The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 NewsThis Lent 2007 game would like to say hello. There are between n and m live players out there. Have fun!
Sorry Rob. The Mafia will not tolerate independents operating on our turf.
I went a hunting for Andrew Kay. Robinson is a maze. Luckily Andrew was by the enterance.
"Hello Andrew!"
Target turns round. "You're an assassin aren't you?" he said.
That was enough of a clue to his identity so I released my cosh and whacked him over the head.
The Unsubtle Knife then ripped him to pieces.
Time of Death: 9:35
I await my next target,
The Unsubtle Knife
For too long now our Guild has been under the shadow of the tyrannous and cruel organisation know only as the TwinMaf. This behemoth of brutality has succeeded in winning the past four MainGames through deceit and treachery. Its members are decrepid and spineless, and almost certainly of the Furry variety. I therefore add further incentive to the pursuit of their deaths by pledging a significant reward of the chocolate variety to any person who slays one of these fiends.
Dead already, may even have been first to die this term. Throat slit by a 'friend' just after lectures, woe is me!
The room was dark, filled with unquiet vapours. Discarded valuables lay scattered around, relics of a time of former glory. Amidst this turmoil lay the solitary figure of the Duke, shaking with fever and cursing his foes under his breath. He seemed never to be comfortable, shifting positions every few minutes with seemingly strained effort and several groans.
Suddenly, despite the afflictions of his illness, the Duke tensed up and seemed to come to attention, as does a wolf when it hears a prey nearby. He focused on something unknowable, possibly beyond the usual plains of consciousness.
With a snarl he leapt up, snatched a gun and went to the door just as three adamant knocks struck it. He sensed treachery, and so hid behind the door as he opened it slowly. The individual outside hesitated; not for long, but enough to give the Duke time to spot a weapon and fire his own. The body crumpled, its malicious purpose thwarted.
The Umpire reminds all players to read the rules. It is quite difficult to play a game you do not understand.
Well, it was at least predictable
The Umpire notes that players should not shoot innocents as it may inconvenience them. 2 licit targets will do for now, you know the drill.
So they say that you're a troubled boy
Just because you like to destroy
All the things that bring the idiots joy
But what's wrong with a little destruction?
More collateral damage, I see. 2 licit kills, again. Can players try and exercise a little more restraint?
With me you get what you pay for, when you pay for the best private eye in the business. I don't come cheap, but I'm thorough and I get the job done. When I'm on the case, you can expect a lot of gratuitous sex and violence, a corpse-strewn alley and a final rooftop showdown.
And along the way you'll get all the stuff that you get when you pay for the best. You'll get a generous helping of trench coat humour, a lot of old toot being talked in a bar, running gags about the mispronunciation of my name and my trusty Smith and Wesson, a dame that does me wrong and a deep dark whirling pit of oblivion that I tumble into, when she bops me on the head at the beginning of every case.
That's the way I do business. Always. Because, like I say, I'm the best.
If you want a lot of psychological folderol about a detective with a drink problem and a broken marriage, who's coming to terms with a tragedy from his youth and is reaching out to his feminine side, then buddy, you've got the wrong guy. But if you like a lot of hard-nosed, lantern-jawed, snap-brimmed-fedora'd, belt-knotted-trenchcoated, bourbon swigging, Camel-smoking, lone-walking, smart-talking, mean-fighting, tricky-case-solving son-of-a-goddam-prince-among-men, just ask for me by name.
And the name to ask for is Woodbine. Lazlo Woodbine, Private Eye.
Some call me Laz.
So with that said, let's get down to business.
**************************************************************************
It was another lonely evening in Fangio's bar, with only the fat man himself to keep me company. I was down. Deep down. Deeper down than a pit boy's purse in a pocket of pumice polystyrene.
If you know what I mean, and I'm sure that you do.
But hey, when you're down, the only way is up. And you can't just sit there waiting for the wind of fortune to blow you back up again. You have to lift yourself high above adversity. You have to make your own wind.
"Holy hamburgers," spluttered Fangio, fanning himself with a flake of fennel. "If you make wind in my bar again, Laz, I'll have your sorry ass out of here."
Oh how we laughed.
"Seriously, Laz," the fat boy continued. "I've had it to here with your behaviour. All those running gags about your Smith and West Bromwich Albion, the dame always bopping you on the head in my bar. You need to get out and do something."
I scratched my head and helped myself to some chewing fat. It was true, lately I had been less likely to move than a sloth sandwich in a surveyor's sandbag.
"And those dumb surrealist metaphor jobbies you keep on using all the time because you think it gives you style. They're neither funny nor clever."
"Ease up fat boy," says I. "It's not as if you, my bestest buddy in the whole wide world, are exactly springing into life to help."
"Ah, that's where you're wrong," replied the chubby one. "See that girl there, down the other end of the bar? She's one of those assassin-y types. Playing that game might get you off your arse and on your feet."
It was an intriguing prospect. And, after all, how could the best private eye in the business refuse such a challenge. But before I had a chance to think properly about it, the dame was sidling towards me.
And what a dame. Five feet two and every inch a woman. As the pub was putting on a fancy dress event later in the evening, she had come dressed as her favourite food. Her hat was a cheese souffle, and she was wearing nothing but two fried eggs and a doner kebab.
"Nice hat," I said. "How did you sew on the fried eggs?"
"Mr Woodpile?" she asked, lights shining in her eyes like puddles in an alley at night.
"Woodbine," says I. "How may I be of service?
"I'm Phil," says the dame.
"Well you shouldn't eat so much then," says I.
How we laughed.
"Philomena," says she. "I represent the Cambridge Assassins Guild. For years now the Guild has been without a true player, someone who leaves a trail of destruction wherever they go. Someone with whom you can expect a lot of gratuitous sex and violence, a corpse-strewn alley and a final rooftop showdown. Someone who can teach these poxy student just what it means to play the game."
"And naturally you came to me," I reflected. Fange was right, this game sounded right up my street.
"Yes," she answered, her fried eggs heaving in the heavy fug of the bar. "We want you to enter the game, and show these students what the best really is. Will you help us?"
I looked into her fried eggs. Then I caught myself and looked into her shining eyes instead. "Lady," says I, "Lazlo Woodbine never walks away from a case. You've got yourself a deal."
"Cheers," said Philomena.
"Cheers," says I.
I turn towards the bar to take a sip of bourbon, and something hit me from behind.
And I was falling.
Tumbling down.
Down. Down.
Deeper and down.
Into a dark whirling pit of oblivion.
Yes Siree.
By golly.
I had heard that the prince would be in the gardens in the evening, so I contrived to be walking there. I was still unsure as to whether the Prince needed to die, but decided that more information about his condition would help me choose what method to use, if the time came. However, it appears I was misinformed, and the Prince kept to his chambers.
Error... user not found.
After opening the gateway with the small key he had found deep inside the dungeon, Link marched bravely through and then gasped as the door slammed shut behind him. All around him lay shallow water with a misty haze upon the horizon.
As our hero walked to a small island in the centre of the expanse, a dark figure dropped from the sky and called Link to battle. Words of unknown origin flashed across Link's vision:
DARK LINK
Phantom Doppelganger
After a long and arduous duel, Link slew his nemesis with a finishing blow from his trusty Real-Big-Goron's (RBG) sword. The haze lifted and the doorway to the next challenge opened.
Link strode onwards in his quest to restore peace to Hyrule...
And unto the end of all time, all shall understand the coming of DOOM, and that all shall realise the ending of ALL THINGS. And so any who may believe that they might CONTINUE are all deluded, for all shalld END.
Let the DOOM of ALL be amongst us.
Five Go Adventuring Again
Plot Outline:it was to see my friend SilentShadow earlier this morning. he did not open his door. he was probably still in the bed. damned lawyers. to be careful. the stranger invisilbe will come again.
Sire Leg Gre was munching on his fine dinner contemplating the many ways a chicken bone could be used to inhume a man when who did he spy but Paul David Morris entering the eating hall. He quickly leaves and makes a call to information central to ensure that a kill in this location wouldn't cause a diplomatic incident. Assured of the legality of the situation Sire Leg Gre returns to the hall and draws his silent pistol, firing one quick shot to the side of Paul David Morris' head. As he leaves he picks up a chicken bone and considers his next job.
Today I saw Jacob Samuel Corteen looking very shifty. Despite telling me he was fine, he kept his distance. Perhaps he was in a hurry.
Profit.
T'was the eve of the 30th of January '07, when Pesce Spada and I, hunted the wanted. For committing such a felenious crime of brutally by stabbing an innocent, Anna Judith Rosalind Bernstein was to be eliminated for the protection of Cambridge.
We two constables arrived at her dark hideout and proceeded to ring the doorbell. As previously devised tactics had been devised, I concealed myself behind a conveniently placed wall, adjacent to her door and awaited the dastardly murderer to reveal herself. She did. I shot her.
Later Pesce Spada put a bullet through the window whilst explaining to the corpse how a gun could be fired.
Upon successfully completing our first mission, we next made our way to the residence of one Prophet of Doom in an attempt to dispense our justice there. After observing the house for a short while, we ill-fatedly decided to again attempt our earlier tactic at the door. As Alpha Wolf knocked on the door I stayed pressed against the side of the porch waiting for a fugitive from justice to answer. We waited in anxious silence as we heard crashing inside the house. Then we heard a louder bang from behind the house and our foe ran around the corner. I saw my friend go down as a bullet struck him full in the face, but had no time to dwell on this as I leaned around the corner of the porch and loosed a narrowly missing shot at the assassin. Unfortunately I did not retract my head in time, and had time to feel the cold press of an iron bullet driving into my scalp before nothing, as my corpse fell to the ground beside my ally's.
And so all ye who live amongst us, know that your lives are worthless now, for all things enter their last hour. Fear not death on the battlefield, for all who survive you shall soon themselves come to an end. Die, therefore, gladly - throw yourself into the fray, slay and slay and slay again, for death can hold no fear for you. DOOM!
Sire Leg Gre knows there is only one proper use for Vaseline and it isn't sealing letters. He laughs at Mr. A. Sassins attempts at poisoning him as he disregards the letter along with disposable latex gloves into the bin.
The Umpire has heard much of received poison letters and less of sent ones. He wishes to remind players that it is their duty to inform him of any assassins-related business they partake of.
First careful by habit, then by suspicion, careful, then bemused, then confused, consternated, and further consternated became I on the night of whenever it was. A poison letter in my box. Obvious at second look, after it'd been safely extracted, it harmed me not. And yet, by some curiosity beyond explanation, I wanted to see if my assassin had any words of his own to impart to me, and thus to us all.
Intriguing above anything else (everything else was rather boring) was a replacement of the college's postal code with the string
POST COD
Now, if you have a sufficiently pronounced British accent, (or if, like me, you're trying to affect one for the purposes of imagining what the writer, who possibly does have a British accent of some kind, was thinking) you'll note that when you say this aloud, you may as well be saying
POST CARD
Coincidence?
...
Alternative interpretations of the lack of E involve considering the string POST CODE MINUS E, which nothing if screams the anagram
DEPICTS ONE SUMO
Which means it is quite fortunate that I discarded the note so blithely. Unfortunate, however, is the fact that I used to safely dispose of it my copy of Brahms Op. 118, 6 "Dies Irae," which means nothing more than that I'll have to print another. Hopefully, this will be compensated for by the fact that the this song should be now eternally stuck in my would-be (or, perhaps, soon-to-be) assassin's head, by some strange multiverse connection thingo and perhaps with a bit of meddling from the ghost of Johannes Brahms.
Oh well.
All in all, well executed, I must say, but poison letters can only be so effective. I'm nothing to be scared of in person.
Sorry Steve.
Those of you with the decency to attemt to kill me in a fair manner, whatever your use of stealth, I salute - well done, even if I got you in the end.
For that individual amongst you who felt it necessary to betray my trust and the trust of all those present that evening, to urinate upon agreements made and the simple wish of a good friend to celebrate his birthday in peace, I say only this: shame on you. Shame on you.
Sugar Funds Terrorism!
Yours,
Simeon
A Man For All Seasonings
Plot Outline:"We're under attack!" *Bang*
How we laughed.
Will no one learn?
Dearest umpire, Robert Patterson was found in an unlocked room and summarily executed. Will you be giving me any more Roberts to remove?
Today a man of mystery from Caius with a female accomplice came a'knocking for me. After cunningly shooting the accomplice who tried to wheedle the door open, I disarmed the assassin and made him stand with his hands on his head, upon which time I shot him. This was all accomplished while topless. <flex>
Umpires,
I think I could be said to be beyond angry. I thought I would get things off to a straightforward start and shoot Tang Han-Ley at his
room...so arming myself with my little cap gun and collecting my girlfriend, as she might respect me if she sees me shoot a man in cold
blood, I went to the appropriate room. My girlfriend suggested she should knock at the door as she looks more innocent, partly because she
wasnt carrying a gun. However, as she did so, the door opened and the occupant shot her. Distraught and furious, I retreated down the
corridor, pathetically squeezing off shots. However, Han-Ley was not going to sally forth.
After a while, the tension lessoned and a dsicussion began to insue with the other occupants of the corridor as to the nature of the
assassins guild game, which eventually Han-Ley began to join in on. In an attempt to lure him out, I handed the gun to his neighbour and
put my hands in the air, and claimed I wanted a civilised discussion. In a manner which I thought immensely uncivilised, he opened the door
and shot me. The discussion then continued. In every aspect of his personality, apart from his dead-souled cynicism and betrayal of my
chivalrous behaviour, I would like to say that he was a gentleman. In addition, now that I realise that he had already killed the umpire
and two innocents, exploiting my stupidity is put in perspective...I will of course be back as a policeman to get my revenge...
Eystein Thanisch
Nobody attacked, yet Nobody did not die. If Nobody didn't die, then everybody died, where the system under consideration contains Dan Craik, and Nobody else. If Nobody didn't die, then everybody died excepting Nobody, when restricting our view to the system delineated
above.
Further, it is safely assumed that the attack plans of the target were largely not to be known. That is, nobody but the target knew them.
Stated similarly, only the target and Nobody knew them. We therefore see that Nobody must be a part of what would seem to have proven an
rather effective intelligence-gathering apparatus indeed. You see, Dan Craik was said to be both targeting some persons, and nobody else.
Nobody.
Must all therefore fear for their lives? This is, after all, more general than just for Dan Craik. Ah, but you see, the consequent action need
not hold, excepting a semantic point that is left as an exercise to the reader.
The demon in your mind will rape you in your bed at night,
The wisdom of ages, the lies and outrages concealed,
Time it waits for no man,
My future it is revealed,
Time it waits for no man,
My fate is sealed,
If I cancel tomorrow the undead will thank me today,
Fly in the face of your prophets I mock your morality plays,
The moon is red and bleeding,
The sun is burned and black,
The book of life is silent,
No turning back.
Dear Umpire,
Today I saw Steve McCann in the CMS. He was not wearing a hat, and is
not quite as Scottish as you.
Yours,
Simeon
Dear Umpire,
Today I saw the Umpire. He was astonishingly awake and
disgustingly sober. He was not wearing a hat.
Yours,
Simeon Bird
The Umpire spotted Simeon Bird today. No hats were present during this brief encounter.
Unable to find the damnned entrance, DeafBlindDumb scaled the wall of the fortress that is [censored], In search of his target. It was
dark, and the place had an ill feel to it. Every moment he expected to feel the force of a bullet, or the point of a blade. His targets
lodgings were found with little difficulty, and entrance was gained thanks to an innocent who happened to be leaving.
He waited outside his targets room, and soon realised that no sound was coming from inside. He knocked, in fleeting hope, but there was no
answer. With this he made his exit, and procceded to leave a surprise in the pidgeon hole of his absent target.
He then faded into the night, to return at a better time...
The Hunt. There's nothing like it. The close you get the faster your heart beats. But to hunt your own hunter. It adds a whole new level. I knew where he'd be, all I had to do was wait. And there he was, walking straight towards me, and past, without so much as a glance, but I knew he wouldn't recognise me, I made sure of that. I fell into step behind him: so close. I followed him into a lift where he turned to face me. "Hi" I said, smiling sweetly, and promptly knifed my would-be assassin in the chest.
Meerkat of Doom is pleased to announce the demise of Reuben Bard-Rosenberg, who was killed by a reference to a Leonard Cohen song at 1205 today.
Hail, oh mighty one!
I bring news of the fall of one of the mighty. The evident leader of ClareMaf is dead. Laurence Watson is no more.
I was minding my own business, attacking some dude, when who should enter, guns blazing but that self-same gentleman of distinction and blondness. A short burst of gunfire ensued, and he fell to the ground, a bloodied corpse.
I decided that as there was probably more backup waiting outside, I had better leave. As I left the building, I saw about four of them standing a short distance away. I decided that it would be a good idea to leave at high speed, and did so.
There was a short pursuit, but I think I scared them more than they scared me (honest :P).
Yours humbly,
Philip Bielby
At 1:30 today, I, Mihail Yakurovsky burst into the residence of Emily Wilsdon, and brutally gunned her down, while The Unsubtle Knife watched the corridor for intruders.
Tdoay we paid a visit to that most notorious den of vice, Trinity College.
Just to make a point, we mutilated the corpse of the recently-deceased James
O'Driscoll. We then retreated into our shadowy underworld to plot the next
stage in our plan for global supremacy.
David Smith
"Bloody fake treasure chests" Link swore under his breath as he tended to his 7th singed eyebrow of the dungeon.
"Haldir!" spoke the reflection suddenly. Haldir jumped and broke a
fingernail.
"I do hereby pronounce thee, Haldir of Lorien, to be as lame as an Ent
with no legs!" cried the reflection seductively. "Thou hast enlisted for service and thus far failed to kill but a single goblin!"
"I am most deeply sorry," said Haldir curvaceously, "but I have been washing my hair."
"Hmm, well that is important," the reflection mused mightily, "but slaying enemies is of almost as great significance."
"Oh, surely there are plenty of fine fellows to take care of that," Haldir replied, flicking his hair daintily.
"Come now, Haldir," scolded the reflection, "you know full well that thou art the mightiest warrior in the land!"
"Nay!" cried Haldir voluptuously, "there is one at least as great as me. A mighty swordsman of Rohan, with the great beard!"
"All the swordsmen of Rohan have great beards," replied the reflection
elegantly. "Their concern for personal hygiene is most poor. However I
believe I know the one of whom you speak. He disobeyed the commands of
King Theoden, and was hunted for many hours by his soldiers. Even Lord
Rakune swore that he would bring him to justice."
"Lord Rakune!?" ejaculated Haldir softly. "But he has ever been a zealous foe of Rohan. Not two years ago he mounted an assault on their border
single-handed, armed only with an orange knife!"
"He put aside his quarrels to bring the criminal to justice, not that it
mattered. Captain Cortine was treacherously struck down by the Dark Lord
Sauron, and without him there is no-one to slay the Easterlings and
Goblins that infest the land!"
"Very well!" cried Haldir lasciviously. "I shall venture forth to fight the enemies of Lord Celeborn just as soon as I am dressed!" With that he made his way to the wardrobe and began the long and arduous process of
selecting a dress.
But the followers of Sauron now had cause for fear once more.
Mihail Yakurovsky reporting: at 5:57 today, I approached the residence of Meng Li, and swiftly terminated her existence as she opened her door.
Mihail Yakurovsky
My Dearest Umpire,
I feel obliged to inform you of the existence of a nefarious 'freshermaf'
comprising of over 20 players, led by 'TheDuke' this abomination must be
eliminated for the glory of the twinmaf.
To this end, tonight, I went a'hunting for people of a suspect nature,
after being given the descriptions of 2 men w2ho came looking for me, I went
to kill S. Glasman and S. Dong. Alas, I was heinously lied to, and must
report that I have killed 2 more innocents. I did it whilst not wearing
underwear.
With lots and lots and lots of love,
<3
^__________^
Hi,
At 10:50pm today I assassinated Nadeev Wijesuriya as he queued for an Ent at his college.
Weapon used was water pistol at point-blank range, straight into his back. Kill was confirmed with victim.
I hope he had a happy Ent :-).
Regards,
ssk
An "innocent" reports:
Killing people is fun, but making them think they're dead when they're not is even more fun :-D
Today, N. Mock came after me, bearing knife and bullet proof vest. Whilst
topless, I sley him with 3 mighty shots to his rear. Alas, e was not an
assassin, and only 'trying to scare me'.
Lots and lots of love
<3
(^_^)
Dear Mr. Umpire,
I am making this contact of you in knowledge that you a Christian
gentleman.
My father was late the third level general of the police force of Idi Amin.
When in this position he made lots of enemies, as do all powerful men. Later he
retired to Nigeria, where he owned a large vila by the see. I would enter his
swimming pool daily, and often fed his shark. Recently he dyed, and in his will
he left me to to adminster his fortune. This fortune is the sum of 100 MILION
DOLLARS ($100 MILLION), which is to be giving to starving war orphans in
War-Torn Countries. Regrets that as the LAW in Nigeria does not allow exporting
of monies I am unable to carry out his wishes. I therefore contact you as you a
good Christian gentleman to help those auphans by transferring the 100 MILLION
DOLLARS through your bank account. For it is you trouble I will pay for this
you 10% of the total sum. (10 MILLION DOLLARS). Plese, I beg of you as you are
a Cistian gentleman, help those starving war orphans in WAR-torn COUNTRYS. This
transaction is very safe, it is 100% risk prove. I wait your reply. Very
urgent, very safe. For further profit. Yours sincerely,
Dr. Richard "Systéme Internationale" Gibson
I found a booklet of chemistry notes with a suspicious bulge in it in my room. Suspecting treachery, I donned a face mask and plastic covering on my hands before opening said booklet. My suspicions were confirmed, and a large amount of white powder and a POISON note was found. This was disposed of swiftly and I will go to exact revenge on the one responsible for this.
"Carnage in the New Museums site! Blood splatter littered the crime scene, surrounding the two corpses lying on the tarmac. PC Evil is on hand to relay the news from midday today.
It appears that both assassins failed in their primary task of stealth and concealment. Advolta(Alexander Atkins) was lurking in wait for Alexander Atkins(Commander Keen) for quite some time, becoming impatient. Upon seeing her target she drew her sword and charged him, but the Commanders quick reactions took him sprinting through the crowds of innocents and he got away.
Advolta returned to PC Evil, to explain her irrational behaviour, but she was followed by the Commander, who promptly accosted her and slit her throat. Then, during his moment of triumph, PC Evil drew his knife and stabbed the Commander for the violent murder conducted right in front of him.
May they rest in peace."
"Always fight rather than run. The game requires people to die, and it's more fun that way!"
While peacefully patrolling the new museums site around 12.05, I was shocked by the site of a girl pulling a sword and commencing to chase a shifty looking fellow in a long coat, round a nearby corner.
'Hello, hello, hello,' i thought, 'whats going on here?'
A moment later the girl returned and started a perfectly innocent looking conversation. However, her targetted reapeared as well, and quick as lightning put a knife in her. Unfortunately however, he did this standing literally right next to yours truly, who instantly took out this young ruffian's throat with a knife of his own while his was still evidently drawn and on display.
The startled look on his face as he dropped bloodlessly to the floor made this copper chuckle deep inside, the feeling made particularly sweet as it almost felt like he was avenging some past life.
So remember boys and girls, the law takes a hard line on civil disturbances of any kind.
PC Evil
As you'll probably have heard I shot Jake...bother, I blame the faeries, they told me to.
I'll forgive you, you thought I was wanted. But dammit, dying is getting tiring, I thought as police I could be safe around non-wanted players...
I picked up my post today, and found that I had a rather suspicious looking letter (something to do with
valentines day...) amongst the many leaflets that had accumulated in my pigeonhole over the past few days. I took
it to my room, and at 12:15, in true paranoid fashion donned gloves to open it. It was rather a good thing that I
did this however, as it turned out to be a fiendish plot to blackmail me into assassinating someone else's target.
A time delayed contact pathogen was implanted into some goo in the envelope, so I naturally encased the offending
letter in plastic, for evidence and washed my gloves thoroughly (most distressing, as now they are all wet).
The cowardly dog planting the letter had clearly not accounted for how infrequent my pigeonhole visits are
however, as the deadline for receiving the cure was today.
This heinous act will not be forgotten!
Mihail Yakurovsky
Life is lonely as a widow, so I have become accustomed to visiting my friends about the parish. Today I called upon Mr. Lanczi-Wilson for afternoon tea, as I missed him earlier this week. I found him in, but I stayed only briefly, and he did not offer me any cake. Possibly this is because I shot him.
Violet
Today I killed Michael (I forget his last name) when he blundered into my room in a ill fated attempt on my life. Armed with only a small pen and blistering speed I was able to give him the slip and eventually administer some death of my own.
'Twas a dark and stormy early Sunday afternoon when the Thoughtful Vole and the assassin known only as Silk met before
the Gardenia with a singular intent: the death of the nefarious criminal mastermind, Han-Ley Tang.
The last details of their deadly plot were finalised - Silk, in innocent and unassuming guise, would provide the bait to
lure out the killer and the Thoughtful Vole, lurking close by, would provide the lethal force to bring about the
murderer's end. Matters settled, they began the arduous trek to the College of Han-Ley's abode.
The howl of the wind and thundering of rain lashing down from the heavens covered them in their journey through the
streets of Cambridge and stealthily the climbed the towering staircase until at last they reached their destination. The
dark portal of the killer's lair loomed before the noble pair of assassins like the gateway to Hades. The Thoughtful Vole
pressed himself against an adjacent wall while Silk rapped gently upon Han-Ley's chamber door. Alas, they were foiled:
there was no answer.
Undeterred, the two assassins set up a vigil in case their quarry either returned to his room or, indeed, if he was
secreting himself inside, exited. Minutes passed by like hours as the two waited for their target and the length of the
lurk was like a small eternity unto itself. At last, the grindstone of time wore down the assassins' patience to nothing
and they were forced to retreat to try again another day. The two parted ways and the Thoughtful Vole scampered back to
his base of operations to contemplate. Truly, this ruthless criminal would require meticulousness and ingenuity to bring
down.
To Be Continued...
The Mystic Mole enlisted another member of the animal kingdom to track down a mutual enemy. He was found asleep in his burrow, and was despatched with the aid of a treacherous roommate. Let this be a message to all creatures who dare to cross the Mystic Mole: Terror Stalks the Riverbank.
I am delighted to report the unfortunate demise of a Mr Wright of Trinity Hall. Both Triffid and The Mole had been assigned Tim as our victim and thus formed an unsurmountable union, not to be contended with. Working together, with the assistance of his flatmate, they burst into his room to find him rubbing his eyes and waking up. The twanging of the elastic band was the last thing he heard. Yours faithfully, Triffid
Dear Mr Umpire, Today at 5 o clock I went to visit Deadly koala of doom. He was not in, but someone else was. This someone
else assured me he was not a burglar, so i didn't shoot him.
Yours Faithfully,
Paper Tree
Ah, the euphoria of a fresh kill.
| Home || Email |
| News 02 || News 03 || Updates || Headlines || police || wanted || inco || stats |