Finding $_unspecified_activity had finished earlier than I thought it would, I moved on immediately to look for The Tea-party Crasher. Standing outside in the rain was neither amusing nor profitable. Also, it made me wonder exactly how subtle an assassin can be if he's standing outside with an umbrella for half an hour. I suspect people generally avoid lurking outside on rainy days, unless they have as little sense as myself.
*HOWL*
I warn Sto-vo-kor that a new warrior will be joining them, soon a second will also join them... The Bird-man of Pembroke... *HOWL*
It's a good day to die.
Saw Stephen McCann lurking outside my lecture.
I went in close pursuit.
Alas he hid, and I knew not where
Till shot me in the back
I spotted Janet Audrey Scott today, I went out and held her up asking if she was inco... (yes, a stupid question i know... but can't be going corrupt again with all this mutiny on my hands ;) ).. after a minute she confirmed her name, and then told me that she didn't think she was inco...
All I could remember was her killing Tom Wootten, and thus I decided that she couldn't possibly be inco... I'll go back and finish the job tomorrow. :D
(Anyway, to kill an unarmed inco would make me worse than that pig-dog targ of a warrior Simeon Bird. I can smell his dishonour from here.)
Blast these far-flung colleges, thought Vimes, as the rain soaked through his cloak. He had tramped almost to Sto Lat to track down this particular individual.
Still, events within the college itself had been interesting, to say the least. The man appeared to be renting two rooms rather than one, which was not reflected in the Assassins' Guild records Vimes had checked before setting off. He was also employing a non-Guild bodyguard, which Vimes considered to be grossly unfair because at least Assassins had rules, of sorts. Random hired fists, on the other hand, could be terrifying purely because of their unpredictability. For example, when a crossbow bolt fired by this particular thug had whizzed out of nowhere into his chest Vimes had almost died of shock. Fortunately, due to the lack of Guild training, the man was using such an appallingly-maintained weapon that the bolt had lurched wildly through the air, and had hit Vimes butt-first and bounced off most disconcertingly.
Perhaps the gods were bored and wanted some cheap amusement. This seemed quite likely, considering that Vimes had subsequently learned the man he was tracking was already cooling on a slab.
Today I decided to pay a visit to Lim Hoe Kit. After entering Queens at about 16:45 I stalked the staircase with one accomplice in tow for about 10 minutes. The board said he was in which probably meant he was out but regardless of this we continued. Upon reaching the door my accomplice knocked as I hid in an opposite shower room. No answer. After another 10 minutes I realised that there was a light behind an opposing door (possibly the toilet) and upon investigation the door appeared to be locked. Could we have caught the target quite literally with his pants down? After pretending to leave a few times I realised that this was probably not the case and I stalked the stairs a bit longer then left. GCS
The cowardly dog continues to elude me! Does he not know that attending lectures is essential for acquiring honour?
The gray clouds lifted as the sky cleared. It was becoming a beautiful day, and the Duke was out for a peaceful stroll. His noble guest was entertaining him with pleasant discussions, and the world seemed at peace.
Then a figure appeared, coming the other way. The sheer malice and cunning emanating from his visage was almost palpable. The Duke felt his heartbeat quicken and tightened his grasp on his concealed blade's hilt.
As they came level to one another, the Duke lunged with animal-like ferocity. Chris Korek lifted his hands in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the blow, but it was too late. The dagger ripped open his bowels, emptying the contents of his lower torso onto the cold, hard floor. He fell, gagging at the sight of his own dying inner flesh.
The Duke stepped back, smiled sweetly at his companion and resumed the conversation, ignoring her aghast expression.
After receiving a tip-off (well, not really though, it's just more exciting if I say that) I went to the CMS to see if Simeon was at lunch there... we all know how he likes lunch... and maths. (See what I did there.) But alas, there was no targ son of a taxidermist... I will continue this glorious quest!
It's just no good to stay mute over one's death! I never had the chance to sing, I wasn't a swan, I never saw the Swanee River, I never blew the Swanee Whistle, I didn't even get a last calculation! Two plus one? Late for my date with fate! Oh the agony of it all! Where were you, dear stars that reigned at my nativity? Blind? Matthew Kelly in your eyes? Well may a blight descend upon your allotment!
Nativity? Takes me back it does. No gold for me, of course, no murr no fur, and well, to be frank I've never been blessed with sense (as I'm sure any slouch can vouch for). And the stars? Dial W, four were there! no, five! Must have been that vain queen Cassiopeia, on her golden chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair. the chair... the chair? ...vain? or vein? blood, death, kill everyone dead... or vain? Like my life? We just don't know. Regal sweeties nommed by a cow with 6 wives? King Haribo vain?
Stop! That was too tenuous! My verbal wizardy is running dry like an athlete with anti-perspirant, so maybe I'll just tell things as they happened.
This game has been an eerily surreal experience throughout, perhaps aided by the lack of victims to quench my bloodlust and the lack of bloodlust to quench me. So it was fitting for it to end in a similarly surreal manner, in a distant stairwell somewhere in a waking dream. My words cannot do justice to the event, so here is a snapshot I took with my dying thought:
"Oh stars that reigned at my nativity? Where art thou? 'twas then I saw Cassiopeia! but she did not notice me, for another was present. Once upon a time, there lived a man. His name was bilbo, bilbo, bilbo, bilbo. In fact, this man may have been hobbit. However, he is not relevant to my interests. Once upon a time, there lived another man. His name was... THE VIATOR! This viator was present, but his was not the other who was present. This other was...
James. and James saw the work of the queen and the viator, and was curious, and like a particle accelerator would not let the matter drop. Viator tried to send him away with a cover story, but it was worse than the average Mirror front page, so James soon ended up on their spaceship?
Did I say there was a spaceship? Yes, for the Viator was in a quest to discover the mechanics of interstellar travel and other frivolities. Unfortunately, the noble crew are kidnapped by aliens and menaced with malicious illusions. James, however, was clever, and returned to the spaceship by means of his cleverness, rescued his comrades and returned them to the spaceship, which was now ready to go.
The spaceship set off again and..."
At this point I awoke with a thud. The gateway to the next world opened before me, and but one rite of passage remained. Then I saw my assailant. She had a ticket to ride, and she didn't care. It was all I needed for my great voyage into the unknown. Would I meet the Viator? I knew not, for I knew not where they were going, and I knew not where I was going. Or did I? The ticket in my decaying hand, I took a final glance.
Copenhagen-Stockholm. 4 points.
Do you want see your conduct? (yn)
y
You were the cool kid in town
Do you want to see a list of drunken songs recorded? (yn)
y
Fernando
Waterloo
Celeste Aida, from Aida <---- lol.
Do you want to see a list of inspirations for this report? (yn)
y
Simeon Bird
Felicity Boyce
Do you want a G&T? (yn)
n
Deal? (yn)
no deal
:-(
----------
/ \
/ REST \
/ IN \
/ PEACE \
/ \
| "Charles Curry" |
| |
| Damn. Sounds like|
| I belong to |
| Beatle's widow? |
| (2, 4) |
| |
* | * * * | *
_____)/\|\__//(\/(/\)/\//\/|_)_____
Later, after a supervision about the internet. ^_^
I again searched for Simeon, but I fear the rain must have scared him
off, or maybe my mighty beard scared him off... ask J Doe, my
beard has won many battles and has the intrigue of a normal beard and a
quasi-spectacular hat combined in a concatenation of style. (Or so I've
been told). Bring on the blood wine!!!
Set out for the territory of The Duke at 3 o' clock, in high spirits. Couldn't find a printer so the only picture I had with me was an unflattering caricature I drew myself from an old photo of him. Stopped in Boots to take advantage of the wonderful meal deal. My shapers sandwich was clearly cursed, however: at this point the heavens opened with a fury normally reserved for Hell and scorned women.
Alternating between taking whimpering cover in pubs and under overhangs and striding towards his college, I arrived at its PLodge at about 3:20 (after having nearly strayed into the Master's Lodge, embarassingly unable to read signs. I blame the rain). The rain kept raining. I would even hazard a crescendo of rain. Having inspected a map of the college, I decided that the phrase "Bugger this for a game of soldiers" applied, and that I would sooner be damned than lurk for The Duke or anyone else in this downpour. Suspicious that the rain came from nowhere the moment I headed for him, I formally accuse The Duke of witchcraft.
The Duke sipped his brandy atop his tower, and watched the poor fool Jack Ruby suffer the wrath of his sorcery. Little did his victim know that the enchantments contained in the downpour would lead to impotence and the blue bogey curse. Well, he'd know soon enough...
bIQ'a' HeH naghHommeyDaq DuvtaH yu'egh.
'ej rInmeH moD je lupmaj. reH Daq'e',
DoQpu'bogh wa', DoQ latlh. tlha'chuqmeH vu''egh,
'ej ghochDaq 'ovchuq Hoch: Hoch che' tlhaq'e'.
boghwI'Daq wovDI' pem, tugh boghmoHmeH je
qeqtaH yItHa'taHvIS. ghaH numDI' Dotlh,
naDDaj lubach maQmIghmey, SanDaj meH je.
nob'e', ben nobqangpu'bogh bov, DaH yotlh;
vaQbogh QupwI''e' SabmoHbej je bov;
DonmeH Huy' yu'eghHey, Quch 'IHvaD joch;
bIH Sopchu'meH, 'u' chenchu'wI'mey ghov;
yobDI' betleHDaj, tugh QamHa'nIS Hoch.
'ach rInpa' bovvam, tulmeH QamtaH SoQwIj.
HIghDI' bov ghop, bIDun 'e' naDqa' QoQwIj.
Murder in the Disco! Murder in the Disco! Murder in the...Pembroke Hall!
Notice to the Ferrero Rocher Assassin. Upon inspecting my pigeonhole I found your gift however there were multiple tell-tale signs of an attempt. A- I don't like Ferrero Rochers. B- There were no other pigeonholes containing Forrero Rochers. C- The product was poorly packaged. D- The base appears to be glued on.
Lurked. Went home.
The Umpire reports:
Charles Curry hit me over the head with a big sword, but I decided not to destroy him. This time >:(
At about 10pm last night after a formal at the college of my associate The Duke I chanced upon him in the bar. He introduced me to the suicidal incompetent police Danny White who I swiftly put out of his misery.
The early morning light made the dripping parapets of the fort glisten. It had been a damp night, to put it mildly. The Duke and Grilled Cheese Sandwich crept along in the shadows, communicating in hushed voices. Their hands rested on their concealed weapons as they entered several towers, each time staking out positions either side of barred doors and waiting for a noise from within.
Their quest was in vain, however. The fortress was well guarded, and patrols were everywhere. One of them even spotted them as they passed, and launched a lengthy torrent of abuse at them, but their swift sprint led them to safety.
This morning at 8:45 I paid a visit to Lim Hoe Kit and James Nicholas Uffindell accompanied by The Duke. We lurked for Lim Hoe Kit for about 15 minutes but after a brief game of hide and seek with his neighbour we moved on. I spent about 40 minutes waiting for Uffendell to leave for his 10am lecture, alas I had to leave before he emerged.
Nothing happened, went home: what a waste
Usually Vimes didn't greatly enjoy or hate his job - it was just his job, it was what he did. But once in a while it all felt worthwhile, such as this particular afternoon. This was the thrill of the chase at its best, he thought. He had tracked a target all the way back to her room, crept up to the door and heard her singing to herself inside. Reasoning that she must come out sooner or later, Vimes took the opportunity to familiarise himself with the layout of the kitchen/bathroom area. At this point the target herself emerged from her room, walking past Vimes, exchanging greetings with him and disappearing into the kitchen. Not bothering to stop and wonder why nothing more violent had been exchanged in the corridor, Vimes dodged round the corner and waited, knife drawn - and sure enough, five minutes later the criminal target reappeared and walked straight into it. It was, he felt, a job done with a degree of panache. The simplest plans were, indeed, often the best.
I often find the lavatory to be a very contemplative place. Today, when I decided to pay a visit, I had expected to be contemplating my possible imminent death due to cyanide poisoning (I didn't read the risk-assessment form for my Biology practical in case you are wondering). However, en route my thoughts were diverted by a shifty-looking fellow lurking in the corridor; I live on the top floor, so this was very suspicious indeed. I decided he was an assassin - hell, his hat alone practically screamed "I'm going to kill you!". With little other choice, I proceeded past him to my refuge of contemplation. Here, I decided I had several options:
1) Use toilet tissue to create a disguise, and thus fool the lurking assassin 2) Use toilet tissue to craft a weapon, and thus surprise the lurking assassin 3) Jump out of the window - I soon realised that this was probably more deadly than the cyanide and the lurking assassin put together.
Eventually, my thoughts turned to contemplating the nature of life itself. I've made it to week seven. Using the impeccable logic of 1 week=10 years I'm 75 years old - that's a decent lifespan, right? So, my mind decided, I held my head up high and walked right out of the lavatory. Where I was stabbed. Damn.
Don't Be The Bunny
TRUNCHEON - The Newsletter Of Cambridge University Constabulary
Operation Windolene Pilot launched today
This evening, at around 18:30, the pilot of Operation Windolene was
launched. The objective of this operation is to eliminate those members
of the force who are guilty of dereliction of duty, thereby creating a
cleaner, clearer, and shinier force.
The first three targets of Operation Windolene were Matthew Causier,
Eystein P. Thanisch, and Lauren Elise Massey. A member of the force
staked out the homes of the first two for a short period each, without
any success. The operation against Lauren Elise Massey was called off
after a civilian loudly remarked on the officer's presence, potentially
tipping off the target, who was either present or guilty of leaving her
light on.
We hope that this initiative produces results in the near future.
Best. Lurk. Ever.
I set out at 5:30am, I was in disguise and I had a flask of nice warm
tea with me.
I counted out her teammates - six of eight already. The next one had a
1-in-3 chance of being her, corresponding to a Nordstrom coefficient of
2.1
I didn't get the kill, though. :(
Dammit, Konrad.
Malcolm Scott gave me some free computer equipment, increasing the amount of RAM I have by 512MB. I decided that a nice way to thank him would be to reduce the amount of sisters he had by one.
Well I suppose it was fairly inevitable. Although full marks to whoever he was for getting up at 6 to catch me on my way to rowing. He did tell me his name but I can't actually remember it now. I wasn't particularly awake (this may have had something to do with having a panto rehearsal which finished at nearly 1am last night). He was. Having a load of rubber bands fired into my chest makes me now not anly asleep but dead too. Wish I could have died not-inco, but ah well, who's fault's that? Oh also a note to various assassiny peoples - if you ask me whether I am Janet, I am likely to say no. "Are you sure?" is not a sensible next question. And if I know that you know that I am Janet, then if you ask me whether I'm inco, what do you think the answer's going to be :-)?
Gar-Loq sssmellsss flesssh... tasssty human flesssh... Amosss... where isss he?
Lurked. Went home.
G.I. Bob
The darkening sky loomed oppressively above the Duke's tower. He moved slowly through a complex dance of ritual and skill as the rain splattered sporadically against his window. As he was reaching the zenith of his routine, his tower door boomed as someone forcibly knocked.
Disrupted from his trance, the Duke calmly reached for his weapons and approached the door, using his powers to search for a mind beyond it. He found some presence, but one which appeared to be blocking his attempt to read it. A fellow mystic - how irritating. He focused his mind on summoning his elven servant instead. As her footsteps approached from the floor above, the being outside the door started and quickly departed.
The Duke pondered his options - to stay in safety, or the thrill of the hunt. He opted for the latter, and drew his pistol and knife from their respective holders. His servant led the way, cautious but brave, and he followed, his eyes scanning the staircase for any sign of movement.
Suddenly a large figure leaped from an alcove and, pushing the elf aside, made for the Duke with a large blade. The Duke calmly levelled his gun and fired, its bolt of magic force transfixing his assailant and hurling him harmlessly back. As the singed corpse landed, his blade clattering on the cobbles, he smirked and returned his gun to its holster.
That was good fun, mya.
Kudos to the Duke! See ya around!
Oh, good luck to the remaining assassins! Gambatte kudasai, ne?
Having scouted out our enemy's defenses for the regulatory time span, our platoon entered as ordered - deployed in appropriate formation. Our spy networks have failed us as we soon discovered - for several of the sites we sought had been moved. Once we finally came across one we came under heavy fire and mortar shelling and had to bed down in some scrubland. The enemy forces were far greater than expected or anticipated. I recommend in future approaching with caution to prevent such a tactical retreat from recurring.
Enemy Spotted.
The Umpire reports:
HE STABBED ME!
Although, to be fair, I had been shooting random members of the Police force (I wasn't even bearing at the time though).
I don't know. I put off some work so I can watch the first part of a SWAT raid, and what do I get?
STABBED, THAT'S WHAT.
Oh, did I mention that he stabbed me.
The Umpire also notes:
Please don't use water weapons in a no water area, kthxbai.
TRUNCHEON - The Newsletter Of Cambridge University Constabulary
Officer believed above-board turns rogue, force shocked
The Constabulary was rocked recently by the news that a member of the force, Tom Wootten, has turned rogue. Two alarming incidents occurred in the space of one night.
In the first, PM Wootten was one of a few Police Officers, along with a civilian and a neutral observer, who went to send down a couple of students who have been neglecting their studies. After very little success, Tom then stabbed aforementioned neutral observer in the back with his non-standard-issue knife. Although the observer was wearing a immortavincibility shield and thus unharmed, this intent on the part of the metastable is extremely concerning.
Concerns were further exacerbated later that night, when PM Wootten was involved in a darts match. Witnesses reported that prior to the match, he had threatened to shoot anyone who knocked him out of the game. After a narrow loss, a gunshot rung out across the bar as the morally-bankrupt officer shot his erstwhile opponent in the leg, paying little regard to the potential for damage when using XP-class weapons in the area. PM Wootten then rapidly left the scene.
It is not known if the darts player survive. In a further ironic twist, the game in question was known as "Killer".
We urge all members of the force to be vigilant against PM Tom Wootten's potential for future crimes, and endeavour to eliminate him from the force, though not at the cost of one's own life.
Hello this is Lauren
We have been ot formal and are drunk. Racoon Phd is vbery drunk. VERY DRUNK/ BHUE ,DI TRIES GO KKLL THE INCO ANBD CORRUPTS BVUT I DID NOT MANAE ITG. sEEE HE IS PISSSED AND FIGHTING FOR THE KEYBOARD. lOSER. i CLEARLY DEFEAT HIM. HE HT ME WITH PALPR SWORD BUT MISSED. JAJAJAJAJ.
cHALRES IS V DRUNK. throwing up on grass etc. What sa shjame. raccooooon is more fdurnk than me though,.no i tried to sta her ARM UT SHE ISD GOOO CLEVEF FCOR ME. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. EVBERo!n!¬!¬!e! !!PISSSED. "EVERRYOINE!"!!111 LOL.
WE GOT TO BUY CURRY NOW.
BNYE BNYE
lAUREN AND RACOOON
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I would like to deny all responsibility for the report made by PC Lauren Grest last night. Everyone could tell I was perfectly sober (give or take), and certainly more sober than the evil cowwupt Charles Curry, whom I failed at killer raccooning (whether this has anything to do with my complete sobriety, it is unclear).
Also, the Umpire sucks for having to 'work' so he can't come to formal. A likely story indeed...
As Diego Hidalgo has not done anything for a lot of the game, he has been removed. I will not wait so long next time before removing incompetents from the game.
I visited the CMS at 3pm today. I saw the mighty Revelation and ran away, because he is Not a Licit Target for me and I am inco. I spied the famous Dr J Doe. He was hiding behind a pillar in a very suspicious manner, which made him quite conspicuous. I tried to say hi but he ran away. I found him later and he said he was watching to see something happen. I did not see anything happen because I was having a supervision.
Jenny
5:45: Take last look at online College Map. Swagger out with undeserved confidence. The Duke eats - he said so; should catch him belly full and guard down as he swaggers back to his lodgings. Arriving at Jesus, I walk PAST the Master's Lodge Entrance. Oh yeah, I learn from my mistakes. Sense of confidence increases. However, within five minutes I am hopelessly lost and surrounded by Sports fields. Feel out of place (and how). Once back at PLodge, re-examine map of college. Sense of confidence somewhat ebbed. Make brief lurk of pigeon-hole room, should the Duke be one of these odd birds who checks it before meals. Comfy. Vague recognition of pigeon-holer's face: Tom Wooten? on the phone.
6:15: Arrive at Duke's abode, undetected (one assumes), despite annoyingly loud jacket and shoes. "Where are your divers arcane devices now, Duke?" At this point, the lights inexplicably turn off. "Touché, your Grace." Take advantage of darkness to cover up spyhole with handy (and highly suspect) post-it. 6:19: Lights come back on. Super.
6:35: Confidence resurgent: "Any moment now..." People on floor below dash off to dinner. Flushing noise. Confidence flushed with it. 'Fly me to the moon' begins to play from his room, accompanied by a free and light-hearted tenor. Already sated by 6:15? Surely not. And not setting out before 6:35? Maybe the Duke only eats as a matter of courtesy... A short while later and the singing now appears to be coming from adjacent room. Hopelessly confused. Try Duke's door handle. Locked. Try a knock. No response. Lights go off again. Poise outside Duke's door, trying to decide whether to face the dark stairwell or the possibly vacant room. What feels like eternity passes. Check watch: 6:39. How absurd. So I leave college, checking pigeon-hole room as I go. I have no joy in Jesus.
Tonight at approx 6:15 I decided to pay James Uffindell another visit. Along with two accomplices I stalked his corridor and staircase for about 50 minutes. After about 15 minutes I knocked on his door offering him some of the food being cooked downstairs. Unfortunately he declined so we told him to come down later and hid nearby. On hearing noises I went back just in time to see him slam the door again. I decided to wait down a floor but my accomplice was shouted at by a neighbour for standing around near her room so we decided to leave.
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