy group calling themselves the Cambridge Assassins' Guild. Therefore, the decision was taken on Saturday 14th Oct to terminate their studies. This was attempted by means of sending them mail containing a fast-acting, deadly contact poison.

We are delighted to here that in the case of James Richard Zygmunt Collopy, this has proved successful. We would also like to take this opportunity to remind all students that while rowing and other serious sports are permissible activities to take away time intended for studying, involvement with the aforementioned Assassins' Guild is not. Nor, for that matter, is paid employment.

Yours Faithfully,

The University Of Cambridge.

"Aaarrrrrrrrrroooooooooo!" "The Horn of Gondor!?!?"

Dear Umpires

All the way to sodding Robinson and no result. It's a bloody good thing the UL's nearby. Not that anything else is. What a crap location. I didn't go in. A disgusting exercise yard like Robinson? You don't have to blot that out, by the way, I don't care who knows it. Robinson sucks. Anyway, I didn't have much of a plan, so I don't know what I would have done if I had gone in. Robinson's such a hole the narrow corridors would have made it a deathtrap if I hadn't surprised my target (Jim). Plus they're stony and cold, there's nowhere to sit and they're draughty. Outside was much nicer. I imagine people from Robinson sleep on park benches and things when they can get them. So I hung around the big main stairs for 30 minutes or so. I know he likes them, the Facebook tells me so. He didn't come out. He didn't go in. I am fairly certain he cycled past me on the other side of the road though. That was quite demoralising. Also, the worry that I would be taken down for bearing was stopping me from scratching my nose, which by now was an issue. So I left.

And I would like to place a bounty (wait, Prize is the fashion now, isn't it?) upon all Assassins from Robinson, amounting to one packet of Penguins (the chocolate biscuits; I don't believe they sell the birds in Tesco's. Yet...), valid until my death, in order to decrease the probability of me ever having to go back there.

p.s. I don't understand why such things are being reported, but to leap up onto the bandwagon, I'm going to include the fact that this morning I got my laundry done whilst wearing a hat.

My targets have changed: the Robinson target is no longer any target of mine. This means I owe some hero Penguins - but more importantly, I never again need look at Robinson.

The Mafia were bored and decided to investigate the criminal Matt Taylor. They lurked his staircase and tried his door, but alas, he was not in. The Mafia will return.

After managing to become lost, I found my target's room... Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be in... again. Maybe 3 times lucky?

Oh, and I found a penny! See? See?

After dining in the hall of Selwyn, I seized my chance to rid the world of the living of the Mordicant known as Iain Monro. I took up the seven bells of my office, and with caspase acting as the Abhorsen-in-waiting searched for the Mordicant through that part of the Old Kingdom known as Cripps Court, and then to that known as the bar. The bell Saraneth I used to bind him; Kibeth I used to walk him back to where he belongs, the world of the dead. I walked with him through the cold river as far as the fifth gate, and the current had taken had taken him so swiftly that he shall pass through and beyond the ninth gate and have no chance to return to the living world unless a necromancer more powerful than any we have seen since the time of Hedge and Chlorr should turn him in his tracks. I am the Abhorsen and this is my duty. The Dead shall not remain where they have no right to be.

Odin waited, hanging from Yggdrasill,
piddling along and waiting for Long.
Alas, Loki's trickery prevailed,
He was not in.

Frinkles bouncified along and said herrow to Dan. He was a friendly person, so we brutally murdered him, and danced on his still-warm corpse. Oh well. More fluffiness for everyone!

The Duke approached the shady-looking abode of Jonathan Alexander Davidson Atkins, his knives eagerly ready but concealed from the casual onlooker. Sadly for the Duke, one onlooker was not so casual. A glare from a heavy-duty looking guard penetrated his aura of consciousness. Aware that he was being watched, The Duke swirled around and vanished with a flick of his cloak.

Why do they keep knocking on my damn door?

Dearest umpire
I note with considerable disappointment a complete lack of pictorial reports to date; I offer this to encourage those with more patience and/or photoshop skills to produce something superior.

Today I decided to give the Umpire(s) a present, but got stabbed by one of them when I went to deliver it :( I would like it to be made public that unless they are Lame, they shall duel on the day of the incobash (that's Sunday, kids) for the honour of receiving a PwC puncture repair kit.

(seriously, they gave us a puncture repair kit, I mean really...)

Scorpius headed out into town, heart dark, intent gruesome. His mind was focused solely on the eradication of one Edward Burgess of Pembroke College. Rain played salty dances in the breeze, impacted with dry lips and burrowed frow, simmered quickly away. The victim's abode was a trial to descry, but the passing of time had no meaning, only the passing of life. A trio of raps upon the mongrel's door brought out the prey with unexpected insouciance. It may have been his first slip, may have been his only drop of the guard. It was certainly his last. As Edward Burgess opened the door, wide and welcoming, Scorpius drew his trusty banana-gun from its sheath and aimed three inches from the head and, "BANG BANG BANG", quoth I. Using the entry wound as a convenient hole, and the head as a gory bowl, Scorpius feasted upon the pinkened brain of the deceased with a fork and spoon. Scorpius will be hungry again soon.

The Tea-party Crasher was recumbent in his room, sleeping off a days exertions. The crash of the door flying open brought him to his senses; he emitted a strange bird-like caw and dived behind the bed. Jim hid and crawled and pretended to leave the room, but still The Tea-party Crasher hid with only a few rubber bands as deterrent to an open knifing. Minute after tense minute. Terse hostile dialogue broke the silence. Back-up was called.

Jim's rubber bands bounced harmlessly off the walls. The Tea-party Crasher's back-up is slow to arrive. In fact... it doesn't arrive at all. Jim begins to wonder where it has got to and opens the door to check A sword slides through the door into Jim's torso and he screams in terror and frustration as his lifebloods drain out. blackjack has saved the day.

I trekked all the way to a faraway college yesterday around 10pm. It was a very long trek, and i faught 2 bears on the way. Sadly I didnt find Helen Frances Holmes, and had to walk all the way back.