The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 News
The Assassins' Guild - Week 1 NewsAn ominous chill creeps across the streets of Cambridge, whistling in the early morning squall; in their beds, small babies awake and start crying, piteously. Fires evaporate in their hearths, and stillbirths afflict every bed in Addenbrooke's (even the male wards...). Fruit drops from the trees, rotten and hardened, in a mass harvest of death. Who knows what horrors await the poor, innocent denizens of this peaceful city?
The morning was young. Lectureless arts students had not yet stirred from their beds, and scientists were busy attempting to make themselves presentable for early lectures. But one individual was neither sleeping nor fussing over appearance. The hero of our tale - or, should I say, the dastardly villain Ephraim Smooth - read the list of targets assigned for death and smiled the cold smile of a predator. One young man, James Moran, would soon be dead - and at such an early hour, there would be little chance of witnesses. A cunning assassin, Ephraim chose to act subtly. As the killing spree which would soon ensue had barely begun, most victims would still be taking little care to defend themselves. A little contact poison inside a sealed envelope,addressed to the unfortunate Mr Moran and placed in his pigeon hole, should easily do the trick. Ephraim swiftly assembled the letter and hastened to the pigeonholes of the victim's college. Having placed the weapon with care, our villainous murderer made for a getaway vehicle and fled the scene, leaving behind no trace except a harmless looking envelope - one which was to be the end of James Moran.
TEgg saw Jonathan Holmes brazenly parading a sword as if it was some trophy he had one, but in fact it proved to be his downfall. He wasn't looking when TEgg came up behind him, armed to the teeth with an RBG and disciplined this act of blatant murderous intent.
I woke up this morning feeling angry, and went to two lectures. One of them made me even angrier - it was rehashing A level, a subject about which I have Views. I then realised I would have to wait a while for lunch, and had to wait ten angry-making minutes for a bus to my compsci practical in the William Gates Building. The fact that someone had seen fit to name a building after Gates also made me angry. I was therefore extremely angry when someone on the bus took a knife out and put it away again before I realised that this meant I could stab him.
Against this background of anger and more anger, I began talking to him about the game and advised him that if he took his knife out again people might get angry. We began to talk.
We continued to talk (after the long, irritating bus journey) in the lecture theatre, and he offered to exchange lists of targets. It was at this point that I, upon seeing my own name and address, became very angry indeed and began to take out my Angry Knife.
He noticed this and struck first, but unfortunately he stabbed me in the leg - not a terribly helpful move against a target who is sitting down. I'd just got him in the weapon arm and was about to vent some serious anger when a celestial voice from above boomed out:
O WORTHLESS FOOLS! WHYFORE HAST THOU DESCENDED UNTO THE BARBARIANS AND THE OXFORD STUDENTS, YEA, EVEN IN THE MOST HOLY TEMPLE OF MY WORSHIP? KNOWEST YE NOT THAT THE GREAT UMPIRE HATH DECLARED THIS SITE OUT OF BOUNDS? FEEL MY WRATH!
We then each developed large boils on our noses. I looked at the assassin. He looked at me. We decided to go (or, in my case, limp) our separate ways, lest the boils begin to spread.
Also, my computer now only boots into Windows Vista. This makes me very angry, especially as until (I assume) this afternoon I did not have Vista installed.
---
The Umpire notes:
SO, IT WOULD SEEM I AM WORSHIPPED IN THE WILLIAM GATES BUILDING. MOST EXCELLENT. ALSO, IT SEEMS I CAN CURSE PEOPLE... HMMM...
"Dash it Algy", ejaculated Biggles, "all these gals look the same!"
I saw Simeon Bird B.A. Hons (Cantab) today. He was not wearing a hat. I also saw Robert Crowston, who was being almost as subtle as I am. I think he's targetting me.
The Umpire reminds all players to be good and wear hats - the bigger and more colourful they are, the more Power they convey upon their wearer.
"Biggles Flies North"
It was before dawn when Biggles was awoken by the sound of a stricken aeroplane falling through the sky. Even as his keen ear was identifying the machine as a Neo-Jesuit Hermes-4 ("Down to one engine now, probably the number three engine, judging by the pitch of that thrum", he thought), Biggles was pulling on his uniform and dashing for the aerodrome.
The Neo-Jesuits ran the mail service in this part of the world, and were often the only means of getting letters out, and getting news in. They had carved a niche for themselves, indispensable to all factions in the global power-struggle. Who would shoot at them?
As Biggles reached the tarmac, the Hermes came screaming in, far too fast, and bounced three times before eventually gaining some traction, struggling to keep straight, and then falling over.
The pilot threw himself from the burning machine and was dragged clear by the ground crew.
"Must- Biggles!", he groaned. "Gotta- Speak-- Biggles."
Biggles came running up, and interrupted the man's muttering.
"I'm Biggles. What's the message? And what happened to your machine?"
"Bandits- North- Gyrthon!"
Biggles was somewhat taken aback by this news. The trade route to Gyrthon in the north of the land had always been his territory. The mail service machines were allowed through safely, Biggles' own fleet had free access of course, and merchants were taxed fairly, with actual piracy only used on more reluctant customers. As pirate chieftains go, Biggles thought, he was fair and honourable.
"And now there's some Gyrthenes trying to muscle in on the action, eh?", muttered Biggles to himself, "I'll sort this out, oh yes I will."
Aloud, he said "I shall deal with the situation. Thank you for your message, and may God speed your return to health."
The injured pilot managed a wan smile, and a mumble of thanks. Then, in a strained gesture, he passed Biggles a piece of paper, on which was written the last known co-ordinates of the bandit craft, and then sank back into a pile of blankets.
Without another word, Biggles turned and strode determinedly back along the tarmac to where his Ornithopter was ready for take-off. He kicked the machine into gear and took off into the dawn, before wheeling northwards and upwards towards Gyrthon.
The flight was long, and it was not until the middle of the afternoon that Biggles caught sight of Gyrthon below him. He made a couple of wide passes over the village, trying to pinpoint the bandit hideout. After several loops, Biggles spotted a glint of metal in the trees. He hastily dove towards the spot, guns blazing. At the bottom of the dive, the metal resolved into a Leegood Skirmisher about to take off. Before it could do so, Biggles machine-gun fire raked the cockpit, and the Skirmisher stuttered to a halt.
Again Biggles rose into the air, circling above the clouds on the lookout for more targets. But none were forthcoming, and so Biggles reluctantly began the long flight home, determined to see to it that in future no one who disrupted his business should avoid the consequences.
I went a riding gallantly on my steed to Selwyn in the attempt of dispatching of the fine damsel Elizabeth Rose Johnstone. Upon arrival I found her door unthinkingly left unlocked and then hastily darted inside and concealed myself out of sight. After a pause while the stunning maiden had gone to partake of some fine cuisine, returned to her chamber for to take a little slumber. As she was passing through the door, I stepped out to confront her, only for a rapscallion to ambush her and attack her in an ungentlemanly manner. Luckily for me, my weapon was still out of sight so rather than initiate a firefight I permitted the scoundrel to escape in a cowardly way, preferring to save my own life rather than to defend the honour of the recently deceased. For this I am forever shamed. TEgg
My regards to the recently deceased. Offer of a pint still stands.
The Colonel entered Jesus bar, and was pleasantly surprised to see his target there already. No stalking necessary. He even had time to buy a drink before approacing the victim, hidden gun in one hand, dirty martini in the other. Casually drawing up to her, he drew his pistol, placed it on her back, took a sip, and said "Bang". Shock. Horror. So ends the kill.
So, it seems the stereotype of teenagers who sit in dark rooms and listen to weird music while taking pills originates here...
Having, in my hungover state, failed to check my mail before I opened it, Groucho is now dead.
Lurked for $Unspecified Target$ at $Unspecified_Lecture_Theatre$ because I am too lazy to walk to $Unspecified_College$. Unfortunately target was not to be seen so I enacted a tactical retreat.
Today at around noon I made an indirect attempt on the life of one of my targets (namely The Colonel). Knowing nothing about the layout of the target's college, with the utmost stealth I found their pigeonhole. Despite the amount of searching this involved, through elegant subterfuge and cunning I passed myself off as a member of the college so successfully that no comment on my presence was made by any of the people in the room. Upon locating the target's pigeonhole, I there deposited a stamped, sealed envelope addressed to them, containing a letter liberally smeared with contact poison (vaseline). Having accomplished my task, I then swiftly and unobtrusively made my escape to await the outcome of my attempt.
Fail.
Just reporting an assassination attempt on me via letter in my pigeonhole. Did not touch as some sort of oily substance was seeping through (turned out to be vaseline), there had already been a killing by mail, and there was a stamp but no postmark. Plus there's a mail strike.
News: AN INNOCENT VICTIM HAS FALLEN!!! Emma R. was brutally murdered in a case of mistaken identity just moments ago. The stabbing frenzy took place outside the room of the intended target (who was actually in a safe house on the other side of town)
After some stealthy ParKour involving a river-spanning structure, an innocent-looking green envelope marked CUSAGC was left in (don't know his pseudonym) Target Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden's pigeon-hole by Alice Band. Will Alice fall off the next bridge? Will the porters realise that Alice isn't really interested in Scouting at all? And will Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden realise the letter's deadly contents before it's too late?
After this dastardly deed was carried out, Alice and Dirty D staked out Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden's room, but sadly he wasn't in.
Moments later, Dirty D passed within inches of his target, but chose to delay the pleasure of sliding the steel blade into his unsuspecting victim's back.
I climbed the stairs down to my basement, and with a whispered word lit the candles that gave illumination. I'm a wizard, you see, the only one in the Cambridge phone directory, and technology doesn't like wizards. It tends to be flaky at the best of times, and with the fear that I was controlling, a lightbulb would have had no chance.
'Wake up Bob,' I said. Two tiny pinpricks of light grew in the eyesockets of the skull sat on the shelves at the far end of the room, right next to a messy pile of trashy romance novels. 'What's this?' I threw the letter down on the table, and the skull swiveled to look at it. 'It had a rather nasty curse on it, but I managed to spot it and disable it before it could get me.'
'If that's what I think it is, you're in big trouble Harry. You and the rest of Cambridge. Is it signed A. Sassin? I can't see it from here.'
'Yeah, it is. Who's it from, Bob? It doesn't seem like a Red Court thing, and I know I have enough troubles without another enemy making a move.'
'It's not your enemy. It's everyone's. The assassins are strange creatures, they see killing as a game, with strict rules. When they stop in a city, they set up a complex system of targets, and each target gets a list of three targets they have to kill. And everyone involved gets targeted by three people too.'
'Hell's bells!. There are three of them after me?'
'Yes, and if one of them is killed, they'll still keep coming. The only way to survive is kill them all. But if you break the rules of their game, they'll all come for you.'
'Dammit. I don't need any more trouble. But forewarned is forearmed. I'll keep an eye out'
'They can be anyone, anywhere, anytime'
'Gee, thanks. That makes me so much more optimistic', I said. I went back to the ladder, and started climbing up. As I opened the trapdoor back to my apartment, I heard Bob speak again.
'Harry, good luck'
Biggles Goes West
Biggles couldn't resist playing with the Spitfire one more time. How could he have known that Von Stalhein was waiting under the wing, ready to pounce. RIP Biggles.
Like, no. Players are reminded to please read the rules. The Guild is quite clear on this point. Careless Talc Costs Lives.
At the end of a certain society meeting I was in attendance of, at approximately 9:57, Emilie/Emmy Yerby was suddenly overcome by psychopathy and proceeded to shoot several people in the room. Unfortunately one of them was me. Fortunately however, despite the agonizing pain I was clearly still alive - she had shot me in both of my arms. Without further ado I stood up and ran, leaving the ensuing chaos behind and dragging my bleeding limbs behind me. Once the blood started to clot, the feeling began to return to my arms, so I returned to the room and waited outside to assess the situation. I heard voices from within, so clearly people were still alive: in fact it transpired that as the meeting had not been over for the full 5 minutes, she had only been shooting people with blanks (which whilst theoretically harmless, are quite debilitating from close by, due to the high velocity air being expelled from the muzzle). Upon realizing this, at 10:03 I quickly pushed the door open and brutally gunned down Philip Bielby right in front of the Chief of Police, before making a speedy retreat before anyone could react. He wasn't my target, but he looked the dangerous type - with beady eyes and a schemeing face. I think that whilst contentious, the world will look on my act here in years to come with understanding and gratefulness, that I made the world a better, safer place...
Today I encountered the fair but villanous Emile Yerby. She was not wearing a hat, possibly because I stole it last weak so as to deprive her of her Powers. She opened fire upon me, but sadly since I was carrying a bulky bag of equipment for $unspecified_society, battle could not be joined, and she had lamely fled by the time I had safely stowed such booty and returned with designs upon her rear. Feeling that the area had the aspect and nature of anisotropic cosmologies and this was likely to be even more so in the future, I made good my departure.
OK so we heard that attacking LARPers as they leave was fun so we decided to stalk around outside. Arrived early and after retreating from some random people on the roof we set up in our position. Around 15 minutes before our targets were due to appear the ghosts of many Sheilas came out to haunt us. After a quick retreat and Laurence Watson's mutilation of Philip Bielby's corpse we returned to our stake out just in time to see a certain bearded man running into the distance. Unfortunately a beard is a very good disguise and we had no bikes so we lost him in the chase.
Yo jive ass sassin' me? Getchu back in Harvey Court sucka! Dig it. M. Donaghy's in the place to give me the pace He said my man Beardy Weirdy is on freebase The boy Beardy Weirdy was a friend of mine Till I caught him in my car trying to steal my Alpine Chased him up the street to call a truce The silly cluck head pulled out a deuce-deuce Little did he know I had a loaded 12 gauge One sucker dead, LA Times first page But he ran away.
It is my understanding that Mr Donnelly approached Miss Flavelle, and tried to bang-kill her with his fingers. When this failed and drew quizzical looks, he took out an unlabelled pen and attempted to stab her with it. At this point Miss Flavelle's friend Alice Band gave her some poisoned lipstick, with which she proceeded to cruelly and cunningly kiss Mr Donnelly (to death).
Last night at a house party an innocent by the name of Crazy Tony managed to relieve me of the knife I had brought to defend myself and proceeded to disembowel himself with it.
In the Earliest hours of saturday just after midnight, a terrible crime was commited. Dirty D, having stalked his target's home for HOURS in the shadows around ($unspecified) College, was returning home when he saw in the distance a gentleman who looked very much like ($censored). Dirty D and his trusted ally (non-existent - Umpire), stopped, stock still in the darkness, away from the moonlight. Dirty D called out, ($CENSORED) and the target turned towards the call. Dirty D called out again and The mark stood Looking at the source of the sound. He confirmed his name to be ($censored) by responding to the calls 'yes, whats up?' Certain were the assassins that they had found their target, that Dirty D rushed forward and stabbed The mark with his knife in a frenzied rage. The target acknowledged death with a sigh, but revealed that his name was actually simon. WAHAT????? the colour drained from Dirty D's face, yet he stood his ground and hammered the hilt home, excaping uninjured from the mellee with his partner in crime, (apparently not).
At approximately 12:30 AM a party of people returning to college from a local pub was a assaulted by a madman armed with a grey stabbing weapon. The assailant mistakenly identified an individual Simon as '($censored)' and gutted the innocent in a display of unrivaled and uncalled for gore.
This morning having decided to have a look in my pigeon hole I discovered unsuprisingly a letter. Very official looking envelope, my address typed and stuck on but alas no stamp. Also early morning post during a postal strike...I think not. Having placed upon myself protective clothing I opened the letter upside down over a bin tipping out its villianous contents, revealed to be flour. Kudos to the assassin, especially for the bizarre letter about the fertilising room, but postal murdering is probably not the most effective method at this visibly non postage time.
Ephraim Smooth has attempted to strike again, but failed. At around 11.20 our bold villain made his way to ******* college and entered the staircase of a target who shall be known only as *. The first difficulty was on finding the staircase door locked, and having to threaten an innocent civilian to gain entry. Still, no blows passed between Ephraim and this innocent. Soon the staircase had been entered. But despite being armed with a cunning plan to gain entry to *'s room, and then kill him, Ephraim was foiled by the fact that the target was out. Cautious enquiry revealed that '* was in the kitchen 10 minutes ago'. 'Damn...' mused our would-be killer, 'I knew I should have cycled here...'
The hits have begun. I wait outside the toilet. I hear a flush. As the door opens... BANG And a banana-bullet shaped hole appears in Calvin's head.
All my BRILLIANT plans will be taken to the grave with me
I was in W H Smith's, buying folders and pens. I saw Michael Conterio, and crept up to him, stabbing him with a multipack of (unlabelled) pens I was about to buy. Oh, the lols. Best assassin in Cambridge, Michael.
This afternoon, at precisely three o' clock, I was disturbed from my afternoon of work by three sharp raps on the door. Cautiously picking up my trusty Radioactive Blade, I took a defensive position behind the door and, craving excitement and distraction from work, I slowly opened it. Immediately I was confronted with a vicious foot-long serpent, and in a desperate struggle, I attempted to dispatch my attacker. However, although I managed to sink my Radioactive Blade into the attacker's right arm, I was bitten directly in the heart by the poisonous Killer Snake at precisely the same moment. In such a way was my arrogance also my downfall.
Mr. X has just spent ages in St. John's trying to find Anyetta White. Upon him succeeding, her repose was prolonged into eternity.
She woke, vaguely aware that something was wrong, and after a moment's blankness remembered, with a slightly surprising equanimity, that she was dead. Not entirely sure of the etiquette for this situation, she rose hesitantly from the bed and, finding herself unimpeded, looked down with a detached curiosity at curled form left between the sheets. Well... so, faces really did look different that way round...
IT WASN'T THE POISON
She looked up and, more with the sense that a nagging question had finally been answered than anything else, beheld the black-robed figure. She tried to speak, and found to her faint surprise that she could.
'Er... no..?'
A skeletal finger made an economical, deliberate movement. She followed the pointing digit to the desk, where a small card had started to curl at the corners among the debris. She skimmed it.
'Oh'
YES
She peered again at the thing on the bed
'I did think poison didn't really... explain...er - what DID happen to - to that?'
DID THE NOTE NOT SAY?
She checked again 'No.'
THEN I AM AFRAID I CANNOT TELL YOU
'That... sucks! Hell, I didn't complain about the poison, did I?'
YOU WERE RATHER ILL
'Well, yes, but still - I opened the letter - and by the way, is it really logical, in your professional opinion, for poison to go 'BANG' when you see it?'
I COULDN'T POSSIBLY TELL YOU
'No, you wouldn't would you - I opened the letter, was - was exploded at and then informed by a nice little note that I'd been poisoned by Lithium - as if my substance confusion wasn't quite great enough after the exploding venom - and lay down to die in peace. How, HOW was it necessary for this - this unknown quantity to creep into my chamber and mutilate my corpse?'
IF YOU'D INFORMED THE RELEVANT AUTHORITIES IT NEEDN'T HAVE HAPPENED
'I was ill! And - DEAD!'
SOME THINGS ARE IMPORTANT
'You can't tell me at all what happened to me?'
I'M SORRY. WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?
'Because - because, well, it's my DEATH. I'd rather like to feel I was in the loop, somehow.'
YOUR ASSASSIN LEFT HIS PHONE NUMBER. OR HERS, POSSIBLY
'Yes, I can... see that...' The spirit of Anyetta White scratched its incorporeal head 'How exactly am I supposed to...'
THAT IS NOT MY AREA
The door creaked open, and an innocent face peered round. Amiya approached the bed.
'Are you -' she stopped, seeing the body '- oh.'
She picked up the note and read it.
'Oh no! I'm sorry, I did try to keep him out. I thought he might be killing you - '
'Then why, in the name of all - ' the spirit realized Amiya couldn't hear it, and subsided, listening.
' - I just thought, I didn't know if you two were really close friends, or something... I'm so sorry...'
The corpse regarded her with a glassy-eyed, faintly sardonic smirk, one eyebrow fixed slightly aslant in death.
'Ohh, I'm really sorry baby... Well, anyway...' she turned and left, looking back sadly from the doorway, 'I hope you feel better...'
'Who?! WHOM?! With - to whom did you think I was perhaps a very close friend?!' screamed the spirit. Death waited until it had finished, then indicated, not by any perceptible movement but with a certain metaphysical insistence, that there was business to attend to. The spirit sighed noiselessly,
'So... where to now?'
THAT TENDS TO DEPEND UPON THE INDIVIDUAL
'Oh.' A short pause 'Am... I in hell?'
I DO NOT BELIEVE SO, NO.
'Oh. OK. Can... can you possibly tell me what is happening outside my window..?'
CAN YOU NOT SEE FOR YOURSELF?
'Yes, but I sort of want confirmation'
Death leaned over and gazed balefully down into the street
IT WOULD APPEAR THAT A SMALL MAN IS PLAYING 'WONDERWALL' ON SOME SORT OF WIND INSTRUMENT. A RECORDER, POSSIBLY, OR SOME SORT OF PENNY WHISTLE
'OK. And I'm not in hell.' The spirit started to fade.
PROBABLY NOT
'Fair enough. Well - ' She was gone
This morning I went on a pleasant walk in the cambridgeshire countryside, to the abode of one Harry Alexander John Onslow accompanied by fellow officer of the law laura leegood. Upon hearing of our intention to kill Harry, his somewhat bemused house mates let us in and even got showed us where he was hiding. At around 12.15pm, using some sort of bird call we got him out of his room, but upon Laura poison-darting him, he retreated back into his hiding place and somewhat unsportingly refused to come out, so we left him a little surprise and went on our way, safe in the knowledge Cambridge is a (somewhat) safer place.
Or so they thought...
Upon hearing shouts of attackers upstairs, I stealthily climbed the stairs clutching the knife concealed in my pocket. A blonde girl was lurking suspiciously, it was very easy to come up behind her and slit her throat. Her partner heard the screams and came out of a room, having laid a trap, and he lost his head too.
At approximately nine-thirty pm, after one or two mood-altering beverages, Alice Band decided that it would be a great idea to stake out her potential target, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden's room (again). Sadly, unlike many of his rank and subject, said target seemed to actually HAVE a life, and an appearence of the above was not forthcoming. However, it was noted that he DID have a rather attractive kettle on his table, as well as a leaky shower in the basement.
ThongBoy decided to ignore my cautions and go on an innocent killing spree. I suspect his 'two glasses of wine' were in part to blame.
This morning I received a suspicious parcel which felt like books and sounded like it contained rice upon shaking it! Peeling back the label revealed the previous addressee of one Carla Carroll from Lancashire. Knowing nobody from Lancs. I was obviously sceptical as to whether this unexpected present was actually a good thing. Upon returning to my room I remembered a pair of rubber gloves I had seen discarded near my toilet (probably from whoever unclogged it a week ago but I had no room to be fussy!) I donned the gloves to protect me from any contact poison and to my utter surprise found a contact poison within the envelope (although it was in a dried rice-like form which means it had probably been rendered inactive long before I found it.) Of course had it of been active the rubber gloves I was wearing would have provided ample protection (although they also provided a strange smell). The books in question were on the subjects of 'The Law Machine' and 'The Liberation and Dispersal of Fungal Spores' neither of which I'm afraid will help me in my studies as an ASNAC student. lols. The books appear to be a gift so if it is the senders wish I will keep them and may read them once they are decontaminated! Otherwise I am more than happy to return them by hand if the sender would be kind enough to provide me with a return address. I have now safely disposed of the poison in a way which will not harm my bedder and am happy to report that what could have been a full-blown pandemic has been contained to a gyp room bin. If my studious friend would like their 1.84 first class royal mail postage back I can also return this to their room.
Having been so impolitely exhumed by Alexander Daniel Walker last night during his killing spree, I decided to get my revenge this morning in my role as defender of the peace. I accuse myself of the killing, in the Dining Room, with the Plastic Sword. Justice has been done.
11:30 - Adam Guterres attempts to assassinate his target Chris Boreham but fails, instead they come to an agreement, they will go to their targets and kill them together. Starting with the darstadly Simon Abernethy 12:30 - Having worked their way to Emmanuel, Simon's hiding post, Chris Boreham knocks on the door, steps in and launches his killer pig at a man sitting at the computer to score a head shot. Unfortunately he is then informed that it was a mere unknown policeman by Simon who steps from behing the door to gun him down with his RBG. Chaos ensues and ends with Adam and Simon shooting one another in the Emmanuel car park
A firefight at night - I flew my kite, but ran a red light. Now all I can do is drink sprite. But that's alright as the match is tonight. :)
Callum Rhodes (Callum Rhodes) had poped round for a gentlemanly game of Star Trek Bridge Commander at around 5.35 having been assassinated the previous day via leaflet. Whilst he was enjoying playing there came a knock on the door...an ominous knock. Throwing caution to the wind i opened the door to be greeted by two gentleman whereupon i was asked the question 'Which one of you is Simon Abernethy'. Pointing to Callum Rhodes I replied incredibly cunningly 'He is' whereupon he has assaaainated once again via a poison pig in the head. Pulling my mighty weapon from my undergarments, a RBG, I shot one of my assailents in the back as he tried to flee yet the other took up a defensive positoon at the bottom of my stairwell. A breif firefight ensued.USING plan B I went back inside my room, jumped out of my window onto the roof of the bar, this by the way is actually allowed in my college, and ran down the stairs so as to surprise my opponent from behind. Concealing myself i awaited my quarry and when he walked past i shot him!!! However i rapidly realised this was actually the guy i'd already shot in the back...the other assailent was behind him. By this poiint i had attained SDG's rbg as well, prised from his cold dead porcine spatter hand, and i used my incredibly cunning to decide a new course of action. I ran away. However i ran into the carpark and slipping on gravel and probably excrement fell causing myself horrific physical, and of course mental, wounds. My assailent ran out whereupon he and myself fired into one each other simultaneously. Thus Horatio T Loins governor of the Sudan had been valiantly slain but had taken his two assailents to the grave with him. The future of the Sudan remains uncertain....
Not Again! (I'm getting sick of dieing)
I recently survived a failed assassination attempt by A. Sassin by a vaseline-coated letter. Could you please inform this assassin he/she will have to try harder than that? :)
A day filled more with anticlimax then anything else (though the biscuits and the conversation in a magical place in Jesus college were not found lacking). The fearsome anarchistpolice slayer known as Betty and myself called all around town for our victims. With much excitement I slew the too trusting Timothy Bazalgette with my trusty revolver. After the thrill of the kill we spent the rest of our day attacking empty rooms where living tagets should have been. Then the event we had been waiting for occured.... That vile criminal, The yellow submarine, appears virtually unarmed infront of us. However before we could draw a breath (or our weapons) she vanished into a library (which for me is a sacred ground), so thwarted in our efforts we retreated back to our distant stronghold.
Sup motherf***s, this is MC REN spittin on yo n***a a*s this the way we do
it, we keepin it real. Me an' my dawg Yella busted into some digs, lookin
to pop caps in some n***a a*s. We chilled all nice around Entreline'
crib from 2:30 - 3:00 but that n***a bein' a ghost on us today, so we split
quick to Ludwig Pang's crib an' broke into that motherf*****'s closet.
Yella ran some cold steel slugs into this bull**** n***a's back, can you
believe it, before he met death he was trying to pull out the illness card,
spittin like he was sick, Yella don't show no mercy, he's one street
mother******, we f***ed him over about 3:30 today.
I draw your attention to the World Punkin' Chunkin' championship rules at http://www.punkinchunkin.com/rules.htm , specifically rule 5 in the Air Gun classes, which states '5. No explosives are allowed! Compressed air only' Mr 'Firework', an official saw you to be violating that rule, and thus removed you from the contest.
You wanna waste my time? Okay. I call my lawyer. He's the best lawyer in Miami. He's such a good lawyer, that by tomorrow morning, you gonna be working in Alaska. So dress warm.
I was swamped with work in my room when suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. Immediately assuming it was one of the engineers or one of my floormates, I carelessly opened my door. I saw the killer (Dixon Bainbridge) with a gun (banana) and a wooden dagger. Before I had time to react, I had been gunned down in cold-blood.
i Encountered a terrible band of assassins * who decided that Dirty D was their intended victim, alas Dirty D was too cunning and made use of his Peephole and saw the assassins waiting. He quickly threw open his window and climbed out, realising too late that it was a good 5m drop down. Instead he thought quickly and readied a poison dart with clever contact poison. he opened his door with caution and ?what? his assassins had retreated. Not fooled by this he made to close his door and his poor innocent neighbour made the mistake of opening his door at the wrong moment!!! "BANG" and an innocent bystander was killed! Dirty D opened his door and threw the dart with great precision at the chest of his assassin (Matt Hickford). It did the job, and the fiend was turning green even before he collapsed onto the floor.
Today I, Matt Hickford, ventured to the depths of John's accommodation to meet my target, Heng Wui Leng, who opened his door too wide, and was dispatched by musa sapiento. While in the vicinity, I decided to rid the world of the menace Denizhan Erkan. Too cautious to open his door, he came out a minute later to investigate. From my hiding place, I struck, but not knowing his looks from facebook, I mistakenly killed his neighbour in the heat of battle. I was subsequently murdered by poisoned dart.
* (Simeon P. Bird B.A. Hons. (Cantab.), Jayaveni Chedumbarum Pillay, David Williams and myself on a police raid? although this was later - Umpire)
Space...it's big. Really big. I, the reincarnated essence of Captain Simian, still had a job to do. Gathering a band of my trusty Space Monkeys, I ventured forth on a quest of vengeance. We navigated the Space-snares of the Newnham entrance, past the ...strangely soothing... alien posters and into a corridor, where the omnipotent alien observer (whose name is too advanced to be spoken or written, but who is exactly as handsome as *you*, Mr. Umpire) absented himself for a few moments. The winds of Fate blow strongly in the spacelanes, so it was almost inevitable that in those short seconds a terrifying twenty-foot high creature composed in equal measure of evil and tentacles leaped out and attempted to devour one of my crew. Even reincarnated, I couldn't let that happen, and shot the creature in its hideous digestive tract. Check. It's a monster thing.
Some girlis lamely trying to get me to open the door. I wouldnt normally mind (Id have her standing out there for hours) but I'm leaving for a formal at st. johns in the next half hour. Just as well I showered early. Is there any way the umpire can intervene so I can actually leave? x
That girl was there by my instigation, and was actually Jayaveni Chedumbarum Pillay. There were also Simeon P. Bird B.A. Hons. (Cantab.), David Williams and myself there... :D
I'd like to share a revelation I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species. I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with their surrounding environment, but you humans do not. You move to another area, and you multiply, and you multiply, until every natural resource is consumed. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You are a plague, and we are the cure.
Ephraim nearly makes a fatal mistake.
Leaving the Hall wherein I had just dined, I spotted a female entering with a water pistol, which she was in the act of concealing within a white plastic bag. Having spotted her firearm, and recalling vaguely that any assassin openly bearing weapons is a legitimate target, I followed her to her table and asked, 'was that a water pistol?' 'Yes,' she replied. I gradually lowered my hand to the knife within my pocket, meanwhile enquiring why she bore such a thing into the dining hall. 'Assassin's Guild,' she replied, as I gripped the hilt of my knife. 'I've just been after a wanted criminal,' ... I desperately tried to recall whether a stabbing in hall would be out of bounds... 'Fulfilling my duty as a police officer.'
18:45 Having been witness to and personally scarred by the Thong incident during freshers week, i sought vengence for said scarring and carried out my duties as a member of the Police Force by gunning down (watergun) Alexander Daniel Walker ...who then told me that he had already been shot twice today. But since he was still on the wanted list at the time i don't think i can reasonably be blamed for further mutilating his corpse. Anyway, ThongBoy has now been thoroughly inhumed, and is no longer in a position to make blasphemous attacks on your immortal personage.
It was 6.30AM, and Alice Band hadn't slept. After a night of deadline crises and chilli and ginger sandwichess, as she looked out of her window into the cold, grey dawn, Alice was feeling wired and ready to kill. Since there was no way she would be getting to sleep anyway with all the starlings that had decided to provide a chorus outside her window, Alice made up her mind to pay Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden a visit, simply because of the ridiculously long name. She made her preparations and mounted her trusty steed, and within moments arrived at her target's abode. WHAT TRICKERY WAS THIS??? The curtains were open, the room empty. Telepathically anticipated? In a safe house? Or in possession of an invisibility cloak??? Alice has yet to decipher the mystery of the missing target.
I was peacefully and blissfully asleep at noon today when I was awoken by the ringing of a phone. I answered to discover that the umpire and his comrade were outside my house and wanted to be let in. I obliged, and then, in revenge for my untimly relase from stupor, shot the pair of them. Neither seemed bother, the umpire being immortal and the comrade being an innocent. I realise I am now wanted, and challange any brave assasin to find me in the Jesus bar at around 9pm tommorow night. My photo will shortly be on my facebook profile. Marcus (The pervert)
We must accept that it is a cruel world. On my exit from a delightful and fascinating morning of lectures, i noticed several young men who i knew could well be after my life, wised up to this fact I decided on a course of action. Luckily they were some way behind me, so i thought a quick exit advisable... Alas, yet another ruffian who I'd missed, saw me making my hasty exit and stole the opportunity to leave me bleeding to death on the floor.
click visited one of his targets today at 14.45. However there was no answer at the door. After 20 minutes of hard lurking there was still no action. Dissapointed he knocked one final time and left to try his luck some other time.
I have some terrible news to confess. My girlfriend was pissing me off a bit so my rage got out of control and I couldn't control my deadly snake. It lashed out and plunged his fangs into her jugular. Also, my pocket knife seemed to have slipped out of my pocket and it accidently landed in her heart. Oops! At the time I was playing with my magnum, and my trigger finger seemed to have slipped and it blew her brains out. I tried to get rid of the evidence so I threw a grenade at her, but it just splattered her remains everywhere. She would have preferred it that way. May her soul R.I.P.
What ho, fine young lady that you are. So terribly sorry about shooting you, terrible business that, but it had to be done. Do hope you aren't at all put out. Anyway, must dash. Toodle-doo!
There I was, working peacefully, when I heard a knock on my door. 'Who is it?' I asked. 'Anna,' replied an obviously male voice. Looking out, I beheld a very suspicious-looking figure. Evidently an assassin. But I was rather bored and wished for the thrill of combat, so I opened my door - taking out my knife first, and leaving a gun within reach. As soon as the door was opened, my assailant lunged at me with a wooden fork labelled 'knife' and shouted 'You're dead!' Somewhat prematurely, as he had only managed to stab my left arm. When I pointed this out to him, he attempted to flee up the stairs - rather foolishly, since the exit was down. A quick stab with my own knife as he turned failed to make contact, so I abandoned it and, now taking my gun in my still-working right hand, gave chase. Soon I was within range for an easy shot. 'Bang!' With his dying breath the assailant fell upon me and pierced my right shoulder. I was now left with no working arms. But I would live to fight another day, which is more than can be said of that dead assassin and wanted criminal Denizhan Erkan.
The King is Dead! Long live The Colonel! Marcus Julian Carne King, too involved in his game of trivial pursuit, was shot in the the back by the dastardly The Colonel.
Alas, I have slipped off this mortal coil. I met my demise this evening, while engaging in a game of trivial pursuit in the bar, I felt the rake of bullets across my back. A canny fresher had decided that my death was in order, and for the third and final time, I die where I live: The bar, pump court, Jesus College.
At approximately 12:02 this afternoon i was viciously stabbed by The Duke of Kent (using a cunningly labelled deodorant stick) while inside a lecture room, which i take it means that i am still alive? I decided to forgive the Duke her mistake and say no more about it, but having had time to consider the matter i've realised that cold-bloodedly stabbing a member of the police is actually quite a naughty thing to do, and probably requires some sort of revenge attack. If any of the senior members of the force wish to mount such an attack it may interest them to know that the Duke has taken to climbing out of her room through the window and descending via the balconies on her staircase to avoid the assassins who are apparently camped outside her door.
Upon entering my room today, there was a letter waiting for me under the door. Curious, and foolish, I opened it. I'm now infected with a particularly virulent strain of Peruvian Rabies. Anyone infected into a lustful psychosis that culminates in testicular cancer. The letter was signed Disclaimer...
Today, I traveled to St. John's to kill Dirty D, only to find him already dead. To vent my frustration, I shot his ravaged corpse and went on to my next target. He was not in and his door was locked, but while my day was vaguely annoying, it was far worse for Mark, an innocent civilian. Being that he was named Mark, that he lived at 60 Jesus Lane, which I mistook for 60 Maid's Causeway, and that he had a distinctly villainous air about him, I did not hesitate to shoot him twice in the chest when he opened his door. A sad fate for a possibly innocent man.
I just killed William P. Wearden, esq. in the Caius college bar tonight at around 7.15 with a knife in the torso!
I am dead. There I was, enjoying a nice pint in Caius bar (after being branded by their no-sales rep behind the bar), when I was stabbed by a black Bic(TM) 'knife'. Bollocks.
I am writing to report my demise. The pain and loneliness of studentdom were too much for me to handle, and so this evening I took my own life with a poisoned Twix. In a brief moment of uncertainty as to the potency of the poison used, I then shot myself with a banana to ensure the job was done.
Alas. Mine is indeed a sorry tale. As I write to you from beyond the grave I am confident that a new, more emotionally stable assassin will rise to the challenge of eliminating my targets. I wish them well.
click killed Francesca (Frankie) Dubery at about 3am this morning with a band gun in a club when she was randomly introduced to him.
Hunter became hunted at 3.30am and Tchaikovsky's night ended with a bang.
This very night, while returning home from a night of merrymaking and alcoholic beverages, a terrible tragedy occurred on the streets of Cambridge. Whilst making her way home in the wet and cold, after rather more 3-for-5 pounds drinks offers than was strictly necessary, Alice heard a cry which sounded suspiciously similar to her own name. Through the pitchy darkness and driving rain, Alice struggled to make out the source of the call. Again came the cry, and again Alice attempted to make out who or what had made the noise, but the effects of the beverages she had consumed earlier in the night prevented her from achieving her goal. A third time the call sounded, much closer this time. Alice, fearing the worst, wheeled around with a knife in her hand and stabbed wildly into the darkness. Too late she realised that she had plunged the blade deep into the heart of her dear friend and ally, The Duke of Kent. Realising her mistake, Alice held her friend as they both sank to the floor and prayed that the wound in the Duke's chest was superficial. Alas it was not so, and the Duke's final breath was exhaled as (s)he lay cradled in Alice's arms. 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!' cried Alice, raising her face to the stormy heavens as grief overcame her. Thus endeth the reign of The Duke of Kent
Early this morning, from my bed I arose, for the intention of making mischief for UnspecifiedName so I swiftly departed my chamber and vacated the building. I advanced upon his UnspecifiedDwelling and here I took a vantage position to enable myself to see at which time the subject would exit into the world. A figure, very similar to photos I had seen, hurried out of the building, looking less than gallant and with his hand plunged into the depths of his coat. I did remain upon his tail until such time as I decided to engage him, so I called out UnspecifiedName and he rotated his body so as to appear to be responding to my call. I administered a Bang kill upon him at which time he decided to inform me that he was not, in fact UnspecifiedName and was uninitiated to the game. In a state of panic, I engaged Jaya (with whom I had a coincidental interaction) with a Bang kill (to remedy my failure with a blank weapon earlier at Sheila) before heading to lectures. Outside UnspecifiedLectures, I found Jack and Liam, who I knew to be assassins, as well as the police members Lizzie (who had been cruelly snatched from my grasp when I had previously made an attempt on her life) and David, as well as a further innocent who was waving a banana (from one of gthe dead assassins) labeled 'syringe'. I then hurried into the warming sanctuary of the lecture theater where I was safe. After lectures, Luke was leaving, while talking to me so as we exited I sprayed him with my water pistol of minidoom, only to be stabbed by UnspecifiedAssassin who had followed me out of the lecture theater. So ended my eventful morning, and my life...
as I was queueing to enter the lecture room, William Brooks asked me if I was an assassin. Being the honest person I am I said 'Yes'. He then pulled out a gun and shot me. He then proceeded to shoot other innocent people before asking whether they were assassins. Very dishonourable.
You can approach, but the danger-light is blinking,
a self-desctruct button is activated when I'm thinking.
This is a tribulation, the weakened judge,
the prophecy was fulfilled cause I never budge.
I took up the tools, crucifixion was the extreme,
they're seeing doubles of me, but it wasn't a dream.
One vision was of life, the other was death,
Then I didn't give a f*** if death took your last breath.
After attending two dull lectures from 10-12 on Wednesday, last damnation was baying for blood. He saw one of his targets (Jack Shotton) ahead of him, and pounced, stabbing him in the back. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that many other (censored subject) were also still alive, and so was squirted in the back with an absolutely pathetic water pistol by William Brooks. However, despite the lack of power, it was around the heart area, and so should result in my death at the hands of this coward. His dismay was soon over, as another assassin came up to us, stabbing William Brooks in the heart with a sword. The result being a large blood pool, with the stench of death permanently entrenched in the (censored location). As told by Last Damnation
Hi everyone, just a reminder I'm still playing, and I've even given you a body to prove it! Anyone fancy coming to visit me? I've been feeling awfully left out with no assassins stood outside my door in the morning.
at 11.45am on this, the 17th day of october in the year of our lord 2007, i was shot in the back as i descended the stairs in keynes hall, by a beardy man with long hair.
I wonder who that could have been... Hmmm... Let me think... Hmmm...
Three times...I was first shot with a bang and a waterpistol by Will Brooks
before maths lectures, I was then stabbed by an unknown assailant after
maths lectures, and have just opened a poison letter sent by Last Damnation
(though the poison had dried, so it probably doesn't count).
Yours from well beyond the grave,
Jack Shotton
There I was, minding my own business in my own room, when two shady characters appeared outside. At first it appeared they might just be lost, so, the gentleman that I am, I asked them 'tally ho chaps, what brings you to my humble abode?' (or at least something along those lines). Much to my dismay, one of them tried to stab me. So I shot him. In the face. His female accomplice, who seemed terribly upset at the death of her vile comrade, then proceeded to fire upon yours truly. As uncourteous as it was, I had little choice but to return fire. No lethal damage was done, and as she had no further quarrel with me, nor I with her, she went on her way, carrying the body of her partner in crime.
I regret to inform you that I can't seem to find time to partake in this game this term (particularly with all the targets from (censored) and (censored)), and therefore pull out. In fact, out of shame at my impending incompetence, I have induced my own death by antagonising a very fluffy gorilla, which proceeded to throw me about the room like a rag doll. I type these words with my last dying breath. UUurrrghhhh. Maybe i'll have more time next term. Sorry.
I am now dead sob sob.
3 incredibly dedicated policemen trekked all the way to the Girton Grange this evening. Having stealthed past them lurking in the ground, I made my way armed with a pathetic Tescos Value dart gun to the 1st floor window above our porch, in an attempt to gun them down. Unfortunately, one climbed up to the window without my knowledge and my face got blasted off.
Once upon a time at the foot of a great mountain, there was a town where the people known as Happyfolk lived. Their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world, obscured as it was by great clouds. Here they played out their peaceful lives, innocent of the litany of excess and violence that was growing in the world below. To live in harmony with the spirit of the mountain called Monkey was enough. Then one day Strangefolk arrived in the town. They came in camouflaged, hidden behind dark glasses, and no one noticed them; they only saw shadows. You see, without the truth of the eyes, the Happyfolk were blind.
In time, the Strangefolk found their way into the higher reaches of the mountain, and it was there that they found the caves of unimaginable sincerity and beauty. By chance, they stumbled upon the place where all good souls come to rest. The Strangefolk, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things, and soon they began to mine the mountain, it's rich seam fueling the chaos of their own world. Meanwhile, down in the town, the Happyfolk slept restlessly, their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls. Every day, people would wake and stare at the mountain. Why was it bringing darkness into their lives? And as the Strangefolk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain, holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of the Monkey. For the first time, the Happyfolk felt fearful for, they knew that soon the Monkey would stir from its deep sleep. Then there came a sound. Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space. There were no screams. There was no time. The mountain called Monkey had spoken. There was only fire. And then, nothing.
Falling out of aeroplanes and hiding out in holes
Waiting for the sunset to come, people going home
Jump out from behind them, and shoot them in the head
Now everybody dancing the dance of the dead
The dance of the dead
The dance of the dead.
I, A mysteriously black cat, did sit outside the door of the infamous Catherine Flavelle this evening. I did scratch and purr at the door, but she did not come and feed me nor stroke me. For this insult to all cats, she must die.
I went to King's College hall in time for the end of the formal dinner. Knowing that all diners were going to wear suits, I dressed formally. I scanned the college bar to find my target, when I saw someone that fit the description: short curly hair and a sharp chin. I sent my accomplice to ask whether his name was (censored), and he admitted that it was. I briskly walked towards my target and stabbed him in the heart. His last words were 'Actually, my name's Pete and I'm not an assassin'. I cut the lying tongue off his dripping carcass. I plan to have it for tomorrow's breakfast, which might be my last.
Being a wizard, some people are willing to believe I have all sorts of powers. I'm sure in some circumstances people would say that my ability to run would is entirely due to my being a wizard, rather than my practicing recently, following a couple of rather close escapes. Some of it's true. I'm a rather good thaumaturge, and with someone's blood or hair I can make a pretty damn effective tracking spell. But when it comes to finding a place, at least a mortal place, I've got something better.
A map.
Using this, I found a path that one of my targets was sure to cross at some point. I was in luck. Someone who resembled the fuzzy surveillance photographs that Murphy had dredged up for me was walking there. I called out the creature's true name, to draw its attention to me, and to check its identity. It turned, and moved as if to draw a weapon on me. I flung out my blasting rod, focussed my will, and called out 'Fuego!'. The fire took it in the chest, leaving a gaping hole, and flinging the body to the ground. I stood there in shock - a creature from the Nevernever like these assassins should have evaporated. I'd mistakenly killed a human, breaking the First Law of Magic - 'Thou Shalt Not Kill'.
This wasn't going to be good.
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