The Assassins' Guild - Week 2 News

Tiny Tina reports:

SUP SHAWTY!

So like, I just want to say, I am so. thrilled. to be here. SO THRILLED. I mean your game needs more explosions but still - waaaaay cool, girl. I dig it.

Went to the [REFACULTED] today to try and get me some sweet, sweet kills. Got up, like, super early and everything. Maaaaaaaaan, I had to rush my morning crumpets! Mm, but they were still snackalicious, so it's fine, you live this time. But then, you know what we got? Nothing. NOTHING. Who DOES that to a girl. Here I am, waiting on these two lovely guys (I'm sure they're lovely) for over and hour and they STAND ME UP. HEATHENS. PEASANTS. Probably still lovely, but they are total butts.

I mean, who doesn't even go to early lectures that it's possible they don't even take? Laaaaaaaaame-oooooooooos. Pffffft. Who needs 'em.

So, jilted as I was, I thought I'd surprise one of my lovely man-dates by going to his room. And they say I'm not a romantic! But, ew, still a butt, he wasn't in. LAAAAAAAAAME.

SO yeah. Tina out.

OHWAITTINABACKINAGAIN I totally forgot. You guys are doing poetry? I want in! Ahem. A-hem. Ahemahemahem. Hem. Mm. What follooooooooows (you gots to drag it for dramatic effect, you know what I'm saying? Of course you do girl, you ain't dumb, least not like super dumb), what follows is a hi-koo by me. Tiny Tina. My haiku.

Ahem.

I stood in the cold.
You didn't show up. Sad times.
Your subject is butt.

~Tina

Brutus reports:

Stabbed Gwilym this morning as he was coming out of a lecture, then shot Richard as he was armed and camping outside the room of [other assassin].
A member of a loose coalition of players consisting of Gwilym Kuiper, Joe Tomkinson, Fred Alford, James Brotherston, Georgie Turner, Ellie Holderness, Kai Hugtenburg, Curtis Reubens, Claire Farey, Tom Flynn & Freddie Brewer reports:

The do's and don'ts of playing with people from [REDACTED].

DO: assume that they are going to back stab you.

DON'T: assume that just because they haven't killed you yet, that situation is going to change.

DO: ensure you have adequate protection from all sides.

DON'T: walk away from other mathia members before you've left behind all members of the aforementioned college.

DO: keep yourself armed at all times.

DON'T: prepare the death of another in front of your would be killer.

DO: kill them on sight.

DON'T: let them see your weapon.

DO: join the police after they've killed you.

Azor Ahai reports:

I was in the same lecture as him, and saw him leave the lecture theatre to go to the bathroom. I wasn't certain that he was my target, so I asked his friend discretely to confirm his identity. His friend then went to the bathroom to warn him about me, but I entered soon after and managed to stab him before he pulled his own knife out.

One might say that I sent a Mathia member to their twmstone.

Azor Ahai

Alex H.'s Second-Worst Nightmare... (his worst nightmare is the Umpire's poetry) reports:

Having deduced by means of [acute psychology] that Ben Morley was targeting me, I tracked him down AND FED HIM TO VICKY THE VELOCIRAPTOR GRAAAAHAHHHGGGGGFGG

A loose collection of players consisting of Gwilym Kuiper, Claire Farey, Kai Hugtenburg, James Brotherston, Freddie Brewer, Joe Tomkinson, Curtis Reubens, Tom Flynn, Georgie Turner, Ellie Holderness & Fred Alford reports:

I, Ben Morley was killed outside the CMS by the (very impressive) velociraptor belonging to Alex H.'s Second-Worst Nightmare... (his worst nightmare is the Umpire's poetry).

General Alcazar reports:


Ay Caramba! So once I General Alcazar went along to Azor Ahai's house with mi amigo General Tapioca, we realised he was no longer in. But we do not giive up so eesy. So where can a house full of people be on a monday night? Our intelleegence suggested thees ceremony called 'formal'. Caramba! we were right! My target hee just walks out to the bar, been drinking I think, like theese picaros, is bad; so it was to hees surprise that hee should find my blade in his side. Adios amigo mio.

Ice Maiden reports:

JUDAS! I have kissed you twice now, and you will one day fall into my arms forever! But not tonight, tonight is for silly japes! I bestow upon you a light caress of the cold, or as you might call it, a smack round the head with an icicle. I see your friend is getting a bit edgy too, *SMACK*! One day you will be mine, one day. No one escapes the Ice-maiden! I see movement from behi- *CLUNK*. All I have time to think before I fall into unconsciousness is, et tu, Brutus?
#Mondayniteclubbing #Keepitgoing #HangingwithJudasandBrutus

Brutus reports:

Tonight our noble* band of four
Rode off to [COLLEGE REDACTED],
The friend, the foe, the turncoat and I
A plan of murder enacted.

For see, a little bird had sung
A song to us of how,
We might just find a life to end
if we went to them now.

So into the bar the killer crept,
Mindless of his trespassin',
But soon slunk out, contrite, and spake:
"I heard someone say 'assassin'."**

And so, to aid the coward,
I went in and asked his friends,
They gladly pointed him to me,
Then the coward brought his end.

*Though if noble you don't think us,
Then 'tipsy' here might fit.
**We knew there might be others there,
But he still looked a twit.


Tiny Tina reports:

Ahem. To the tuuuuuuune, of Pop Goes the Weasel.

Round and round the buttery doors,
Working out the target.
We asked a man who showed us the way
STAB goes the taaaaaarget!

Brutus reports:

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

The Pimp reports:


the pimp was just walkin down da street ya'naw w'mean. And the pimp be thinkin' to himself "I feel lyke shankin' a few brothas." So me walk to crips , selwyn (yah boi be a blood fo' lyfe) and I go up the stairz and try to open raghul's door thinkin that this is gon' be the rizzle dizzle. AHHHH heelllllll nawwwwwhhhhhhhh, tha door be locked. I knew dis brotha be in cos of da word on da street. So i bang on the door lyke 'bang bang bang'. lucky fo him he opened it slowly or i wuda bust dat door down, you kno me. I thout this guy wuda bust a cap in my ass as soon as he opened, but nah. I get my big-ass shank out my pocket and quickly *stab stab stab*. Dis brotha musta known kung-fu or sumin cos he be dodgin dis blade lyke mah boi jackie chan. But the pimp always wins in da end and gets a poppin' blow to da heart. Dats wat u get fo' bein a crips.

Dis shud be a lesson to all of yous dat the pimp rules theez streetz and if you wanna get in my way den im gon murdur all of youz. WESTTT SIIIDDDDDEEE.

Ian Cognito reports:

Dear Umpire,

I regret to inform you that whilst passed out on my bed earlier today, exhausted following my charitable efforts in #jailbreak2016 and the associated sleep deprivation, I was woken to the sound of intruders in my room. Before I had time to reach for my sidearm, I was struck by a barrage of automatic rubber band fire. I was aware that a determined assassin was stalking me, him having left no fewer than three death threat notes including one which, in reference to my jailbreak efforts, read "Red Sea? I think that's your blood." Due to this psychological warfare I had a loaded weapon close by at all times and in all locations, from the moment the game began, but alas sleep renders us all defenceless.

Unfortunately, following my reasonably successful (and two time award winning) inaugural contract, I have been entirely unsuccessful in this particular incarnation, having achieved no kills at all. However, given my hugely successful charitable activities, I hope that the karma I gain may serve to counteract that negative karma incurred through my homicidal Michaelmas spree.

Your faithful psycho,

Ian Cognito,

Osney Kettleblack reports:

Fearing that the life of our good king was in danger I hurried to locate someone who could perhaps be a threat to him. Unfortunately the intelligence I had saying he was at the top of the highest tower proved to be inaccurate and my time was wasted.

Brienne of Darth reports:

He fought bravely and well, and I was cowardly, I mused. Where is the honour in stabbing an opponent after failing to kill each other in a duel? Although if I am being honest, I had been wanting to use that knife for a while. My master gave it to me - the blade glows red and never needs cleaning, I know not how. But honour aside, I am sure they will be pleased with my use of it. This is war, after all.
Sir Phobos of House Jagx reports:

Sat at my desk i heard a voice call my name from the corridor. I was expecting someone. How foolish of me to assume this visitor was my invited guest. My murderer enters the room but is confused, my sitting position means I am not immediately visible from the doorway. This gave me the precious moments I needed to realise my foolishness and grab my weapon. A firefight breaks out with multiple shots fired by both parties. All miss. My attacker dives into the bedroom of my set accommodation seeking cover to reload. Another volley of shots. Missed. Another exchange of bullets and I believe I have killed my attacker with a shot to the chest, but I can't be certain. My attacker does not believe she has been killed and finishes me with a final shot to my chest. There is now confusion, both believe we have killed the other. It is agreed we shall settle the dispute with an honorable duel. HA! Honour. How could I have been so foolish, there is no place for honour in this world. The duel takes place. We both miss. Clearly neither party is an expert marksman. I lower my guard preparing for a rematch. My attacker finished me with a knife to the stomach. I was foolish and naive, my incompetance costing me my life. I have the utmost respect for the skills of my assassin whom unlike me remained focused on the kill at hand.

A member of a loose coalition of players consisting of Joe Tomkinson, Georgie Turner, Ellie Holderness, Kai Hugtenburg, Tom Flynn, Gwilym Kuiper, Freddie Brewer, Claire Farey, Curtis Reubens, Fred Alford & James Botherson. reports:

THE DO'S AND DON'TS OF ATTACKING A MEMBER OF THE MATHIA AT PT3 TEATIME.

(lol the mathia. but I'm stuck with the 'nym now, aren't I?)

DO: Wait until the target is in a crowded place.

DON'T: Look too shifty as you approach.

DO: Wait for the target to be distracted by eating their biscuit (you would probably have got me if you had).

DON'T: Move in with the knife visible.

DO: Get tipped off by a traitor (???)

DON'T: Think it will be that easy.

DO: Expect me to run.

DON'T: Try to keep up.

The Imp reports:

Having made 4 individual failed attempts on my other 2 targets, my bloodlust was starting to take control of me. I knew I had to make a kill, but I had so far been unlucky. However, one unsuspecting target had not yet been paid a visit. I armed myself with a knife and a revolver: if I found my target he would not be escaping with his life.

I made my way over to his home, and my little legs dragged me up countless stairs until I finally reached a locked door. I paused for a moment to listen out for any signs of movement, and alas there was someone inside. Suddenly a new noise, this time coming from behind me! I looked down the staircase I had just scaled to see someone walking up towards me. Not my target, according to the information extracted from the Tome of Faces, but potentially another assassin. With a closed door on one side and the steep staircase on the other, I had no opportunity to run as, to my horror, the person started making his way up the last flight of stairs.

But lack what I may in physical stature, I had the power of wit on my side. I greeted the person and asked if he knew my target, perhaps a rash thing to do at the time. There was no hiding from him the fact that I was there to assassinate Basil; perhaps he too was also a smart man. But I didn't ponder this for long. He unlocked the door and walked in, calling Basil's name. As if throwing all caution to the wind, my target walked straight out of safety, and into the path of a bullet. Having been shot in the head from point-blank range, he barely stood a chance. I embraced him as the blood poured from the hole in his head where his life had been and a couple of his close friends looked on in horror. In fear that the murder would be quickly reported to local authorities, I made a swift exit.

General Alcazar reports:

Ay Caramba, so I General Alcazar go to thees door and it opens but ees not the right person, I try and avoid hitting her but my aim, ees just too good and I heet her arm.

General Alcazar reports:

Ay Caramba, thees is a busy night. As I return to my house a suspicious man follows me into the catacombs, later I find he was a policeman. Hee fires at me, but misses; I fire back and do not. Adios.

A member of a loose coalition of players consisting of James Brotherston reports:

Stabbed Fred outside of lectures this morning.

danger kitten reports:

Mrrow

Curtis Reubens reports:

I first met Death on a cold autumn day two years ago. Shot in the chest, I awoke with a start in Limbo, sprawled on the floor facing a chessboard.

"HELLO," Death said simply, setting up our pieces. I was white, it seemed; I had the first move.

As autumn turned to winter, the game continued. Death, free from the trappings of life, likes to take its time over its moves; days must have passed between some of his moves. But I fought well, better than I believed I could, and as the new year came into being I forced a checkmate upon my foe, and he granted me my life.

Three days later, I was dead again, and back in that dark hellscape. Death said nothing, merely gestured to my position opposite him. He played much more aggressively this time, pushing at me, testing me, but I pushed back, and after just a few short months, I was once again victorious, and once again stepped back into the world of the living.

That summer, Death developed a taste for speed chess. This was most welcome - it still put four hours on the clock, but better for the game to last that long than a single considered move - and most needed. I died a lot that summer, visited Death many times, but always managed to triumph over the figure and climb back into the world.

The last game, though... Maybe it's testing me. Maybe it's trying to make me feel pressured. Whatever the reason, Death seems to be better every time we play. That last game, I very nearly lost.

After that, I swore to keep a low profile. And I did, for a while. But eventually, the call came again. I killed again and, shortly after, was killed myself.

Death simply smiled. "IT'S BEEN A WHILE."

His was a hurricane of pawns, a queen like lightning, his forces a surging tempest that threatened to drown me. He struck and struck, furious and inexorable, but slowly - oh so slowly - I regained some stability. I fought back.

"Checkmate."

Winter, 2016. I am, once again, deceased. The chess table is gone; instead, Death sets up a game I don't recognise. "Something new?" I ask.

It nods enthusiastically. "CHRISTMAS PRESENT. THOUGHT WE COULD GIVE IT A GO?"

I think of the last chess game I played against the figure in black, then nod my assent. "What's the game?"

"IT'S CALLED 'THE CAMPAIGN FOR NORTH AFRICA'."

"...Beg pardon."

"COME ON, READ THE RULES. I NEED TO FINISH SETTING THE BOARD UP."

The rulebook he tosses at my feet would dwarf most novels. I pick through a myriad of objections, trying to find one Death might acknowledge. "Doesn't this game require ten players?"

"BUT THEY'RE IN TEAMS; WE'LL JUST PLAY ONE SIDE EACH. IT'LL BE FUN!"

I sigh. "But isn't the estimated play time on this thing 1200 hours?"

"WE'VE PLAYED LONGER CHESS GAMES."

I consider mentioning the fact that games of chess tend to take about an hour, tops; I can only imagine how long this behemoth might take.

I may be out for some time, folks.

-fin-

Tiny Tina reports:

whaaaAAAAAAAAT well RIP TINA! So yeah, gentlemans and laaaaaadies, I got a story for you. Do me a flava and shut up and listen will ya?

So there I was, all dressed up to go downtown, heading to my main fave college of [REDACTED], and let me tell ya, I was doing gooood tonight. Looks. Can. Kill, baby. That and guns. Did I mention I brought a gun?

Oh yeah, so anyway, I get to the place - it's one shiiiiny building! And I gots like, two squeezes in there, both priiiime for the picking. So I knocks on the first door, and he's like 'Whaaaa?' and I'm like 'It's James', and he's like 'who James?' so I'm like 'okaybye', so that didn't work. I try my other guy, but he ain't even in to say no! Rude.

So then I comes back to squeeze numero uno - I mean, this is the butt that stood me up before, so I'm like, I'm gonna gets you boy (did ya like my cowboy voice there? Oh yeah, Tina does a meeeean drawl kids). So I knock again, and I'm like, 'Hey, it's [other guy], someone come knock on your fine door just now?' and he's like 'yeah, actually', and I'm like 'whaaaaaaaat we should go kill him let's go kill him let's go' and he's like sure and he opens the door and I'm like POW, B[CENSORED]. Bullet to the HEART, BABY! And he's like, looking at the hole, and I'm like wait am I bleeding why am I bleeding? What? NOOOOOOOO. He shot me too! Son of a skaglicker, he shot me too. I mean I like my men handy with a gun, but for reals? Aw man.

So yeah ladies, Tina is ouuuuuut for the count. I'll see ya'll later.

George R. R. Martin reports:

That's right everyone, I've started killing off all your favourite characters! Starting with Sam Mackey, who upstaged me unforgivably by dressing in black tie for his own death. Can't have that.

So I killed him off for [UNSPECIFIED AND OBSCURE PLOT REASONS]. I was hoping he would produce some book-title-worthy last words, but I'm afraid all he managed was "you [REDACTED] [CENSORED]". Oh well.

The Kingslayer reports:

They don't call me The Kingslayer for nothing!

Jon Snow reports:

...

[Licit kills of the Umpire will no longer give competence. -TS]

edgy hype beast reports:

Dear Umpire,

I have just killed Princess Azula, it was a classic knock on the door and attack with a knife manoeuvre.

I hope this means I avoid incompetence.

Yours truly
edgy hype beast

Shrimad Rajachandra reports:

I attacked Ser Pounce, he was in his room and came out with his gun, shooting the innocent person that kindly accepted to knock at his door for me. We exchanged several shots in the stairs and outside his building, none of us was shot in the end.

Ser Pounce reports:

An attempt was just made on my life. I was in my room working when my door was knocked. Looking through my peep-hole I saw I did not recognise the knocker, so remained quiet for a while, but eventually responded when they called out my name. They said that they had a message and needed to come in, so with my weapon in hand I opened the door and fired straight into their heart. It seems however that it was not this now dead knocker who was my assassin, but a fellow hiding around the corner, who shot a horribly inaccurate nerf dart into my room. I closed my door and he reloaded, and then when he had backed away I reopened my door to pursue him, firing again but missing as he ran away. I was not wearing shoes though so was unable to pursue him outside, and he vowed that he would be back soon.

The Cakefaeries report:

Picnic before hand and cookies for hunting with were provided by The Cakefaeries on behalf of the absent Queen Margaery Tyrell. We here believe is the separate system of offering cookies to those we have just slain, as well as within hunting groups, as well as and in distinction from the bounty system in which some killers are accorded such...

yours sincerely, her cousin Cressida Tyrell- Boleyn-Boleyn

A member of a very loose coalition of players reports:

He opened his door in pyjamas, I sent him back to sleep.

Ser Pounce reports:

I was in my room working when some guys cam to my door. One of them claimed to be the [plausible excuse] or something. While I thought this didn't exist I opened the door armed just in case, and was promptly attacked. I managed to survive for like 5 seconds before being destroyed, and somehow did not kill any of them. They gave me a biscuit and then left to find more victims.
Jon Snow, Sleepy Gary and Theon Greyjoy report:

Dear sir or madam,

We write to inform you of the unfortunate and untimely demise of Joshua Garfinkel and Stanislav Fort.

We would like to be able to say that they died heroically in battle, defending their cause with honour; it would be more accurate to say that they fell as a result of their own ineptitude.

We received word on Saturday morn that a significant minority of our once-dedicated force had grown idle, and so, with boredom growing and in light of recent budget-cuts to our department, we set out for some minor housekeeping.

Calling upon multiple candidates for our involuntary redundancy package, we quickly worked out way down the list. Those who made the mistake of opening their doors to [a transparent excuse] were efficiently eliminated; such was the case of the late Garfinkel and Fort.


We are pleased, however, to report a redeeming quality; the aforementioned both put up a decent fight when we called, returning brief fire before their death made further resistance difficult. If it is any small consolation, we recall that one of our party may have lost a leg in the process; a scar he shall bear as a reminder to remain sharp.

Please accept our apologies for this inconvenience; however, we ask that any candidates you submit in future to our programme be more adept.

Regards, Theon Greyjoy, Sleepy Gary and Jon Snow

Super Doctor Astronaut Peter Corbeau reports:

So I heard there were gonna be some incos around; heard there'd be an opportunity to go hunt some people down. Thought it could be fun, and I'm a fun-loving guy, you know? People always say, "Man, that Peter Corbeau, he's a fun-loving guy, isn't he?", and their friends are all like "Yeah, he's so fun-loving, such a free spirit. He's a total dreamboat, you know?", and then they both sigh dreamily and imagine me holding them in my tender yet muscular arms. It's good times.

So anyway, me and my main man Handsome Jack met up with the aim of popping some targets. He's a good man, is Jack, and as pretty a boy as you ever did see, though not a patch on yours truly, naturally. Still, he's a fine man and a fine shot, and so I was more than happy to have him watching my back. Not that I need anyone watching my back, I mean, I'm Peter Goddamn Corbeau. I do alright. But still, who doesn't love company?

Right, so off we go to our first hunting ground, and our first target is up four flights of stairs. Hell of a climb for a lesser man, though I mean it's no biggie, not once you've climbed Everest in a tuxedo for a bet, you know? But it was a lot of stairs, is what I'm saying. I knocked on the perp's door, my loud, eloquent raps on the wood ringing out like poetry. Alas, either she wasn't in or my sheer beauteous presence had temporarily stunned her; either way the door remained closed, so me and my pal moved on.

So, same college, new target. Jack knocks this time, and I let him take the shot, because teamwork, you know? I could do this all on my own with ease, sure, but that wouldn't be fair on all the other assassins I'd inevitably overshadow, so sometimes I take a back seat. Like this time. It was an easy kill, anyway, so Jack could handle it. We offered cookies, hand baked - and when I say hand baked, I don't mean we put them in an oven, that's not hand baked. I held them in my hand and plunged them into a fire until they were crisp and perfect, THAT'S what hand-baking is - and then we were off.

Using my expert navigational abilities - one more skill on a very, very long list - I led us to a new college with another target in, and found their staircase and room. I considered doing this blindfolded, just to make it interesting, but felt that might be considered 'showing off'. Pah. Peter Corbeau doesn't need to show off, I mean, it's me. I'm great. People get it. But anyway, with my superior senses I deduced that our target was not currently in his room, so we of course had to leave. Next college, same thing; I track them down only to deduce that they are at present out. We move on.

I'm an astronaut.

So next target is in a house. I ring the buzzer and, to make my handsome friend feel useful, asked him to keep a watch on the windows in case anyone pokes their head out and, sure enough, we soon spy a guy peering down at us, man sometimes I amaze even myself. The kid claims to be our target, but I have my suspicions, so as we open fire on his window (three storeys up in a strong wind, all in a day's work) I deliberately miss him a few times. And sure enough, he eventually reveals that he's an impostor and not our target at all.

At this point, I deploy my fearsome wit and enviable charm, and within a few mere moments I talk the guy into opening the door for us and letting us in. He's a good kid; he reminds me of my younger self, though of course without the sheer magnetism or superhuman willpower or incredibly impressive strength, but still, I can see him in a few years being maybe a twentieth as awesome as I am, which will of course mean he outperforms everybody around him, except when I'm near that is. So he lets us into the house, leads us up to our target's room, and the target's not in. Odd. Next stop the kitchen, where the kid takes a bullet before I take the perp out with style and panache.

Oh, and on our way out some joker took a potshot at me. Probably just wants to be able to tell his friends he picked a fight with Peter Corbeau and lived, you know? I mean, not everyone can say they have a PhD in Neuroscience - from France! - a decade's experience as an astronaut, impeccable fashion sense and rock hard abs. So they want to get near to me, touch a star to make that a part of them, and I can't argue with that, so I left without assassinating the clown. I'm nice like that.

That was the end of our list of targets, but hey, we live near our first target, might as well try her again, right? So we head back up her staircase, and are halfway to the top when we meet her coming down. I give her my most winning smile, and shoot her in the hip. She takes it well, doubtlessly entranced by my angelic visage.

So! Three kills to Jack and Corbeau, three more incos dead and buried. I call that a pretty good day, no?

Handsome Jack reports:

Heya kids, Handsome Jack here. So I got word this morning - came in on my new Echo, this one's made of solid gold and starlight you know, little present from the boys in the labs - anyway, got the word that a bunch of murdering psychopaths have been running round! Well, Handsome Jack is always on hand to help you poor peasants with your provincial problems, so I came right on down. Hold your applause - though like, you know, do feel free to build a statue or something, statues are always cool. Especially if they're of me. That makes them super cool. Duh.

So first on the hit-list of Yours Truly, Rosie Talbot and Yu She, some lower class bandit scum hiding out in the wilds. I took Super Doctor Astronaut Peter Corbeau with me, you know, so someone could record how awesome I looked killing them. Never waste a chance for a photo op, kids! Rosie's hiding like the coward you all are, but Yu She opened her door to a knock. Pahahaha, I mean, can you get any more stupid! I was waiting to blow the whole thing off its hinges, but no, like, there it was, open, and I just blew her away. With my gun. Massive gun. That's right. That fires bullets, you twisted morons. One bandit down.

Off we go, me carrying the useless Super Doctor Astronaut Peter Corbeau when the going got too tough. Two places we visited were nothing but conspicuously smoking craters - looks like someone had scarpered before my moon mortars hit, how terribly rude of them. Can't trust them to get anything right, even when all they had to do was stand still and die. Mm, hey, by the way, you should totally try some of these cocktails they serve here at the Hyperion Bar, they're like, worth more than you'll ever see, but man, they're good, you should at least come admire them. Anyway, yeah, no dice for the next two.

Off to the hell-hole of scum and vermin that is [UMPIRE'S HOUSE REDACTED]. One guy stuck his head out, I deliberately missed him a few times to make him feel good - and you all say I've no heart - turns out he wasn't our guy anyway. Let us in though, so like, he's not all slag for brains. I let Super Doctor Astronaut Peter Corbeau take the kill this time, make him feel like he's helping. Bless him. Probably gonna turn him into a robot later - worked well for the last guy anyway.

Last but not least, back to the failed Rosie earlier, and there she is! Super Doctor Astronaut Peter Corbeau turned the corner first, so he totally kill-stole like the little [CENSORED] he is, but whatever, robot soon, then we can fix that. Decided that was plenty enough for one day - I mean, I've got a company to run! And EchoNet shows to watch. And a diamond pony to feed. Whatever. Enjoy your provincial little lives, bandits. I'll get you soon enough.

Osney Kettleblack reports:

Knowing the lawmakers would declare me incompetent I decided to join with others to attempt to take out those who like me had been lax in their duties. After a rather long day during which only one person was killed I returned to my home only to be ambushed by my former team not long after. After a small number of exchanges of fire they finally realised their pursuit was fruitless and left.

A member of a loose coalition of players consisting of James Brotherston, Fred Alford, Gwilym Kuiper, Freddie Brewer, Claire Farey, Georgie Turner, Joe Tomkinson, Ellie Holderness, Curtis Reubens, Tom Flynn & Kai Hugtenburg reports:

Went on the incobash with Osney Kettleblack and Quaithe of the Shadow. Much assassin banter. Quaithe of the Shadow shot the first one who was asleep. Went round the rest of Cambridge calling in on the incos. Found bugger all else. All in all a fun day out. Kept a look out for Judas to see if I could catch him bearing but he was nowhere.

Generic Dothraki Horde Member A reports:

Generic Dothraki Horde Member D and I went at 12:30 to the fighting on Queen's backs, and from there went to the Granta at 2:30ish, where we formed into a team with Eddard Stark, and set off. Our first port of call was [some college] to search for [an incompetent]. After quite a while searching the [same college] grounds for his staircase (whoever designed the college was not good at alphabetical order) we asked a passer by, who sent us the right way. Generic Dothraki Horde Member D and I went off to one side while Eddard Stark loitered at the door and waited for someone to let him in, which eventually happened. That person continued to wander about in the hallway however, so Eddard Stark couldn't come back to let us in. After a short while of trying not to look too shifty, Eddard Stark retuned [I didn't realise I had such a musical police force! -TS] and pronounced that the target seemed to be in the shower, so we left.

The next stop was [another college] to look for [another incompetent]. None of the doors into the college or the target's accommodation block were locked, and we were able to stroll calmly up to his door unchallenged. We then found him to be out, and he did not emerge even when the other 2 loudly left the area while I quietly staked out the door.

We then went to [some place] (a satellite site of [a third college]) to find Crows-eye, Eddard Stark somehow managing to bullshit our path through the porters' lodge by saying that we were there to visit some imaginary friend, while we looked shifty with bags in hand and Eddard Stark dressed like Bane. Inside the grounds, we went to the target's door, and I was nominated to do the talking as the doorbell was pressed. A light soon came on, and the target appeared at the door. His willingness to answer and lack of any obvious concern made me unsure as to if he was our man, so I did the sensible thing and simply looked at him. He looked at me, and I continued to stare dumbly. After an uncomfortably long time in which lots of looking at one another happened, Eddard Stark stepped in, asking "Crows-eye?", to which he replied "You're here to kill me aren't you?". Eddard Stark and Generic Dothraki Horde Member D responded by shooting him once each, while I continued to stare blankly. He retuned our darts, acknowledged his death and shut the door before we could even offer him consolation biscuits. After we established that there was no other way out of the site that we could use, we reluctantly headed back to the gate with the porter. Keen to be less useless here, I took the lead, and smoothly told him that the person we were here to see was out, making myself more credible with mock irritation and stopping to duly inform him that the person we were supposedly visiting was a complete [REDACTED], who couldn't [REDACTED] a [REDACTED] if he was a [REDACTED] with a [REDACTED]. Visibly set at ease by this, the porter let us out, asking if we knew where he was now. Assuring him that we had tracked down the daft [REDACTED], we took our leave. Next on the hit list was [yet another incompetent] at [a new college]. On the way, Eddard Stark's phone went off to tell him that for some sort of bounty chasing, our glorious leader had decided to kill him, and that we should expect to be attacked at any minute. [Me, betrayed by a member of my loyal police force? I don't believe it... -TS] We were loitering at a gate into the target's site, when, at 3:48 just after I'd texted him to see if he knew how we could get in, our glorious leader flew across the road out of nowhere, shooting at Eddard Stark, who was saved by gloriously falling over so that the bullet missed. In response, our glorious leader pulled a rolled up sheet of paper from somewhere and started gloriously beating Eddard Stark with it, shouting "cosh", apparently lacking any further decent weapons. He paid gloriously little attention to Generic Dothraki Horde Member D and I as we sat there, making it gloriously easy for me to produce my gun and gloriously shoot him twice. The whole episode was very glorious. I believe that by legally killing him (he was bearing and attacking my bash team) I am entitled to the bounty of one bounty (for police killing)?

After Eddard Stark was restored to his feet, it was concluded that he had survived, and the 4 of us set off to a different entrance to the site that had been left open, and ended up at the target's building. After quite a long time at the door and thinking we would have to give up, a resident turned up whom our glorious leader knew and we were let into the building. Someone who shall remain nameless exercised the fullest extent of their brain cell once we were inside, loudly asking where [this latest incompetent] lived, leading me to anticipate a rain of bullets. Luckily, he lived in a far off part of the building. We went to his room and knocked politely. He told us that he would not be coming out because he couldn't find a weapon, and invited us to [REDACTED] off. I remained behind for a few minutes as the others loudly left, and then left myself when he didn't appear.

It was then decided that our glorious leader and Eddard Stark would return to Queen's back and duel with lightsabres. I started the duel by firing a pistol into the air, and the two of them started a lengthy fight, Eddard Stark losing an arm, then a piece of lightsabre as it was smashed off, then his other arm, and finally his head old Ben style.

We parted ways, Generic Dothraki Horde Member D and I heading off towards [some] porters' lodge, where we encountered another team led by Quaithe of the Shadow, which we joined. We went to the rooms of targets at [redacted] (after which Generic Dothraki Horde Member D left) and [incomprehensible gibberish] that I simply followed along to without much knowledge of what was going on.

We then walked up to [blood stains], Where Osney Kettleblack (a team member who was technically an inco) returned to his accommodation. Quaithe of the Shadow and I waited the obligatory 5 minutes before setting out to kill him. We found that he had locked himself in the toilet in his house (clearly he has a yellow streak...), where he cowered for a while while we discussed the rules as to whether Quaithe of the Shadow could shoot her water pistol through the key hole, or he could open the door and saturate us with the shower hose. On deciding that neither were acceptable, and him declining our offer to duel me for his freedom from the bathroom, we resolved to silently wait him out. Kim soon proved to be less hard-core than me, giving up to hit softer targets elsewhere, and horrifically overacting her incredibly loud exit. For the next 30 minutes or so (it got hard to keep track of time) I stood silently outside the door, barely daring to make minute movement, and only doing so when the wind blew particularly loudly through the window on the landing. A housemate of his came in, and surprising only smiled and nodded when I put my finger to my lips, going into his room without announcing my presence. A while later he left again, not saying anything then either. Whether he texted from in his room or not is another matter. While I listened to the muffled sounds coming from the toilet that I think was my quarry watching the rugby on his phone, I had a long time to seriously question my life choices. After a long time, and me breaking several resolutions to leave if he doesn't come out after x amount of time, the door unlocked slowly, and started to open even slower. Knowing this was probably trying to tempt me into advancing on him before my chance arose and giving him the opportunity to retreat again, I remained still and silent. After a while of this the door opened and his hand appeared, blindfiring round the corner to the last position he'd known me to be in. Displaying willpower I didn't know I even possessed I continued to wait, not making any movement as my leg was shot off and he withdrew his hand. My lack of response probably threw him, since he opened the door again after a minute or 2, and looked round the door. I took my chance and fired at his protruding head, but it had disappeared inside before my dart had even travelled half the distance. Deciding that he'd probably now remain inside for an even longer time, I made to leave, switching to my larger weapon, it's conspicuous whirring for once a blessing as it scared him out of any desire he may have harboured to finish me off as I hopped and crawled to the stairs, packing my bag with my second gun, inco list and his identical dart which I took in place of my own that was now in the bathroom with him. I crawled backwards down the stairs one-leggedly (which was not easy) keeping my gun trained on the door as it whirred menacingly. I opened the door one-handedly (which was not easy either since it had a separate latch and handle) as I keep my gun pointed. When I'd opened the door, I hopped away into the night, leaving the Yellow Streak Award candidate to his well plumbed prison.

Generic Dothraki Horde Member D reports:

The horde has begun it's march. Myself (Generic Dothraki Horde Member D) and my fellow horde member, Generic Dothraki Horde Member A, allied with Eddard Stark to hunt down incompetents. Unfortunately, our first 2 targets were away. However, we were successful in locating our 3rd target, Crows-eye, who kindly answered the door when we rang, before promptly being shot by Eddard Stark and myself. With a successful kill behind us, we made our way to our 4th target.

While contemplating how we might gain access to the targets residence, the esteemed Umpire came charging out of nowhere to make a surprise attack on Stark, presumably to claim the many bounties on his head, only to end up being shot himself by Generic Dothraki Horde Member A before he could make the kill. After agreeing to settle the fight later with a duel, the Umpire used his omnipotence to get us access to our target, only to find he refused to come out and fight us on account that he 'couldn't find any bullets'.

Having failed our attack, we of the horde watched the lightsabre duel between Eddard Stark and Jon Snow, which ended in the Umpire's victory with a dramatic beheading.

I then rounded off the day by joining up with another squad and going after yet another target who wasn't in before heading home.

At least the incompetent list is one person shorter. I call that a success.