The Assassins' Guild - Week 4 News

The small, suspicious-looking lemon sitting in the corner of the room, which Snow White will undoubtedly notice and eat because she's a moronic fairytale princess and they always eat suspicious-looking foodstuffs because of plot reasons reports:

Today, the Muse is suffering,
Beset and struck by twisting pain.
Today, no glorious bards can sing:
True verse may never rise again.

In agony I lie, alone.
The gruesome horrors that I see
Elicit this, my final groan:
"Read this - then write true Poetry!"

Sir Lord Scott reports:

Dear Umpire,

Dramatically had my guts ripped out by an emma duck with a whole cake committee hiding the true killer.

Bella Venezia reports:

Dear Umpire,

My incompetence deadline called for desperate measures today. Making opportunistic use of welfare cake in our college bar, I arranged for an incompetent assassin Sir Lord Scott to be invited to come downstairs to indulge. However his insight was such that he did not believe the invitation, and remained upstairs!

But assassins do not have much patience. Myself and a small group of willing accomplices carried a small tray of cakes upstairs and distributed them to any nearby occupants. James was lured to his door with the delectable aromas, but still did not emerge fully. I revealed myself from the small group and, with my trusty attack duck letting out an almighty roar (attack ducks roar), delivered a punishing stab/bite to his left arm. This non-fatal injury meant that he was unable to prevent the imminent duck attack to the stomach, with his nerf gun much too far away from his remaining limb.

Let this be a lesson to others of the consequences of cake.

Honourably,
-Bella Venezia

Voltrix reports:

While in my room this afternoon there came a soft knock at my door. I immediately got up to check who it might be by looking through the peep hole. To my dismay I found my view was pitch black, thus I had no idea as to who was there. Wary, I retrieved my nerf gun from the desk and returned to my post at the peep hole. Remaining as quiet as I could, I watched, until finally some light appeared and I was able to see my visitor. Immediately aware I did not know her, I waited, and eventually watched as she retreated around the corner. After a lengthy pause, I cautiously left the safety of my room, sidling round each corner (which must have looked hilariously funny to any onlookers, though thankfully there were none) as I searched for my visitor. I found her by the exit, casually waiting. After a short exchange of words involving 'Hey, did you just knock on my door?' answered by, 'Possibly, are you [name]?' the following moments were a blur. Just as I confirmed that I was said person, she lunged towards me to stab me, but the bullet from my nerf gun got to her first. She died swiftly.

Riptide reports:

A dead man's poem
Called pointless when last we spoke.
Always worth a shot.

(Pun intended)

Generic Dwarf Horde Member A reports:

The Generic Dwarf Horde were out in force today; a force of 2 that is. My most enthusiastic of dwarven minions, Generic Dwarf Horde Member D, and I set of on our own mini re'bash, hunting incos in a particular area. We started with [redacted], who proved to be disappointingly absent, so we left an apology not for missing them, and left.

Next up was [redacted], whose building we couldn't get into, since there was a weird buzzer system that we didn't want to play with extensively for fear of getting the room of a fellow who lived in the building, so we scarpered.

Then we went to the nearby residence of [refracted], and were lurking outside his building trying to decide how to get in when someone who looked vaguely like him came through the door on his way out. I made up some gibberish about trying to get to [far away place] and being lost. He (unsurprisingly) told us it was bloody miles away, and took us back to [the college in question], so we were faced with the long, awkward walk up the long road with this man who may or may not have been our target and had just found us lurking in his garden. Something he said made me doubt he was the target, so I let him go when we came to part ways.

Last on our hit list was Bui Hoang Van, who opened his door when I knocked, D hiding off to the side. Only his head appeared round the door, so I decided to try shooting it off, missing by a tiny margin. He promptly shut the door again, grumbling about how close it had been. I stacked up on the opposite side of the door to D contemplating my next move when the door flew open again and he tried to "BANG" kill the space where I had been shortly before with a ruler gun, swiftly closing the door afterwards, resolving to bunker down until we left. This aggrieved me, since the bullet I had deposited in his room had been borrowed from another dwarf. After attempting to loudly leave myself, leaving D (whom he still hadn't seen or heard) on his door. When that failed to get him to come out, I decided that my death would be the best method of doing so, so went back to his door resplendent with its spyhole and brandished my now empty hands at it asking him to let me in to get my bullet back. I was careful to avoid any mention of truces, relying instead on my unarmed state to get him to open up. Any worries I had about killing him in such conditions evaporated when he tried to "BANG" kill me again as soon as he opened the door. I berated him for not having read the rules on "BANG" kills, and went to get my bullet. When he opened the door again to let me out, D shot him.

Generic Dwarf Horde Member D reports:

Myself and Generic Dwarf Horde Member A decided the list of incompetents was too long and so set out on a mission to correct that. We first went after [triple redacted] and each time we found our target away. Then, we struck gold as we went to the room of Bui Hoang Van. He answered my fellow horde member's polite knock whilst I hid, ready to ambush, and a few shots were exchanged. A waiting game ensued as we attempted to persuade him to open his door. When he emerged and tried to shoot again, I shot him in the chest.
The mission was successful.

Stealth Prawn reports:

Hunting, with sword and gun drawn,
Relying on brains over brawn.
A knock on the door;
Then body hits floor.
Take heed, lest you fall to Stealth Prawn.

O_O reports:

I killed Xiaoya Xun this morning at 8:30 using a knife. She was my target.

These are the researches of Herodotus of Halicarnassus, which he publishes, in the hope of thereby preserving from decay the remembrance of what men have done, and of preventing the great and wonderful actions of the Greeks and the Barbarians from losing their due meed of glory; and withal to put on record what were their grounds of feuds. According to the Persians best informed in history, the Phoenicians began to quarrel. This people, who had formerly dwelt on the shores of the Erythraean Sea, having migrated to the Mediterranean and settled in the parts which they now inhabit, began at once, they say, to adventure on long voyages, freighting their vessels with the wares of Egypt and Assyria. They landed at many places on the coast, and among the rest at Argos, which was then preeminent above all the states included now under the common name of Hellas. Here they exposed their merchandise, and traded with the natives for five or six days; at the end of which time, when almost everything was sold, there came down to the beach a number of women, and among them the daughter of the king, who was, they say, agreeing in this with the Greeks, Io, the child of Inachus. The women were standing by the stern of the ship intent upon their purchases, when the Phoenicians, with a general shout, rushed upon them. The greater part made their escape, but some were seized and carried off. Io herself was among the captives. The Phoenicians put the women on board their vessel, and set sail for Egypt. Thus did Io pass into Egypt, according to the Persian story, which differs widely from the Phoenician: and thus commenced, according to their authors, the series of outrages. reports:

Hannah Close was the most recent incompetent on the list.

After visiting her building, which had quite solid security, I was worried that she might be Closeted away behind Closed doors. I thought I might have (C)lost my chance. Fortunately, I spotted her returning to said building after the Close of her lectures.

The trouble with shiny modern buildings is that they have reflecty bits all over them. Fortunately, this inco's attention was elsewhere, and she did not spot my reflection in the glass doors as I advanced Closer and Closer behind her. A nerf bullet to the back of the neck finished her off.

A very clean kill, but you could say things were a bit...

...Close.

Snow White reports:

A girl there was, within the woods,
Snow White by name, with skin to match.
Today she hurries - things to do!
Lives to take, and souls to snatch.

A one there was, whose name was struck,
From pages of the books of life.
Snow White, she hastened, to ancient tree,
And at its roots, there fell the knife.

Another taken, another lost.
A soul snuffed out by Snow White's light.
The sky, it boils, and thunder rolls;
At rituals as black as night.

Dopey reports:

Having realised that I shared lectures with a James Brett, it then took me 2 weeks to actually spot him in the lecture hall, living up to the name Dopey

Herald of Storms reports:

It was a Dark and Stormy night. Rain came down in sheets over the road, glistening white and orange in the street lights and headlamps of the cars that kicked up waves of spray.

I hurried on through the wind and weather, across roads and up hills, past traffic and works, plodding further and further from any semblance of civilisation.

Eventually, it loomed out of the distance towards me. A dark forest, menacing and towering above me. The leaves crunched wetly under my feet as I trudged through the muddy expanse under the trees.

A light! A fairytale cottage, or perhaps a college, or possibly both. I slipped inside the front door and wrung out my sodden clothes. Glances my way were met with a shrug and a shiver, and turned into sympathetic nods.

He thought he was safe, wrapped up in his own world of music and computer games. He thought the storm raging outside would protect him. He thought nobody would possibly trek out to [impossibly far away] on a night like this.

He left his door open.

I am the Herald of Storms, and I know no mercy for fools or incompetents. May the road rise to meet Alex Rossiter on his journey into the next life.

The surprisingly psychotic and highly lethal back-packing madman reports:

THEY THOUGHT THEIR FORTRESS WAS INVINCIBLE - THEY WERE WRONG. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ok, report now, ahem...

1310: Decide it is time for another of my expeditions, this time to a fabled stronghold beyond the outer rim

1315: Realise that I actually have to cycle through regular traffic to get this one. Take the plunge and press on.

1325: Arrive at back entrance of [redacted]. Am unable to find a way in. [Censored]

1340: Find a way in. Completely confused by all the staircases. Spend around twenty minutes searching [double censored]

1400: Spy the targets room with an unfamiliar name on the door [triple censored]. Was this trip all to be for nothing

1401: Check the incompetence list. Oh wait, you had the wrong room number. You fool. Proceeds to correct room

1405: Finally something about this trip went correctly. Targets door was wide open and I ended her existence with my trusty pistol.

Judas reports:

Twas the week before open season when all through the room
not a creature was stirring, not even our doom
the firearms were hung on the walls with care
in the hope unwary assassins soon would be there

My room-mate was nestled all snug in his bed
while sanguineous dreams passed through his head
And the muse in her 'kerchief and I with my boot
Were just tooling up for a quick winter shoot

When on the threshold there landed a letter
and I read the contents to understand better,
correspondence from our ruler it seemed,
"find the man, and kill him" it screamed,

The other occupant was fortunate to be spared,
dismemberment from my attack bears,
as instead I broke our allegiance for fun,
by shooting him in the chest with his own gun!

MegaSmash reports:

This morning I once again went out looking for Matt Almond having made an attempt the previous evening. Upon finding again that he was not in his room, I began gathering my things to leave. At that moment, who should enter the building but Matt himself! Though not particularly good at thinking on my feet I made a point of introducing myself and talking some nonsense about my course and needing volunteers. Not sure he completely bought it but it was enough, and I shot him in the chest before he could respond.

Bambi reports:

I'd spend such a long time running and hiding in the Forest with my friends! But the hunters finally caught up to me...

all the lads reports:

Today, we were wandering sleepily around [REDACTED] in the hope of [BANTER], preferably with the accompaniment of [HANGOVER CURE].

We wandered into the bar, obviously, because [LADS LADS LADS WHEEEEY]. There, we were delighted to encounter our target Paul Vallis. He had his headphones in, and was doing some work - absolutely no awareness of [BANTER] or his own impending doom.

Having concluded that our own [MASSIVE HANGOVER] was beyond any help, we realised that we could make Paul Vallis feel similar pain by stabbing him in the upper back with a ruler labelled knife.

So we did precisely that.

Because LADS.

Peppercorn reports:

I managed to locate the accommodation faster than I had anticipated. Infiltrating it was similar to the last attempt: managing to slip past when someone else went in undetected. Here I was faced with a long corridor and a door with all the rooms numbers attached to their corresponding buzzer. I pressed the buzzer and waited...

"Hello?" said the speaker, "Hello...?". I was quite silent; did he suspect? The buzzer tone switched off. I breathed again when I saw a target-like shadow passing the window. I took my rubberband gun from out of my coat and held it behind my back. As he opened the door, I said his name to the sky. He replied, and realized his mistake. I span round but too late, he was legging it. Firing two shots in the space where he had been I chased him into the residence. I fired too shots at him as he legged it past the rooms. With no rooms to dive into, they both hit him in the back. Slightly messy but swift none-the-less...

Postmodernist reports:

"Waiting" can only be understood as a phenomenon of the being-towards-death. But is the "waiting-in-the-game" analogically equivalent to the "waiting" - even in its inauthentic sense, with respect to the playing-towards-death? That is indeed a problem which must be carefully pondered. How would an authentic waiting-in-the-game relate itself to the playing-towards-death? Is it independent from it, in that the waiting-in-the-game is nothing else than a specific form of waiting? Or, to the contrary, is it a positive determination of the playing-there in its proper playing-towards-death?
The playing-there who has thoroughly opened-themselves there, that is, in the "playing world", constantly recreated by the very "playing there" in a specific interrelation of a world opened in the game (in the same essence as in Foucalt's Microphysics of Power). The playing as intended in its authentic meaning is playing-towards-death. And this is nothing but the continuous (re)opening of the There of the playing-there in its playing-world. The waiting of those who play-towards-death is richer than the most exciting adventure of those who play inauthentically; those who play-towards-death experiences a crucially different waiting than the "waiting" as commonly interpreted. Apparently, though, I have not yet reached this crucial level of consciousness, since waiting three hours at [a location] hoping that my nemesis would show up before/during/after lectures failed miserably. Not only she wasn't there, but their coffee was quite disgusting too.

Blood Red reports:

I regrettably must inform you of my demise.

After a show in which a variety of people die in creative ways, I thought myself invincible. I returned home, and slipped out to find post-show supplies.

On the cusp of midnight, supplies in hand, I re-enter my home.

FROM OUT OF THE DARKNESS OF MY OWN ROOM SPRINGS A GENTLEMAN WITH A LARGE INFLATABLE HAMMER!

I could do naught in my own defence but shriek like a banshee and concede that it was a stupendously good death. Once my blood pressure returned to normal he asked me, as a true gentleman, if he could shoot me (as he did not want the kill to be null - we were uncertain whether a hammer would count as a cosh). We spoke for a short while, and he departed.

And so, with minimal dignity and a McDonalds to eat away the pain, I leave this world.

Farewell.

Week 5 depression reports:

As the weeks dragged on in the old stone town,
A misty and sorrowful cloud came down.

It came seeping along through unlocked doors
Though neither locks nor bars would stay its course.

The play was over and the credits had rolled,
But the story had not quite yet been told;

The leading actress, shedding her armour,
Returned to somewhere nothing could harm her.

But the room wasn't sealed, some fog got in,
And was lying in wait for some ambushin'.

She was left on the floor with skull caved in,
bullet through the chest, deeply buried in.

Though the wounds with which she was afflicted
Really couldn't have been self inflicted,

T'was simpler to just ignore it and choose
To say she'd been caught by the week 5 blues.

Shakespeare reports:

[Enter Shakespeare.]

[Shakespeare:]
"Behold, O viewers; fair Snow White, well met,
And look you now where we do lay our scene:
In Cambridge old - lest any should forget -
Where scholars all parade with learn�¨d mien.
But, though a scholar, I learn nought this morn:
Today, as killer cruel I'll ply my trade -
Now, careful! Soft and silent - if you warn
My target, then as corpse I will be laid
In earth so cold. Mikaela is a friend,
But friends are nothing when Assassins play.
For soon, her life will draw swift to its end:
If fair is foul, then foul must fair betray.

[Enter Mikaela.]

[Mikaela:] "O bard-assassin! Friend, what brings you here?
I see you standing, visible and clear!"
Shakespeare: "Mikaela, I arrive in friendship true:
Think not of death! How go affairs with you?"
[Mikaela:] "Nay, promise it: I fear that you may dare
Inflict my death!" [Shakespeare:] "I'll harm not any hair
Upon your head. I come in search of verse,
Not bloodshed cruel - O, nothing could be worse!"
[Mikaela:] "Thanks then, good friend. I'm glad that I can know
Of your good faith. To lectures now I'll go.

[Mikaela turns away. Shakespeare stabs her.]

[Shakespeare:] "Ha! Allies, friendships, pledges, even life
Will broken be, when I do wield my knife!"

[Mikaela:] "Betrayal, O! Deceit! O coward true!
How I regret the day I trusted you!" [dies]

Postmodernist reports:

"Efficency" is a concept that I find estranged from me. I am not "efficient" in my playing in any reasonable interpretation. But what does "efficiency" truly mean in its essence? It is a word from the latin efficientia, which is in turn the substantivation of the verb efficio, whose etimology can be tracked down to e-facio. Here the mistery becomes deeper. How can "efficiency" derive from "e-facio"? What does that "e" particle stand for in the interrelated totality of meaning that it induces? "Facio" is "to do". But how does "e" qualify "facio" to yield "efficio"? Is it purely intensive? Or in turn does it signify a "distance" or an "origin" as the "e"/"ex" preposition? But can "far" be intended as a pure distance in space? Or is it the distance of the playing-there with regards to its world? How could it mean "origin" in the former? How can it qualify an action if such? This sheds light on the proper meaning of "efficiency". "Efficient" is that whose actions-in-the-world are indeed actions that reach their scope, but they do as if they weren't actions in the world, since they spark from the deepest "origin", the farthest distance possible. It is clear enough: authentically "efficient" is the player-towards-death. Surely though, I tried again to get my target this morning, outside their accomodation. Am I blind, or did they really not show up again? I don't know, but here I rest, with the excitement of taking a life only a far memory.

( ͡° Í?Ê? ͡°) reports:

I have lots of work FeelsBadMan. I was incompetent but I was just prioritising my work bro. My bro was also incompetent. He's even busier than I am lol. I'm not a nice person, so I stabbed my friend in the back. Well - not literally. I stabbed him in the chest but figuratively I stabbed him in the back. RIP in peace my friend. Swartz-kun is kill.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1qXQRpF08E

I then went to my supervision. Like a boss.

The Rychlik reports:

And I'm back! Long time no see, but psychofresher extraordinaire Rychlik is back. Today was an attempt at culling some competition, hunting down previous final duelists of the past years.

In a previous life I had been stymied by my poor choices outside of Salman Iftikhar's room, so he knew my appearance and motives, but this time I came with the right mindset. His cough alerted me to his presence and then as soon as he stepped out from his door he was shot dead from point blank range. Apologising to the corpse I left to another college.

Here lived a dangerous woman, one who worked and slept with a water pistol by her door at all times. I had no chance of survival unless I had the element of surprise, so I lay in wait; but when I gave up and left, I passed her at the building exit. My weapons were foolishly stowed away so I had no choice but to leave, still looking suspicious enough to alert her. I returned five minutes later and waited by an open window outside hers, seeing when she would leave again. When she did, I caught and shot her, only to find a corpse that wished for revenge for a betrayal earlier that day.

Only one thing left to say: Rah Rah First and Third.

Doc reports:

I shot Katherine Darwent with her own gun.

Baloo reports:

Dearest umpire, with Zeus coming out of his box, I've turned my back on my poor and now dead friend, Kuba, and shot him point blank in the head with a nerf gun. I'll miss him sort of.

Short Lived reports:

I'm afraid I am dead. Killed at about 11.30pm by Bella Venezia, during a failed attempt to end his life. Having snuck as far as his inner sanctum (with relative finesse / luck), I brashly gave away my presence. A stand-off ensued for probably the tense-est half hour of my life thus far ('is my heartbeat actually loud enough for him to hear..? how long can I stay standing exactly like this....?'), until finally devolving into a fire-fight.. and then he was behind a door, and faster to open and shoot than I expected - and a better shot; a single bullet, straight to the middle of the forehead! - and I am dead.

Bella Venezia reports:

Gallantry never pays in the art of assassination.

This evening I was enjoying a pleasant film on the ground floor of my house. I retired upstairs, locking my door behind me with usual caution. A mere minute later, I hear a dull thump on the locked door, which stays shut - I had escaped assassination by seconds only. Knowing my recent lapse into the incompetence list, I knew someone had come for me.

My abode is in a strategic position, for reasons I shan't detail for my own safety. Suffice it to say, I was able to visualise my assassin's feet as he stalked me for up to half an hour, while staying invisible myself. My first attempt was to provoke him into entering a trap - I set up a dummy, and opened the door as if to leave, hoping he would enter, face the dummy, and my animal would gorge him from behind. However, he did not fall prey to this trap. My attack duck shall stay hungry for assassin flesh tonight.

An additional strategic move occurred to me. After my assassin lost persistence, I was able to face my assassin through a glass pane, with complete safety. At this stalemate our hearts baulked, as no worthy assassins should be so close to their respective targets yet unable to act. My gallant opponent made a concession - we shall pass over our weaponry, and duel as equals. However, his calculation did not take into account my strategic advantage. After several attempts, a splitting headshot from his own nerf gun pierced my worthy opponent's cranium, and he slid to the floor. A death on the stairs, well fitting such a brave warrior.

To the victor the spoils - as agreed, I have reconvened his weapons and, through me, his fighting spirit will continue until the dire end.