Cloak & Dagger The Assassins' Guild - Week 5 News


Saturday, 14 November


[12:00 PM] 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 takes a moment to discuss Postmodernist's linguistics.

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:

The clock has struck the hour of twelve
And here I sit, in awe:
Postmodernist - you fool! To delve
In mysteries of yore!

By Latin word "efficio"
You find yourself confused -
So why not ask the one who'll know?
This language I have used

For time eternal, year on year.
Now, any child can say:
When syntax in the past you hear,
It's lexicon today.

(Though sometimes it's morphology.)
And so, I do expect
This strange, prothetic vowel "e"
Is fossilised aspect.


[12:00 PM] Laufi kills Andres Gonzalez (V).

[16:15 PM] The surprisingly psychotic and highly lethal back-packing madman kills Paul (Tom James), but only after killing a lookalike, and goes Wanted!

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

Rather too psychotic a trip, even by my standards, but my hatred for incompetents is such that it was worth spilling the blood of an innocent in order to cleanse the land of this villany...


[18:32 PM] Brutus and Gunilla Goodmountain go on several attempts throughout the day.

Brutus reports:

Brutus and police-woman went for nice walkies round big-human-place. Brutus like town. Brutus has many smells to smell. Brutus trots at mistress's heel. Police-lady pack leader. No-one higher than police-lady. Other two-legs get out of the way of police-lady. Brutus happy. Good respect. It is dark now, slightly wet. Rain spots on Brutus' fur. Brutus happy to be with nice police-lady. Police-lady walks past big-place-where-police-lady-has-been-before, before turning into new-place-new-smells. Place has many humans, many smells. Brutus sniffs air. Can smell incense-smell. Police-lady looks lost. Wander round edges in darkness. Brutus happy to be smelling new place.

New places are Brutus' favourite thing!

Police-lady stops at door. Tries door. Is locked. Police-woman looks resigned. Police-mistress stops and pets Brutus. Brutus happy with being petted. Brutus crinks neck. Brutus likes petting. Brutus and police-lady stand for long time. Two-legs walk past Brutus. Brutus ignores. Brutus is in happy-world. Brutus loves being petted. New human comes, walks past police-lady without saying word. Police-lady watches go in, then grabs door before closes. Brutus wanders in behind her into bright-lit-new-place. Brutus and police-woman go up stairs.

Stairs are Brutus' favourite thing!

Brutus and police-lady stop outside door. Two humans inside, both talking. Police-mistress knocks on door. Brutus growls quietly. Mistress has Brutus' collar. Brutus growls more. Police-lady knocks again. Rustling from inside. Female-human comes out of door behind! Brutus turns, snarling. Female-human makes mouth-noises. Mistress does not give command-word. Brutus leaves female-human alone. Female-human smells scared. As it should be. The door with the bad-food-people inside opens slightly. Male-human makes mouth-noises. Mistress does not give attack-word. Brutus saddened. Brutus trusts mistress.

Mistress is Brutus' favourite thing!

Door opens more. Man in far-side is behind chairs. Brutus wants to eat bad-man. Mistress says nothing. Bad-man has loud-nasty-stick. Police-mistress makes noises to people in room. Then jumps behind Brutus. Brutus' hackles rise. Brutus wants to kill. Mistress gives retreat-word. Brutus and mistress run down stairs and out into cold-dark-outside. Mistress and Brutus leave new-place. Brutus sad. Brutus wants blood.

Blood is Brutus' favourite thing!

Mistress praises Brutus. Brutus is good dog! Brutus knows this. Brutus is best, mistress's favourite dog! Second-in-pack! Brutus trots proudly along. Police-mistress comes to other-place. Brutus likes this other-place. Brutus is happy. Mistress knocks on other-door. Human behind other door comes towards door. Brutus barks warning-bark. Mistress and Brutus jump back from door as door opens wide-fast! Man with shooty-stick fires! Brutus dodges. Door shuts again. Shooty-man makes more mouth noises. Brutus bored of mouth-noises. Police-lady makes noises. Brutus likes mouth-noises.

Mouth-noises are Brutus' favourite thing!

Door opens again. Brutus growls at man, but mistress sharply tells Brutus to go down. Brutus goes down. Man retrieves shooty-bullet. Makes noises to mistress. Mistress laughs. Man gives mistress food! Food for Brutus? Brutus dribbles. Man shuts door. Mistress and Brutus leave. Brutus happy dog. Food for pack. All is good.

Food is Brutus' favourite thing!

Gunilla Goodmountain reports:

(Gunilla):
Listen my friends
I have done as I should
I snuck into their college
I entered their building
I will tell what I can.

Better be warned they had weapons to spare
and the danger is real
We will need all our cunning
to bring them to justice

(Umpire):
Have faith
If you know what their movements are we'll spoil their game
there are ways that our police can fight
we shall overcome their power!

[Putting lines in my mouth, now? :P]

(Gunilla):
I have seen their barricade
there will be no attack tonight
we shall return again tomorrow
and then start a proper fight
concentrate our weapons
bring them all to rights.

(Bath Brawler):
Fire!
Good evening, dear policewoman
Lovely evening, my dear.
I know this woman, my friends
Her name's Gunilla Goodmountain
So don't believe if she knocks on your door
It's easily seen through.
This only goes to show
What crazy-prepared people can do!

And prepared people know
When prepared people fight
We may look like incompetents
But we've got some bite
So never knock on a door
Assuming it'll be safe
We'll open it and shoot at you
And we won't give up
So you'd better run for cover
When the door opens up!


[18:55 PM] Everyone loves a good ambush. Herald of Storms wipes out Scarlet (Daniel Chiverton)!

Herald of Storms reports:

Thunder rumbled overhead. I shivered, trembling in fear, anticipation, and cold; above me the sky just visible through the thick canopy was streaked with flashes of lightning. Zeus was angry today.

But I didn't care much about divine retribution or the storm's anger, for my own sights were set on a far smaller and more achievable prize.

The one who I had been waiting for rounded the corner. I stood stock still in the darkness of the bushes just off the path. My intelligence on him was good, and there he was. Right on schedule.

He strolled along, unknowing. I readied my weapon, and then sprang at him from nothingness with Zeus's thunder as my battle cry.

I am the Herald of Storms, and I have NO MERCY for fools or incompetents.

...Not even for those I might otherwise call friends of mine. I am sorry. May the wind be always at your back, Scarlet, on your journey into the next life.

Scarlet reports:

It is with mixed feelings that I report my death at around five to seven this evening. I say mixed feeling because despite my obvious disappointment I'm entirely convinced that someone prepared to sit in a hedge for half an hour uncertain whether I was going to show up [to a society meeting] (as I almost decided not to) deserves a place in the game far more than me.

Sunday, 15 November


[10:08 AM] ZEUS O'CLOCK.

Snow White reports:

Time to wake a sleeping god.

*poke*

*poke*

*po-* Oh, and he's awake! And angry! And his anger shines upon Mahatma Gandhi (Armand de Durfort), Lyra (Iulia M. Comsa), Klor (Jason Tobias Deacon), Dr Reid (Juliette Wise), Teduardo (Robert Carroll), Maximum Cucumber (Sam Twist) and H-O-H (Yuan Zhang)! Thunderbolts for all of you!

It seems he's gone back to sleep now. But it's definitely a lighter slumber than before.


[11:25 AM] Betrayal, again, by Judas, again, this time of ihavenoimagination (Kieran Gilday).

Judas reports:

My alliance with incompetents actually proved useful this time - as it enabled me to redeem myself from being an object of hatred throughout the realm of the assassins. I mean, me a criminal, shocking right? I spied Kieran eating a delicious looking brunch and rushed at him to deliver several fatal knife thrusts...


[13:15 PM] A rebuttal and a kill from Postmodernist, the latter of Double Dual (Sebastian Zimmer).

Postmodernist reports:

I feel compelled to address a few questions raised on one of my earlier works by an Unknown classicist. They dismissed my analysis of the efficiency-in-the-game by pointing out that my etymological reconstruction was flawed. But what is a "flaw" in the context of an hermeneutic of the being? The classicist surely has thoroughly read Plato, and Derrida's deconstruction of the metaphysics of the presence. A "flaw" is the non-conformity to the orthopractical sense of the ens (Seiendes). Plato's identification of the orthopractical with the true does not account for the original opening of the truth as dis-velation (aletheia). An orthopractical argument is "correct" by definition, but it is completely "false" in the context of the effectivity of life (Faktizitat). There is no "care" in purely "knowing" something. Interpretation is not "knowing" the present-at-hand possibility of the past, but active appropriation of the past that creates an effective meaning of those possibilities.
But let's arrive at today's problem: how can you talk someone into accepting "death"? Death is the ultimate possibility the de-fines all the other possibilities of the being. How can someone accept their absolute, definite end? This is not a very difficult question: there is no representation of death in the subconscious (Freud). In modern Lacanian terms, this would signify that the player-towards-death is effectively already dead, and that the inauthentic player only comprehends death as a thing-in-between-the-others.
After a long variable-length session, Sebastian Zimmer accepted that his time had come, and I stabbed him in his back. (I hope that the Psychoanalysis Association doesn't suspend my license!).


[19:20 PM] Some regrets for The Rychlik, as friend Red Rum (Stanislav Fort) is struck down.

The Rychlik reports:

It is with some sadness that I have to report the death of a fellow assassin. We shared murders on this year's incobash, killing many together, yet since then he has lapsed and fallen into the realms of incompetence. Today I decided to go in for dinner at our hall and stay there, waiting for him to arrive and chatting with friends. He arrived and I struck, stabbing him square in the back; he seemed unaware of his recent incompetent status and so had suspected nothing. An easy target and a betrayal, but now I have equalled my first Michaelmas' performance. I've just started.

To row is to live, and Stan had stopped rowing.

Monday, 16 November


[11:00 AM] Darkstar (Nakul Khanna) is attacked by two assassins, 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 AKA gang5ta dw4rf y0 AKA 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. AKA all the lads AKA Shakespeare (Alexander Hardwick) getting the kill, but MegaSmash getting him!

Darkstar reports:

I knew the knife was coming before it entered my back. This world has no pity for a frail man such as I, and incompetence is punished without mercy. I overestimated my abilities, but I will learn from my mistakes, and I shall return.

MegaSmash reports:

Having been sitting for the past two hours in a particular lecture theatre where I hoped my target, Nakul Khanna would be this morning, I got up to leave the hall and spotted him on the other side. I quickly followed him as he left the lecture theatre (which was a struggle as he moves really fast...). However, as I left the lecture theatre I noticed another person on the phone just outside, who also began to follow Nakul. Suspicious I fell back slightly and watched as Alexander Hardwick crept up behind Nakul and stabbed him in the back. I promptly shot Alex in the back for bearing.

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:

I died. But more importantly, please inform Postmodernist that a broad bibliography does not in itself make an essay good. Degree class conferred: 3rd.


[12:06 PM] nanospeed takes down globalnomad (Katherine Gibson) outside her lectures.

nanospeed reports:

I waited outside the lecture theatre today for my target to arrive. Having spoken to a friend who kindly pointed her out, I quickly shot Katherine Gibson in the back as she walked up the stairs to the lecture hall, before retreating back to college.


[13:20 PM] The Gentleman continues to struggle with a zombie infestation, murdering Katherine Gibson's corpse.

The Gentleman reports:

Dear The Viscount Umpire,

It is with a heavy heart that I must announce that the continued meddlings by certain princesses with forces beyond human ken has led to a furtherance of the undead plague. [Oops.] We can no longer feel safe in our rooms, behind solid oak portals and high walls, for this insidious menance grows as the days die, and even the best and most worthy of us must eventually fall to the unholy horde.

I have come about the knowledge with which I make this report very recently. I have hardly dared venture from my room of late, save for essential supplies of bread and cheese from the merchant Sainsbury, for my heart lies chill within me whenever I depart. No matter how light the day may seem outside, those that are dead mock the sunlight and walk among us even when the sun rises to its apex. But the Guild called, and for the Assassins I will do whatever I can, no matter the peril. Although, as my post-modern friend speculates (inasmuch as I understand his multifarious discombobulations), what is the purpose of slaying if the recipients of justice are immediately recalled to life?

Nevertheless, there I stood at the appointed hour at the top of a lightless staircase, contemplating life. My mark was due to end her lecture on the curious biochemistry which is required for the body to exist at the first hour of the afternoon- or perhaps a quarter past that hour, my conk's knowledge of her timetable was unclear on that point. I arrived early, ensured that I could not be easily sighted from the entrance-way, and prepared myself to take a life. Minutes passed. My hearing became acute. Was that the rumble of traffic outside- or rather forces of an eldritch nature? Was the coughing of the individual neighbouring my mark merely an innocuous cold- or rather the beginnings of pneumonia, which would cause her to die, then rise and rend the flesh of every person on her staircase? In my chest, my heart sped up, and slowed down. Then, at approximately the anticipated time for the latter scenario, footsteps announced that someone was ascending the stairs. I clutched my pen-knife in my hand, and raced down to meet her, looking for all the world as though I was but an innocent visitor, and not a vehicle of vengeance for her violation of ventures.

We met on the stairs. I looked her in the eye. Nothing seemed untoward. As we passed, I plunged my pen into her clavicle. We broke apart, I hoped that I had struck a mortal blow. Then the stench of death hit me. The trail of blood behind her became apparent. I looked up, trembling, to see that she had a gaping hole in her chest. A hissing noise came from her throat. "I am... already dead! I... was shot as I came out of my lecuuurreee." A rictus grin was on her face, the first of ATP exhaustion leading to lack of myosin-based contraction in her facial area. I waited to hear no more. I ran. And did not cease my flight until I returned to the safety of my room. Such as it is.

Umpire, I beg of you now. Do not bring God's judgement on our heads by defying his monopoly on the souls of the dead. Cease your worship of the false god who you call 'Zeus', for he is but the Devil by another name. If you do not do this, I fear that within but a scanty few weeks, we shall all lie dead, and nothing but our dessicated corpses shall brighten Cambridge's wonderful streets for all time. [I'm just saying, if within a scanty few weeks you don't all lie dead, barring one, I've failed my job.]

I remain,
Fearful for my life,

The Gentleman


[19:20 PM] Despite their valiant defense recently, The Terribly Imaginatively Named Dwarfy McDwarf (Zhixian Duan) falls to The Rychlik.

The Rychlik reports:

Today I heard rumours of my most dangerous target's death - whether these were exaggerated or not, it felt like a good time to bring down the others.

This man was hard to investigate, but after intense stalking his name and appearance was discovered. After getting into his staircase (my old room's lock never needed a key, only a stiff card, so no problem), I lay in wait for him to return from dinner. When he did, he came with friends, and was mercilessly shot in front of their eyes. Though the neighbour was known to be incompetent, I knew not who the neighbour was, so stayed my hand lest an innocent be killed. The corpse and I talked some then I left for the realms of Catan.

Tuesday, 17 November


[20:15 PM] Doc (Twm Stone) gets killed in suspicious dealings by Snow White, Donked (James Brotherston) also killed.

Doc reports:

I burst into James Brotherston's room, not at all attempting to shoot the umpire. Unfortunately my gun jammed and Snow White felt the need to shoot me for bearing. He then summarily executed James for treason.

Snow White reports:

Paranoid over rumours of a police war starting, and aware that my death might be a suitable catalyst, I armed myself when visiting my most-resurrected probably-a-traitor policeman, James Brotherston. Indeed, at a later point, my 'loyal' Chief of Police bursts through the door, armed to the teeth, with a gun pointed squarely at my head - apparently in the name of killing James. Apparently. We'll never know if my dodge was successful, or indeed necessary (since he was totally here to kill James, definitely, yup), as his gun jammed on the first fire. At the same time, my gun swept up, and landed a bullet cheerfully into his head. Aware that James had almost certainly reported on my movements, I promptly fired three bullets into the side of his head too. Mainly out of a desire to, but I'm retrospectively claiming it was to prevent any further treacherous movements tonight.

With these deaths, and their subsequent demotions and resurrections, we shall see what happens in the coming week and my police force. Stay loyal and true, good citizens of the forest, I ask of you.....


[20:17 PM] Mulch Diggums also apparently involved, seemingly for good, in the plans on Snow White.

Mulch Diggums reports:

I'd heard word that Doc, of all people, was planning to assassinate the fairest of them all. Rather than tell her, I thought it'd be far more entertaining to kill him on his way. However the weather meant I couldn't tunnel my way, so I was beaten to [REDACTED] by Doc, who then made his assassination attempt. Fortunately, "attempt" was the key word in that last sentence. Donked then told word of Doc's death, but it then transpired Donked had been killed. I can only assume it was [THERE ARE NO CURTIS J REUBENSES IN CAMBRIDGE]. [Nope, I did that!]

Wednesday, 18 November


[08:45 AM] Postmodernist's contemplations interrupted by the murder of Joaquin Vasquez (Gabriel Cradden).

Postmodernist reports:

I was quietly reading the works of the greatest philosopher of the 20th century, Jacques Derrida, while I was waiting for my target to show up. How did I know he would? It must be remembered that technology (non in the sense of the discourse on the technical, but as Technik) is a specific form of the metaphysical that is born out of the ontology of the presence as elaborated in the writings of the early philosophers, and deconstructed by Derrida himself. It is therefore a form of philosophy that at the same time has lost his originary connection with the being. How does the world of Assassins relate the hyper-reality it creates with the substantial un-trueness of the technical hyper-world that is such because of its forgetfulness of the being? Someone might notice a circle that is bringing us back to my first report, and indeed this is case. But I can't proceed with the reasoning: my thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Gabriel Cradden, whom I stabbed in the back.


[11:00 AM] Seratos attacked by a mystery assassin....

Seratos reports:

You're walking along the street, enjoying the sunshine, when suddenly you stop. Something is wrong. You turn around - nothing. Turn again - neither sight nor sound of anything amiss. Still the feeling remains.

After spinning around a few more times and patting yourself down all over to check all things are in the relevant pockets, you find a clothes peg pinning a small note to the hood of your jumper.

The writing reads as follows:

Open Season! Some people seem to be starting it early. Or not, as the case may be. I was attacked today by a person who probably didn't know quite what they were getting into...

My only annoyance is that he managed to leave alive. Looking back on things, I regret giving him the opportunity to do so.

With Kindest Regards,
Seratos.

Thursday, 19 November


[09:45 AM] Generic Dwarf Horde Member A beats Zeus to the punch, killing Kane (Douglas Hall) in a duel.

Generic Dwarf Horde Member A reports:

Concerned about the prospect of imminent thunderbolting for long term incos, I challenged ex-umpire Douglas Hall (not MA, I was surprised to find) to a duel; he seemed too good a trophy to leave to umpirical incineration. He was spurred into agreement by his impending doom, much to his credit for wanting to face death on his feet with a gun in hand.

We met at 9:30 and duelled over medium range, since my weapon was well suited to such range and his were not (I don't pick fights I can't win). He ran and hid behind a large tree taking pot shots from behind it. I slowly circled round it shooting off his right arm and leg in due course, and repeatedly almost tripping over a large tangled branch inconveniently placed on the floor, while I couldn't take my eyes off of him. His weapons were not designed to shoot as far, and his rounds were falling short about half the distance to me. I was confident of a victory by attrition, but was concerned with the amount of ammunition I had. Finally losing patience, I pretended my magazine was empty and ran to my bag, almost falling over on the mud as I did so. Taking the bait he duly hopped out from behind his tree in pursuit, at which point I turned and sprayed him with the remaining 6 or so rounds in my (very large) magazine.

Nobody is out of reach of the Horde.
Generic Dwarf Horde Member A


[12:00 PM] Police member Judge Bread eliminates inco Peppercorn (Ben Schreiber), Seratos has something to say.

Seratos reports:

Dear Ben Schreiber, reads the tiny note baked into the centre of a muffin someone handed you earlier.
Next time, don't forget to report.
WKR,
S


[18:45 PM] Murder of the fair Snow White!

Doc reports:

Denizens of the Woodland Glades!

A tragedy has befallen our peaceful nation. Just this evening I choose to pay a surprise visit to our dear leader, the fairest of them all, but when I got there I found her, the life still bleeding out, a victim of the agents of the wicked queen.

Surely, in as impenetrable as fortress as ours, she must have been betrayed by one of our own? Rally round me as the heir to our dear departed leader, loyal dwarves, and I will lead the purge of forces within our ranks.

Yours
Doc

This Is Getting Ridonkulous reports:

Free peoples of the forest!

A tragedy has indeed befallen us tonight, but not one of the making of the Wicked Queen! For such an innocent visit, why did our dear doctor feel the need to be carrying not one, but two guns, knifes, coshes, and a variety of different weaponry? Where were these mystery assailants when I arrived mere seconds after Snow White was initially found?

As the true and honest heir of Snow White, swear your fealty to me and together we can rid the forest of this treacherous dog, the cur who has thrown our lives into such disarray.

I remain
Demoted Dust [Actually, I'm promoting you for fealty.]

Snow White reports:

In case it wasn't clear, this is the beginning of the Police War. Live Players - stay out of this, you have better people to be killing!

Police players - those who have signed up have an [L] or [D] attached to their rank. Check which team you are, and go after the other team. Don't go after non-teamed police players - they're not part of it.


[22:00 PM] A eulogy from Postmodernist. How nice.

Postmodernist reports:

No philosophy today. Only some action, and an eulogy.

Friends, Cantabrigians, assassins, lend me your eyes!
By many names was known the great murderer;
some too short to say, some too long to mention:
but I come to bury Shakespeare, not to praise him.
His murders were many, but each a work of art.
He was a small, suspicious-looking lemon for days,
who Latin tried to teach, to a great philosopher.
He was a true gang5ta dw4rf y0, innocent-killing
felon, and the incipit of the Histories,
and the grand Shakespeare, and all the lads!
So brave was he, that Doc he dared to challenge,
the powerful, undying, immortal Doc! [Ha!]
His reports of great fun and enjoyment
for us to read, (and shamelessly copy).
On many fronts we disagreed in our short lives,
but I know, WE know, he was a great man!
We shall avenge his premature death!

(by the way, I was visiting [a College] a couple of hours ago, where someone came out of a staircase with a huge gun, whom I immediately shot, at 18.10. He claimed he was a policeman. I also had a chat with someone who maybe was [live player], or maybNOOOOO THE HORROR! !!! ! ! SHAKESPEARE'S GHOST IS HERE FOR ME:_MFSOP°éPé CAC Hjò


[22:10 PM] Berserkr goes Wanted for murdering a Little J lookalike!

Berserkr reports:

Quite a nice day for a murder, I thought, when I headed out to [a College] to kill some people. Was Little J the guy in the cafeteria? Ohoh! Glasses, face, hair: it must be him. "Hey! [Name]?", he turns, I stab him, "Who's [Name]?" Oops! A nice chat followed. I should have probably done the next step before, but I did find the actual Little J in his room, who I challenged to a duel. He was busy, but encouraged me to come back tomorrow. Oh poor me! I'm a felon. Will Doc kill me at haste? Most likely. I later attempted to take the life of [multiple people], none of whom were in. I also stopped at Sainsbury's to restock my bunker supplies in fear of a welcomed siege. Oh, I chose this name for the only reason that I thought it would look good in the red status of my wantedness.


[22:10 PM] This game is shredding my nerves makes desperate attempts...

This game is shredding my nerves reports:

Today at 2210 I went out to [college] to attempt on [people]. I managed to sneak into the key-locked staircase but [person 1] wasn't in. Damn. I then continued the search but was unable to locate the other staircase. Scouting the bar and a party taking place in the college also failed to yield any success and after 30 minutes I gave up. Looks like I may be doing a stint on the inco list. As if I wasn't already paranoid enough...

Friday, 20 November


[08:45 AM] No luck for Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.

Thranduil, King of Mirkwood reports:

Today, in a last ditch attempt to grab competence, I lurked outside Ben Mortishire-Smith's building. Was fairly sure I saw the target emerging but he cast several suspicious looks in my direction so I decided to let him round a corner to the exit. I was then going to swiftly catch up and get the kill. Unfortunately, I failed to anticipate the exits to [a] college were key-card locked as well as the entrances and by the time I managed to let myself out, he was well beyond my reach. But woodland magic will have you some day my friend, never fear...


[10:45 AM] Thranduil, King of Mirkwood attempts on wanted criminals.

Thranduil, King of Mirkwood reports:

Today really isn't a day of successful attempts. Trying to bring Postmodernist was proving difficult so I resorted to the classic lurk and wait technique. I was fairly sure of the route he would take to [a commitment] but I failed to identify him - the criminal escapes this time, along with my hopes of actually killing someone else this game


[12:00 PM] Chaos outside a lecture theatre - only casualty is I panicked.... killing Stealth Prawn AKA Stanley (Ben Mortishire-Smith).

The Gentleman reports:

Dear Count Umpire,

I must use more potent language than is my wont to express my deep dismay at the death of my good friend Mr Ben Mortishire-Smith. Fearing the rise of the damned, I had elected to band together with an individual with whom, after a brief kerfuffle, proved to be a reputable fellow of good conscience and excellent wit. Together, we group of god-fearing Englishmen would form the Ancient and Noble Society of Gentlemen Against Undead Fiends (ANSGAUF), and drive the undead hordes back to the grave! We set about preparing our attempt. Rumour had it that a young witch, perhaps apprenticed to Snow White, was a key player in the ritual which brings back the dead from their rightful sleep. Further rumour revealed that she would be in [unspecified lecture theater] at [unspecified time].

We prepared ourselves. The theater had but two exits, and given that there were two of us, the decision was taken to split in twain. Upon her departure from the lecture theater, we had enchanted runes (using excellent and righteous prayers of the Priesthood) which would, God willing, permit us to commune with one another. This would cause us to move to flank the witch, and then following this, she would be duly executed, allowing her corpse to be burned at the stake, as is the punishment for all who defy Natural Law (which Miss White, should she be reading this, would do well to note) [Noted.]. Further discussions in his lodgings merited development of the plans for different contingencies, of which we would be notified again by the runes. We had trekked across the entire site several times, satisfied ourselves that our plans were secure, then situated ourselves in our respective positions. The hour was nearly midday. The sun rose high and bright in the sky- the walking dead, if they were close, should be at their weakest. The witch's protective spells should fail to protect her. There was little which could fail.

My eyes fixed on the door of the lecture theater. I knew that my wait would be a long one. I glanced round the corner at my compatriot and- alack! Alas! For my friend had fallen, his corpse spreadeagled against the wall, blood dripping from bullet wounds to his sternum! Over him stood a female, who I took to be the witch which we had foolishly tried to trap. She had not yet sighted me, but it could only be a matter of time before whatever means which she had used to locate Ben were deployed against me. As inconspicuously as I could, I extricated myself from my now-precarious position. The jig was up. My ally lay dead, soon to be raw material for the furtherance of the horde. All was lost. All was dusk. Night had triumphed.

I successfully returned to my room unscathed, and said a quick prayer for the departed. My grief cannot be spoken of, it burns deep inside of me. My lady-friend will come soon to comfort me, but until then I sink into sadness in my solitude. How capricious indeed are the Fates to put this best-laid of plans awry? My faith in the very Creator is shaken. Will evil triumph? All that now remains in my heart is vengeance. I pen now a poem to the perpetrator of this crime. Read it well, and know that your dark magicks will not protect you in the future.

Ben was a gentleman good and true,
The fight against Evil was all that he knew.
But came the hour, came the day,
Good fighter Ben was slain by a May.

If God is just, and gives his blessing,
You yourself will meet with a reckoning.
Go, now, and fear for your life,
Offered are cookies for the end of your strife.

I remain,
The Gentleman (Bereft)

This game is shredding my nerves reports:

Attacked outside [REDACTED]! I panicked.... had accumulated information on me from various treacherous coursemates and came for my head. Fortunately I was not in the immediate vicinity of the [COMMITMENT]'s area and so when she fired at me, I was able to anticipate it. Us two master warriors engaged in a tense, but ultimately inconclusive battle. We then agreed a suitable timeout period - but this saga is not over...

I panicked.... reports:

At 11:30 this morning I set off to wait outside a lecture hall for my target, This game is shredding my nerves, to arrive around midday. While in the process of scouting out the area I noticed another assassin, Ben Mortishire-Smith, arriving on the site. After an initial panic I hid in the building where I could just about see his reflection in the window of the building opposite, and watched quietly. As he retreated around the corner a little further, I decided to leave my hiding place and go after him. As I rounded the corner he was walking back towards me. Despite his best efforts to duck (by lying down on the ground) my bullet hit him in the chest, but I shot him a second time as he lay on the ground, just in case. After a long discussion that led to the realisation we had been after completely different people and just happened to be in the same place, my actual target arrived. I shot first, but only hit him in the arm, after which he shot me in the torso. We called a time out and agreed that although he shot me in the torso I took out his gun arm first, and so we agreed to a time-out for the next two hours to prevent further ambushing since I knew his whereabouts for the next hour.

Stealth Prawn reports:

It is with a heavy heart, that I must admit defeat - the glorious reign of Stealth Prawn, also known as Stanley, has finally come to an end. I will now describe, as concisely as the circumstances allow, the events leading up to the climax of this afternoon.

First, a brief context: in the last week, I had made a couple of unsuccessful and insignificant (and therefore unreported) attempts on targets such as I panicked.... and This game is shredding my nerves. These attempts apparently did more harm than good, as, unbeknownst to me, it allowed I panicked.... to observe my face through the peephole of her door.

I had recently forged an alliance with my esteemed friend, The Gentleman. Working long into the early hours of the morning, we formulated an elaborate, and (so we thought) foolproof plan to take down another player. The detail of said plan shall not be entirely described here, as brevity is my intention - but suffice to say, this plot involved firstly, an hour of reconnaissance at [location redacted], resulting in the construction of an elaborate site map, complete with labelled entrances, exits, and escape routes; secondly, a further three hours of elaboration on the courses of action for various eventualities; thirdly, the recruiting of two non-player accomplices who would be present in the target's lecture; and finally, an extensive suite of weaponry, including, but not limited to: four nerf guns, a number of throwing knives and other projectiles, two swords, a full-size lightsabre, and (that most nuanced of an assassin's tools) a cosh.

[Our target] thought they were being careful, taking various measures to protect both their identity and their movements; but through a combination of various advanced information-gathering techniques and pure, hardworking dedication, we eventually managed to ascertain both their true appearance, their timetable, and even the precautions they normally take to avoid capture or death. Nothing could possibly go wrong; or so we thought.

Even the best laid plans, with the finest of intentions, can be rudely laid to waste, if cruel fate decrees that the circumstances are unfavourable.

The Gentleman and I were in our respective positions, primed and ready, waiting for the green light from our contact, who refers to himself as a 'broker of information'. Everything was primed and the axe was ready to fall on our target, who undoubtedly suspected nothing was amiss. I observed a shadowy figure in an upper window, but thought nothing of it at the time... The stage was set for a great drama, but events unfolded as no one had suspected. To my great surprise, a figure leapt out from around an innocent corner, filling me with bullets before I had a chance to react. I fell over, more out of surprise than anything. Our plan had been derailed in a way we could never possibly have predicted - I had been killed before my time, by someone entirely unrelated to our original plan. The shadowy figure from the window before? Perhaps; or indeed, likely. My last act of desperation was to warn my comrade, the Gentleman; as the strength left my body, I used our runic communication system, managing only: "Abort. Dead. Hide."* I hoped he would be safe, for there was nothing to be done for me. I had cheated death many times before, and this time there was no escape, as unexpected as its form was. There was only time for a brief sigh of disappointment, thoughts of regret on the shame I had brought to my college, and my Gentleman friend - and a promise to do better in the next life.

*[I was present and sanctioned this - in this specific case, I was happy to alert The Gentleman that they no longer had to stick around, as by this point, all other assassins were either dead or OoB.]


[17:30 PM] First blood of the Police War, as This Is Getting Ridonkulous kills A slightly dubious apple (Jonathan Phillips).

This Is Getting Ridonkulous reports:

Saw Jonny, shot Jonny, dead Jonny.


[17:40 PM] Rain Dog targets a live player, but kills police Takagi Keiji (Zhixian Duan) instead.

Rain Dog reports:

Two days scouting with nothing but a gun and some names in the pouring rain. Now, there is a face to every name and a plan for every building.

Today I left for a man I had nothing on but a 2 year old photograph and 3 letters in a class list. The door melted away to a card lockpick and the crowd above soon left. Ah but there is a door opening; time to head further on up. Now the sound of a gun pumping, and not mine. Triple loaded and cocked I head down to spring the ambush; we both fire wildly and miss, his bullets scattering to the bottom of the stairwell, and I retreat to the upper stairs. Maybe we know each other - names are called out, but what respectable assassin responds to their own name? The only safe assassin is a dead assassin.

I see through a crack in the window reflection that his weapon has more bullets in one clip than in my entire arsenal, though we all know how much size matters. The elevator is broken and he is fortified below me. No way down conventionally, but I look at the stairwell his bullets fell into. Kicking off shoes, emptying pockets and tucking gun into belt, I swing out over and to the lower floor. He is still fortified in the same place and I come up from below, firing a single shot into his heart.

It is then that I do recognise him, from one of his previous lives; I have killed this man before, but now he is a policeman to be killed again. Seeing a suspicious person coming up his corridor he assumed the worst and so we had unwittingly duelled for nothing. We talked again and I left, leaving the neighbour for a different rainy day.


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