The Assassins' Guild - Week 4 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 4 NewsNothing Happened
Umpires, A sad tale to report indeed. I took Happy the Wonder Cat with me to hunt for Ellen Turnbull. I figured she wouldn't have the heart to gun down a harmless pussy in cold blood. It takes acertain twisted mind to do that indeed. *sobs* We lurked outside the Downing Site. God knows when she has lectures, but they should be working her all day. And so the evening felt like a safe bet. Plus we are arts students and so totally asleep at five to nine. We saw a surprising number of people we knew. They all asked why we were lurking on the edge of an alley. So perhaps we weren't that subtle. What is certain is that we did not spot Ellen Turnbull, perched on our bollards, not even with Happy the Wonder Cat's magic eyesight. We headed off to her abode. "This is a place of evil!" quoth I! "Meow!" quoth Happy. "Sage advice, Happy. We shall indeed head to the handy nearby pub for a fortifying pint or two before we continue. Let's hope they allow cats indoors."
I drank nice beer. My cat drank ale. But then he eats mice and cannot be trusted on matters of taste.
We bickered about our common subject. In retrospect, perhaps the beer was a mistake.
We left the pub and had another gander at the house of the mysterious Turn-bull. "There is death in those windows," quoth I. "Maorrrl." quoth Happy. "Don't be absurd. It took Tom Booth to bring her down last year. I won't within ten feet of that Golgotha." "MEW!" "Quick!"
We fled around the corner in panic, but it was only her flatmates, and we did not choose to kill them, in their innocence.
And then - to my shame - I coshed Happy on the arm. In my defence, he had just pointed out his incompetence made him a licit target for me and not vice versa, AND I coshed his left arm after careful deliberation, in order to minimize the inconvenience. I warned Happy not to retaliate. SWIPE SWIPE! My legs collapsed under me.
"HAPPY! NO! Do not turn on your master! I will rubber band you into next week, I swear to God." "HSSSSS!!" "HAPPY! TAKE THAT RUBBER BAND OUT OF YOUR TEETH! I'M NOT MESSING AROU-"
And then I shot him. I killed my own cat. I swear I had no other choice.
I imagine the Fursecutor is smiling his sick little smile at this tragedy.
Jack Ruby has put the cat out. For good.
p.s. DAMN YOU TURNBULL. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT
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_>_>_----O
<_>
desudesudesudesu...
"Tectonic strategy will serve us well, as always!" bellowed Sir Thursday. Arthur pondered. 'He's too strong for me - I need to free the Will to help me'. He decided to put up with his army service for now...
Dear Duke,
I write, your Grace, to address my concerns regarding the activities of the peasantfolk resident on your land.
Whereas I, like any right-minded public official, do callously detest the freedom of your indentured workfolk, I must beg leave to protest at their various chicaneries that do impugn the innocent folk of these parts.
You will recall, my Lord, that I, in the office of Fursecutor-General, have been given authority over and responsibility for disposing of the malevolently yiffy demon that plagues us at present. Now that your various tenements and slums have been overrun, and I speak especially of that Academy of Furversion that is Trinity, you should be assured: If your Grace does not find it within your ability to deal with this menace in short time, I shall exercise my extraordinary powers and assume responsibility for your lands from you.
However, my Lord, I feel that the end of this most distasteful business is near at hand. We at the Office of Fursecution were delighted to read of the recent extermination of ^.^;;<|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||> and the Jackal.
This does not go far enough. While the traitor, Don't Be The Bunny, still breathes, the livestock can have no rest and I cannot hang up my shearing scissors of office with a clear conscience.
I remain, My Lord,
The Fursecutor-General
To the most honourable and esteemed Fursecutor-General,
The matter to which you allude in your prior correspondence is duly noted and I resolve to attend to it as promptly as due time allows; I certainly intend to increase the repertoire of cadavers my recent endeavours have succeeded in creating.
Yours.
Duke
Gar-Loq ssssmellsss flessshhh... hissss ssservant issss hungry too... mmmmmm human... sssso tasssty... *BITE*
At about 1.15 Maria spotted the inco Francesca Thrangorodrim Thompson in hall, and decided that she had been permitted to live for too long. Maria approached her chosen victim, wielding a penknife, but was foiled when the victim grabbed the knife and stabbed herself. We mourn this tragic suicide, mainly because it means Maria has fewer kills.
Here lies Frinkles
who died in style.
May her soul rest in peace
ye who committed suicide.
Ithilion sighed. His bow was eager to kill, straining at his grip. He had stalked around the woodlands for hours and hours, with little to no success. His faithful companion had been by his side all along, and they were tired. They retired to an inn, partook of some merry juice, and then sodded off.
Today I decided to go hunting in king's. Along with two accomplices I went to explore the Keynes building. At approx 17:00 I called by Lauren Smith's room but she appeared to be out. At about 17:15 I moved on to Diane Doliveux's room where an awkward conversation with her neighbour occurred. She told my accomplice that if he was Diane's assassin she'd help find her but when she disappeared around the corner on the phone we decided to strategically retreat back to Lauren's corridor. By 17:50 there was no sign of the inco so I decided to call it a night.
Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen and welcome to J Sainsbury's.
Today we have a special offer on Neutron Bombs: reduced from £19.99 a pair to £4.99! Hurry now as this offer is subject to very limited availability!
Thank you for shopping at Sainsbury's.
The old alley trick, thought Vimes. It never failed, and of course it helped to have a target whose wariness was less than total. Still, at least it was a start - the Watch needed slimming down, Vetinari had said, by any and all means necessary. Suddenly "cutting out the dead wood" had ceased to be a metaphor.
Someone called 'Kerry' knocked on the Tea-Party Crasher's door.
He laughed.
Earlier, the Umpire tried to stab me in Sainsbury's.
The Umpire reports:
Just when you thought it was safe to buy some condensed milk...
Vimes slumped over his drink. It wasn't his fault, he kept telling himself. The Watch's administrative system had a lag of a couple of days anyway, so there was always going to be a certain discrepancy.
Even so, he couldn't shake off the guilt. The criminal he'd killed had that very same day proved his innocence. However, no word of this had reached the Watch's administrative nerve centre by the time Vimes made his move. What made it worse was that the man had been an associate with whom Vimes had been intending to work closely. Perhaps if Vimes had waited a few hours longer the poor devil would not have died.
Ah well. The answer, as always, would become clear through the bottom of a bottle of something strongly alcoholic.
I knew that it was a risk not report, but considered it more detrimental to do so, as this would have tipped off $assassin and another assassin (whom I do not wish to name) about the particular times I was around, as they followed an easily recognizable pattern. It didn't seem that risky, however, as long as I remained anonymous. What I didn't expect was that a policeman from my own college, one David Smith, would be the reason for my death. At about 1900, he sprinted into hall and without remorse (or, for that matter, any sense of style) bang-killed me with a large and strange-looking weapon, to the amusement of all present.
Also, I apologize to my assassins (whoever they were--I never even saw one) for the locked front door of my house, as it tends to make the game much less exciting.
I lurked..... and lurked.... and then jumped out and shot Michael Conterio.
Huzzah! We had a nice if brief chat.
To the untrained eye it would have been a name on a piece of paper, but to me this name was more than a name, it was a threat to my very existence. Marta Malaj was coming to visit, the reason was a formal swap between the respective colleges however as always beneath the inocent facade lay more sinister motives. I made sure Marta was on my personal guest list so she would have to meet me before the meal and by approx 19:30 last night she lay dead. Take off every zig!!
The Duke lounged in the company of many other grand persons. They had just been partaking of a social drink before the show. Now, surrounded by the cream of society, the Duke watched the performance start. To his horror, one of the lead characters on stage drew a knife. An assassin! He pulled out his pistol and shot the bastard, then fled.
The theatre authorities have been left confused after their main show was held up by a lone nutter firing a rubber band at the actors and then running from the building. They were unable to identify the subject.
After weeks of idleness, safe in the remote haven that is Girton College, someone finally got me!
Whilst walking up the stairs to my corridor, a girl called out my name, and when I turned round I was shot at point blank range. Kudos for coming all the way out to Girton - assuming she isn't a college member I've never seen before...
I lurked in King's for a little over half an hour for the phearsome Diane Doliveux and Lauren Smith. I did not see them, and went home, but not before playing snakes and ladders in King's bar, which we lost. I was most disappointed. It's no sharks and ladders.
Anyway, I was feeling a little despondent but fortunately I spotted his Xanthship one my return home. This cheered me up a little.
Yours ever,
Charles
So, I realised this morning that I hadn't done stuff in a while, so I decided to do stuff, with the bad inco people, but the people didn't show up so I drank coffee and waited and the people still didn't turn up so I was like "sod this, man, I have work to do and other people to stare at (or maybe it was the other way around)" and I went home all annoyed at the people for making me waste like 40 minutes of my doing/staring time. Hm, coffee. My hands are shaking.
Peter Prescott is no more.
He opened his door when asked.
This significantly harmed his life expectancy.
He was most amused.
And rests in peace.
Chris aka. Nurse Fletcher Brown
If you wait long enough, they come to you.
Hello Assassins,
I suppose this is the last time I'll be writing to you unless I do some police action, but it won't be the same (shakes head). My luck at not being in when my assassins have come around, and at passing by unnoticed under several people's very noses has run out as I have, unfortunately, died. Mainly due to facebook I suppose, as I knocked on Sarah Donnelly's door to kill her, and was killed myself. By no less than the chief of police who recognised me from my facebook, but at least I was killed by a pro so it could be worse I suppose. All this after having escaped from under the eyes of the umpire himself earlier on in the evening (and another assassin who nearly got me a few days ago) who was going to discuss the circumstances of one Lauren Smith's death. That said, the umpire wouldn't be playing would he I expect. Oh well.
See you next term then I suppose, it's been fun!
Diane
Dearest Two-faced Demi-deity of Assassins,
I have had a Most Exciting Day!
I saw SO MANY ASSASSINS!
Steve McCann and Michael Wallace and Jake Corteen and Jennifer Scott-Thompson and David Smith and Charles Curry and Richard Manns and the Elusive Xanth - not a Xanthocroid, but the real deal. I was so excited I almost blinked. And then Diane Doliveux (dammit I wanted that kill! I've been looking for her for about two weeks dammit!) and Lauren Smith, both possibly even more elusive, turned up on My Doorstep! It made me so excited that I started Randomly Capitalising my Words.
My hands have started shaking again.
Yours In Great Randomly-Capitalised Excitement,
Sarah Donnelly
Meeting with the corrupt Stephen McCann left bad taste in mouth. He is pampered and decadent, betraying even his own shallow, liberal affectations. Possibly homosexual? Must remember to investigate further.
The Umpire reports:
And thus, Stephen McCann has redeemed himself in the eyes of the law. However, he will not be allowed to regain his mighty position at the head of the force so easily, oh no. You see, this Police force is run a bit like the Klingon Empire.
To regain his rank and position, and his honour, he must defeat his replacements, Simeon Bird and Colin Love. They are therefore made licit targets for him.
To take the seat for themselves and their houses, Simeon Bird and Colin Love must kill Stephen McCann. He is therefore made a licit target for them. If one of them succeeds in doing so, the one who fails will be made the victor's lowly assistant.
His arrows strike
and stop a-quiver
he snares a pike
in the river.
How many hours
must he wait here
in the towers;
upon his rear.
Never around,
this man he seeks;
soap here abounds
and yet he reeks.
Master of verse
best to recite
quite the reverse
his poetry's shite.
Just lurked Luke at Pembroke. He'd left his door open, so we left him a note, but he wasn't anywhere around, and didn't reappear even after I lurked in the kitchen for a while, so we gave up and went home to enjoy maths.
I went to look for Don't Be The Bunny, who was out. Feeling uninclined to gaze lovingly at the interior design of $college (which, let's be honest, isn't really worth gazing at) I took a small detour to the market. There, I purchased a new banana to replace my current model, which is so old that it's debateable whether it is in fact a banana any more. I returned to my target's room, where they still were not. Bother. I would also like to take this opportunity to offer my sincerest apologies to The Fursecutor General, and to beg his forgiveness. I do hope that my recent indiscretions have not distressed him too deeply.
Don't Be The Bunny
There is a shadow haunting Cambridge. The shadow of furryism.
The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of struggle
against furries.
Few could have suspected in the earliest days of Michaelmas 2006 that this game was being watched closely by intelligences far inferior to our own, and yet as mortal as ourselves. We know now that as human beings busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.
With infinite complacence people went to and fro over the earth about their little affairs, serene in the assurance of their dominion over this small, spinning fragment of solar driftwood which, by chance or design, man has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space. Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, minds that are to our minds as beasts in the jungle to intellects vast, cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes and slowly and surely drew their plans against us.
Furryism is, at one and the same time, the expression of yiffiness and a protest against normality. "Murrrr" is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the plushophile in a plishless world, the lone straight person at AnthroCon 2007. It is the catnip of the anthromorphs.
The extermination of furries as a spoogefed delusional state of the people is the demand for their real happiness. Fursecution has plucked the velcro flaps from their fursuits not in order that they shall continue to wear their fursuits without foreplay scritching, but so that they shall throw off their fursuits //and embrace mundanity.
I actually had a dream/nightmare about assassins where 3 or 4 people tried to kill me within a space of about 10 minutes. I came out alive when Jenny Scott-Thompson pointed out that the last person had actually only shot me in the leg. I woke up with my pulse racing. Litterally five minutes later, two people turned up at my door, suggesting that we try to kill Daniel Heap. Unfortunately this turned into more of a numbers & sets supervision, since we didn't actually manage to kill anyone.
TRUNCHEON - The Newsletter Of Cambridge University Constabulary
Incompetence in the Constabulary MUST BE DEALT WITH, says a University official.
A member of The Administration Of The University Of Cambridge In Exile In Birmingham has recently expressed his concern about the number of constables in the University Constabulary that are, to put matters bluntly, incompetent. Until recently, this included such promising recruits as Richard Manns. The Metastable Tom Wootten looked for aforementioned Richard Manns on Wednesday night, failing to find him, but we subsequently learnt he had already been eliminated. Truncheon reminds you to ensure you are competent, lest the same thing happen to you.
Power struggle at the top.
Following the redemption of Stephen McCann, there is forming a power struggle for supremacy of the Force. Continued on page 2.
The Duke sat pensively in his leather armchair, staring into the fire. A knock at his door disrupted him from his thoughts, heralding the entry of his butler. Taking a tray of letters from him graciously, the Duke thanked and dismissed him.
Amidst the general bundle, a bulkily suspicious envelope stuck out noticeably. The Duke carefully took it with his gloved hand and, with his other, slit it open with one of his trusty knives. The contents were vague and malodorant, so he hurled them into the fire with a flick of his wrist.
Suddenly he felt himself compelled to lift both arms skyward and, through some bizarre magic, his dagger hovered inches above the gap between his hands. A little happy jingle announced with glee that he had just acquired 'Poisoned Dagger'. Confused and a little worried, the Duke sheathed his weapon. It had been a long day... maybe some sleep was in order.
Ithilion's arms ached so bad
and his biceps had expanded
without a kill his bow was sad
and yet he left, empty-handed.
Another one bit the dust, Vimes thought, reflecting on the increasing brevity and self-referential quality of his reports.
At 7, Simeon and I met up and preceeded to stake out the room of McCann's girlfriend. After much lurking in shadows after a few knocks she eventually came out and told Simeon to bugger off as he wasn't there. I lurked in shadows downstairs silently laughing.
Having no luck there, we proceeded to his house where, after lurking unsuccessfully by the bus stop for a while, his friends lets us gain entry. They thought it was all quite funny. Unfortunately he wasn't in.
Similarly no luck was found in the CMS. And seeing as Simeon's account was no longer working we moved to the dearest Umpirity to get an inco list.
We then went to the house of the phearsome Raccoon to see if McCann was there but sadly he wasn't and Raccoon wouldn't open the door or reply. He may not have been in.
We then bothered the rooms of some inco's at some random locations, but apart from scaring somebody with loads of guns pointed at them we had no luck.
So after 3 hours and a shocking lack of McCann lurking on my stairwell ready to kill me, It ended.
Look Around You. Just Look Around You. Have you seen what we're looking for yet? That's right. Steve "Boom Boom" McCann.
Dear Umpires,
Today, I saw many assassins, including Richard Gibson, Charles Curry, Michael Leal (zomg), Michael Conterio (ZOMG), Steve McCann, Aidan Robison, Chris Donnelly and everyone's favourite Mazzykins, Martin Lester.
Not a bad haul, I'd say.
We also gave quiz machines far too much money (we only got to Deal once).
I did not get a chance to killer raccoon anyone :( although we did follow someone who probably wasn't Janet Scott for a while.
Raccoon
At 8.55am, I was lurking for Mr.Bird suspecting that he may have a coffee in the CMS core before his lectures... I could not find him, though I did get a packet of Smokey Bacon crisps from the vending machine. I would like to note some teachings from the great Klingon (s/Klingon/Trinity) Warrior, Doug Kennedy... "Again... sitting in front of computer screens... dreaming of ice cream... i dunno..."
At 9.55am, I thought "Mr.Bird will almost certainly be going to his lecture in $UNSPECIFIED_LOCATION$", so I went and waited there... after realising he had probably not arrived for it yet, I went up and waited at the CMS entrance... then I ran off when I decided he had possibly predicted this and may have been setting up a counter-ambush. ¬_¬
I arrive late in the CMS.
At 10.55am, I had my best lead yet... Mr.Bird could not resist regailing Michael Wallace with stories of his police force victories (as all good police officers in this empire do, or so i'm told) and therefore I went to the area outside their lectures where they were most likely to meet. Alas, I did not see Mr.Bird, nor did I hear him telling Mr.Wallace of how his attempts on my good self last night were infact out by about 148 orders of magnitude... the horizon effect affects the Klingon (s/Klingon/Police) Empire too!
Stephen McCann has no honour, and is not fit to lead the Police Force! I determined to best him in glorious battle, that I may restore the Force to its former might. However, the honourless dog refused to be in the correct lectures, or to correctly lurk mine.
At 11.55am, I thought "Mr.Bird eats... lunch, huzzah!" So I moved towards the CMS Core but the super secret front staircase... (i am allowed to lie in reports, aren't i? hmmm)... and when I arrived by the super secret, yet quite obvious route... he was not there. I did see Phil Bridge (twice)... (nearly shot him when i thought he was called Phil Birdge, Operational Research will do that to you) and Ian Abel also. Alas, No Mr.Bird.
Dear Counsellors Nick & Phil (sons of your mom?), Am I right to think that the Police Force will invade the federation when this little power struggle is over?
The Umpire reports:
The Federation is indeed ripe for the plucking. A quick strike will finish them off, if that fool Kirk does not get in the way.
However, you are right. We should remove our own internal problems first.
A raccoon is not an honourable target for a warrior, so I spared his life. For now. Still no sign of the son of an accountant.
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