The Assassins' Guild - Week 5 News

Sir Lucius Resurrectus reports:

At about half-past-seven, I left my residence in order to hunt down and eliminate wanted police.

At first I headed to [REDACTED COLLEGE] and I tried the door only to find that it was locked (actually, it wasn't - it transpires that for some reason, I could not open an unlocked door!) so I wandered around the college, looking for an alternative root in. After I found that little luck had come my way, I then proceeded to [A NEARBY COLLEGE], in an effort to eliminate Psychofreshery Personified.

Alas, my orienteering skills are not what they once were, as it took me twenty minutes just to find her room (and I had to ask two different people for directions along the way). She lived in a veritable fortress (read she lives in an on site house - ghastly difficult to get into) and in addition, two people were standing in the kitchen window watching my every move closely. After a small amount of loitering, I deemed that I was drawing too much attention to my self and so I left, again unsuccessful.

I then teamed up with Rook, and we returned to [REDACTED COLLEGE], this time not to be stopped by an unlocked door. We went to the rooms of two different corrupt police but alas, they both appeared to be out.

Both feeling rather deflated, we then proceeded to engage in other activities (including numerous board games and shooting anything we could think of with nerfery) until just gone midnight.

We then determined to make an attempt on Detritus. We made the long trip to his residence. We then had to determine how to get him out of the building. The best plan was that I should ring the doorbell pretending that I wished to join the corrupt police force, while Rook hid in the bushes. Detritus was sufficiently paranoid that it took much coaxing and convincing to even get him to leave his room and come down to perform the act of 'zombification' (as he put it), and even so he arrived at the front door armed with a triad, a strongarm and a cosh. After I refused to walk up to the door to be coshed and after deliberating over whether it was worth simply hacking his arm off as it came around the door, he shot me with a triad and that was that (alas, the best laid schemes of mice and men and all that . . .). He then invited me in to briefly discuss corrupt matters and then I left.

My plan had now changed - I intended to infiltrate the corrupt echelons of the police force, before destroying them from the inside out. This, sadly, will not come to fruition, as the evening was not over yet . . .

While in the drive way, I feigned being on my phone whilst I secretly told Rook to follow me to [REDACTED MEETING POINT] in about five minutes. I waited there and she never showed. After some time had passed, I returned to the vicinity to see what was happening (a bad idea, I know, given that I was already dead). When I got there I found some people at the doorway, so I quietly continued past and waited for them to go. I then entered the bushes to see what was going on. Rook then left to go to the meeting point, while I waited there. No sooner had she left than Detritus was rushing out the door with his trusty strongarm. He promptly proceeded to drop it and in a moment of extreme tiredness, confusion, panic and in a bid to by Rook some time I rushed out of the bushes and shot Detritus. [Yeah, that's NOT OK...] (In fact whilst this is true, my aim is diabolical and so I only shot him in the leg, dammit!) He then called a discussion and explained that once I had left, two more members of the guild had called, which was the reason that my accomplice had not followed, and this, I think, is who he was rushing after with a strongarm so I could, most likely, have stayed in the bushes and avoided whatever will befall me as a result of my actions. Alas, at one o'clock in the morning (as it now was), this all seemed to be a tremendous mix up and I for one was not quite sure what had happened, although I was somehow sure that one way or another, I was probably going to go wanted.

For those of you who wish to learn from my mistakes:

• Never try to take down the heads of corrupt organizations in small numbers;
• Never go hunting in the wee small hours off the night;
• Never eat more than ten chocolate brownies in one sitting. (A completely irrelevant but still very useful fact.)

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

Unfortunately for Sir Lucius Resurrectus, I was doing a shift in the college bar from half seven until half eleven, so even if he had managed to get in it wouldn't have been much use :P

Rook reports:

"It was locked."

Sir Lucius Resurrectusinsists after he sends me a message by pigeon post to inquire if I know of a way into [guess where]. As far as I know, it is ridiculously easy to get in, the guards never seem to be patrolling and unlike most guarded doors, when it is guarded they never notice people slipping in when they're not supposed to be there.

I look at the open, swinging door. Right. "Locked."

He mutters something under his breath that I don't catch and invites me to join him on his hunt. Why not? Murder and mayhem does tend to make nights more exciting.

We stroll in and get lost while looking like we know exactly what we're doing. We do not but somehow admitting that seems like admitting defeat. Still, we trudge on and find the first abode of the first victim Sir Lucius Resurrectushad in mind. (Hooray!)

We had celebrated preemptively.

The room was as silent as the grave and the thuds of the knocks faded away into a ringing silence as we strained to hear any sign of movement. ("Every single time": One of us notes mournfully)

We try again for the second victim, spurred on by feelings of dis-satisfaction.

But apparently our luck is not good this night as he too is out and we retreat vowing revenge sulkily. We really should have left it there...

We decide to cheer ourselves up by playing board games with liberal amounts of violence and blunted arrows (they felt like blunted arrows!). I like to say that it worked :) because we then decide to make it a round attempt and try on Detritus. At midnight. Again, why not?

We wandered over to where Detritus lived and was struck by the dark, looming silhouette of a locked fortress against the night sky. How did we get him out?? Out of that safe spot and into the range of our considerably less safe guns (for him anyway, I was hoping we wouldn't be killed by friendly fire in the dark) Sir Lucius Resurrectuscame up with a cunning plan:

"I'll pretend to join his corrupt side and lure him out. You hide and see if you can back me up if I fail to get him."

The fortress really did have a lovely garden/bush thing in front of its door.

I hid, paranoid of anyone coming up to put away their vehicles or walking down the path because I would be visible from that angle. And this was not a situation I would like to explain.

And so the convincing, coaxing and conniving started. Detritus is impressively paranoid; but that might have been a mixture of actual suspicion and a refusal to come outside because it was bloody cold.

Unsurprisingly I-am-calling-him-Lucius-now-his-name-is-too-long refused to walk into a cosh. Then he got shot.

Somehow.

I couldn't see.

Drat.

Still, it wasn't the end of the plan. It was possible to spin this into a double agent thing. I waited idly in the bushes, listening to the conversation (Detritus was NEVER in my line of fire, pity) when Lucius ran out of reasons to hang around and had to leave.

Hissing at me to follow him after 5 min Lucius swept down the path and disappeared. I made myself comfortable when a light came on in the upper floor and I nearly had a heart attack. The light was almost directly where I was and I was trying to see if there was anyone at the window when SOMEONE ELSE came down the path with a bicycle.

The path where I was kind of visible and now the light was on.

I would have face palmed if I had dared to move.

Luckily I was not spotted (I hope) and the light went off (Yay) and it was high time I got out of there when it all went wrong again.

Light footsteps reached my ears.

"-murmur-murmur-game-murmur-live-murmur-murmur-player-"

How many people were there who decided to go after Detritus that night? And at that time?

And if one was a live player it was probably was best if I stayed put. Now this was awkward, it was one thing to hide to ambush Detritus after Lucius lured him out. It was another thing to accidentally eavesdrop on other people's conversations who had no idea I was there.

A man with an umbrella strode up the path. A woman with no distinguishing artifact followed.

Detritus, understandably suspicious, of these two assassins literally five minutes after Lucius left demanded answers.

My phone buzzed.

Dammit.

The conversation didn't work out and the duo were walking up and down the path so much that I just resigned myself to being killed as they had to spot me some time! Then they did spot someone.

Then they left. (Thank god)

A minute after that, Lucius skidded into the path and gave me a terrible fright by shining a torch on me and making me think someone who had lived in that fortress had found me. I hastily left before some one else decided to show up and had nearly reached the gate when Detritus spotted me.

Ah.

Oops.

There was a sharp shout. A demand for an answer. An accusal of a name.

The dark saved both of us.

Apparently, Lucius filled me in later, Detritus had thought I was one of the previous assassin duo and had lunged for his weapon. If he had rushed down the path right then, we would both have died, I was facing the wrong way, too frozen to think about moving because NOISE and Lucius' view was blocked by me.

But no one did.

Lucius signed for me to flee.

I did.

Detritus, very unsurprisingly, spotted me again. Goddammit have an inferior night vision.

Half way down the street, a gun shot rings out harsh and discordant against the terrible peace of the night.

Detritus had killed Lucius already...?

Ah.

Oh no.

I slump against a wall and wait for Lucius to catch up. There's no point in even being subtle anymore. I did move to a tree when I heard voices and after Lucius caught up, he explained that he thought Detritus was going after me and that Detritus thought he was going after the assassins from before and that he'd shot Detritus and that had thrown him for a loop because apparently Lucius' excuse for becoming corrupt had worked and been believed and now it appeared like Detritus had been betrayed by his latest 'corrupt' underling which Lucius explained glumly might actually make him wanted or corrupt if he was unlucky.

It...wasn't quite clear the sequence of events or motives but we both agreed it was a tremendous mix up and that we should leave it while we were very, very behind.

audaces fortuna iuvat reports:

I tripped, I tripped and fell on the gun, honest

herself by occidunt reports:

16:45 I trekked down to [REDACTED SOUTHERN COLLEGE] in an attempt to purge one of the incos: '; DROP TABLE Assassins; --. It seemed logical to head to the [REDACTED COMPASS DIRECTION] side of the college to find [SAME REDACTED COMPASS DIRECTION] House. After a little while of wandering around, it became apparent that the naming scheme was more of a relative measure, not accounting for the entirety of the campus. I head [REDACTED OPPOSITE COMPASS DIRECTION] and found the place I was looking for. I headed inside and found a labyrinth of corridors to navigate. I spent a good while searching around to find the room, and a further good while determining how one would get rapidly away from said room, should it be made apparent that a small handful of knives is insufficient to perform a siege on enemy territory.

There were a lot of people around in the corridors, so I spent an additional good while memorising my target's face so that I might identify them if there was a chance encounter. I also tried to think of a plan to get my target out of their room. This was unfruitful. Noticing various other residents becoming wary of my continued, suspicious presence, I panicked and simply knocked very loudly on the target's door, then swiftly hid around the corner. I didn't notice any movement, so recirculated around the corridors, hoping perhaps to meet them on their return.

I returned to the door, but having nothing to follow up the previous attempt with, I simply knocked again. The door did not open, so I decided to leave.

17:50 On my way back from [REDACTED SOUTHERN COLLEGE], I coincidentally bumped into a certain highly-esteemed inventor and a friend, whom I knew to be of similar allegiance to myself, so I stopped to chat. After some discussion, it was arranged that I would receive some more substantial firepower very shortly.

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

Couple-killing! Killed Vengeful Tears of Pain at brunch (she seemed pretty apathetic considering it was a really colourful laser sword to the face, but brunch is exciting) and her dearest spouse Incompetent Pheonix at a friend's birthday gathering.

A dramatisation of Incompetent Pheonix's death:

Incompetent Pheonix: *walks into room*
*room instantly hushes*
At least three people: Incompetent Pheonix she's gonna kill you [really need to stop telling my friends my guild antics]
Me: nononono
I'm not going to kill you
*fumbles urgently in pockets*
killing? no that is not in character for me at all
*fumbles in other pocket*
why on earth would people do that
*finally grabs jolt and shoots Incompetent Pheonix in the chest*

Elegance is not a prerequisite of assassindom...

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

might have been an unsociable thing to do but whilst
[REDACTED] college is so near and dear to my heart that
numerous relatives think i have a girlfriend called [REDACTED]
(though what they make of me soliloquising about her brickwork is
unknown - maybe they think it's a really elaborate euphemism)
love for my homestead cannot overrule incohunting responsibilities
as L found out from the other end of a laser sword

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

Introducing myself to assassins is always good fun, particularly now I'm dead; it pretty much consists of this -

Them: Which pseudonym are you? Me: Take a number.

Formed a dynamic duo with Hester Shaw, who was apparently extremely cold given that their entire head was wrapped in a completely unsuspicious heavy scarf and one of their eyes looked like it had argued with a brick

(no, Hester, 'we' were not suspicious to the porters. 'we' is not the pronoun I'd use.)
(I mean sure I was holding an axe but you looked like Quirrell.)

We completely misinterpreted the first clue (good start) and went wandering around with conspicuous weapons looking at 'dark towers' for about 20 minutes until the Umpire finally bailed us out. At least we figured out the second clue, which we realised very quickly because all the other assassins had also worked it out. I farshotted Emmanuel Kantor and Lyra Silvertongue, getting one in the arm while Hester stormed them with a water gun and killed them both.

Then we encountered the [NOT A MAFIA OF SHADOWS] after receiving our third clue - I killed box of socks but received a projectile to the chest; I also took out one of the six of Cornelius Grey's limbs that I ended up taking out over the course of the minigame. Apparently Cornelius Grey is a squid. He interpreted this as my lack of accuracy. I would interpret it as being very nearly accurate a lot of times.

Hester left me on standby, running up towards Castle Hill. When I came off standby I went running up the road, but I am an idiot and decided to attempt to look up where Castle Hill was on my shit Windows Phone (damn you Bing!!!) and only thought to look behind me when Cornelius Grey was about 10cm from my back. So, more time out. And great sympathy from my partner in the form of a choice 'lol'.

Ran off again, and saw Cornelius Grey running down the road; I stormed him and shot him in what I THOUGHT was his back. Then ran off again, but failed to realise it was actually just his arm (I have great enmity towards his arm) and so he killed me again.

I let [NOT A SHADOWY MAFIA] and [NOT A MAFIA OF SHADOWS] battle it out outside [REDACTED COLLEGE 2] while I hid, and then I ran to [HILL COLLEGE]. I RAN. Up a HILL. And became QUICKLY and ACUTELY AWARE that I have neglected my gym regime this term.

As soon as I got to [HILL COLLEGE] the conversation exchange with Hester went somewhat like this:

Me: I'm at [HILL COLLEGE] where now
Him: I've killed Hibbert we have to be at market square now
Me: [EXPLETIVES]

So I ran back down the hill, and eventually found Hester before my lungs burst. We went to Orgasm Bridge for the next clue, finding that the [NOT A MAFIA OF SHADOWS] lot had beaten us there, but we took the bridge, holding them off with a Python and a farshot. [NOT A SHADOWY MAFIA] then also came over the bridge and left us surrounded, but the traffic meant that we could barely exchange fire so we just waited for the glorious Umpire to show up.

He decided on rounds of Knives in the Dark / Knives, Jolts and Lightsabres in the Dark etc at Queens' Backs, with the winner of each successive round receiving the last clue and getting a head start on the others. I killed Lyra Silvertongue and then Emmanuel Kantor in the first round, the latter because he'd lost a leg and I just kept him hopping about because it amused me. But soon it was just me and three of the [NOT A MAFIA OF SHADOWS] lot left, and they pincered me, so [NOT A MAFIA OF SHADOWS] won the first round.

The second round was hard-fought, by people who were not me. I killed one of the [NOT A SHADOWY MAFIA] lot and then we went dart-hunting because we'd lost all our [CENSORED] ammo, so I was strolling about looking for darts as my partner fought Countess Wells to the death. Eventually I decided to be nice, so I ran behind Countess Wells and rulered them in the back on the second attempt. I packed up the gear, worked out the key to finding the Doomsday Device (is there a 'Sometimes Wasn't Useless' award?) and we headed off for the Umpire's house, knowing we'd be facing an onslaught.

[NOT A MAFIA OF SHADOWS] had already received the prize - the dossier - but we did take out Lyra Silvertongue and His Returned Lady Friend, Hester exchanging fire with Lyra Silvertongue and then leaving me to vault the chair behind her and axe His Returned Lady Friend in the head (again, elegance is not required in assassindom). I'm running on no sleep so I wasn't going to get any work done, so I instead accepted the Umpire's invitation to [REDACTED COLLEGE 2] hall, which is UNFATHOMABLY snazzy and I'm now annoyed at my college. Step it up, [REDACTED COLLEGE 1]. We need sprouts.

- Psychofreshery Personified

P.S. Lovely to see/meet you all, even the [NOT A SHADOWY MAFIA] with their SLANDER and DEFAMATION in relation to my EXCELLENT AIM (honest)

Cornelius Grey reports:

Some random thoughts from Cornelius Grey...

They knew where they were going... they knew that they had to get there quickly. To that end, Cornelius had started to run.

That was probably not wise.

A wave of electric energy hit him from the side and the world went black. (Hi Lyra)

----------------------------------------------

All things considered, even if the Gentleman's power stopped immediate death for all taking part, this was going to be a long and rather painful day.

He came to with Wells and Kenway lying around him... apparently they hadn't noticed the sniper in the bushes either.

Things were apparently off to a great start.

The inventor checked his weaponry, then lead the way into the location that they had meant to be entering stealthily.

A few shots were fired and Kenway managed to dispatch most of their enemies while Grey tried very hard to maintain his footing and not fall over (it was rather slippery).

From among the wreckage, they were able to retrieve information on where to head next.

And so the day went on.

A few days ago, the Gentleman had sent them the information they needed to know exactly where to go to bring down this shadowy doomsday device.

Sadly, it had become abundantly clear that other assassins along the way were only going to impede their progress. The one who reached the device first wasn't going to stop its firing... they were going to use it to gain information on every assassin in Cambridge.

Well, that was less than ideal.

Still, if he really thought this through, maybe the whole 'immunity from death thing' was overrated. After all, the second time he was gunned down, this act was starting to get rather old (good day Gentleman).

The fourth time, he didn't even have a decent excuse. He knew where the assailant was and had even prepared superior weaponry. (tell box of socks I said hi) Yes, he gave as good as he got in that exchange, but still, apparently death hurt... as was shown to him again when he attempted to run down a fleeing Hester Shaw and was instead utterly obliterated by the man turning and firing once. Maybe trying to follow somebody that impressive with one arm hanging uselessly by his side (due to a shot from Psychofreshery Personified... we'll see them more later).

The rest of the day... well, he spent it trying to catch up with the rest.

Fortunately, he was able to take out Psychofreshery Personified as his team managed to get a message to him via telegram, telling him where they were headed. They were wandering around with far too much weaponry and not enough paranoia to look behind them at the not at all suspicious figure who was walking rapidly towards them with a primed gun.

Apparently he did not walk quick enough as she quickly caught up to him after her revival and shot once more, taking out his arm. Apparently his yelled curse and falling dramatically to the side was enough to fool her, as she retrieved her bullet and ran on. Well, he had one arm, a gun and a leg he could prime it with... this had worked out so well previously.

This time, however, he managed to damn well catch her and send a shot into her back. He stopped for just long enough to watch the body, already healing itself, before he had to sprint onwards.

His team would be-

Oh snap!

He reversed his direction as a team of three rounded the bend in front of him.

'Truce!'

Oh... oh, ok.

He calmed down and carefully regarded each of them.

'Alright...'

'Your other two are already ahead, it wouldn't do us any good killing you.'

Oh... well that made things easier.

He nodded slowly and walked past them. Two paces on, he turned on his heel and aimed at the first one's head. Fortunately, his limb had already healed from the previous two times it had been taken out.

It was rather irritating that he had time to call out. The second one wasn't quick enough to stop him, but the third... they broke out into a run and actually managed to give him some trouble. Fortunately, his opponent from earlier had respawned and managed to catch up. That distraction gave him time to line up a third shot.

Alright... where was Psychofreshery?

It didn't matter. He turned and continued to sprint towards his next destination, where he found Wells and Kenway still unable to move on.

Oh come on...

Apparently they were waiting for a duel between two men holding some sort of field generator that was currently containing a large amount of ionised plasma. The overall effect was one of two glowing blades made of energy, one red, one blue.

Damn it all.

'Cornelius... about time. One of the groups has already gotten-'

'Gunned down, yes.'

As one of the figures finally landed a killing blow on the other, Cornelius extended his hand.

'May I?'

He took up the weapon and assumed a very non standard stance, one hand stretched out in front of him as the other held the weapon. For a few moments, his opponent and he danced back and forth, trying to find an opening. At this point, the inventor lost patience and simply stepped forward, deflecting his opponent's swing off of his arm into his legs and swinging with his own blade, cleaving his opponent's chest open.

He was by now, growing less 'attached' to his limbs.

With his remaining hand, he removed a spare clockwork arm and two undamaged legs from his bag and began reattaching them.

Yes, when he had first joined the 'competition', he had been fully human, but much of what he had seen had encouraged him to improve his body in order to keep up with the others. Since using the normal methods of exercise had seemed rather dull, he had opted for a second method.

Missing limb count: 5
Death count: 4
Kill count: 6

They moved on. Wells was ahead of the other two for some time... when he didn't notice her at their destination, he panicked... and with good reason. Heading straight towards him was a kamikaze plane. Fortunately, his quick reflexes allowed him to 'block' the weapon. (I panicked and it worked out).

Missing limb count: 7

Kenway took care of the enemy.

Moving on, the three found themselves part of a standoff between two of the other groups. Eventually, it was resolved by multiple small scale 'skirmishes'.

In the first, Cornelius lost an arm and a leg before being stabbed repeatedly by his three opponents. Of course, they did seem to have a fascination with killing his left leg.

In the second, he lost an arm, a leg, the other arm, and then his other leg before being stabbed through the chest. Sadly, there was no attack penguin to hand that he could easily throw with his teeth.

In the third, he took some plasma energy through the foot.

Kill count: 8
Death count: 6
Missing limb count: 14... not including the fact that he lost the same limb 4 times in one of the skirmishes.

Remind me to at some point go ask Psychofreshery Personified if she will kindly return the 6 limbs she stole from me this day.

Hester Shaw reports:

WHen I heard that thre was a 'doomsday weapon' on the loose in ye olde town I knew htat it probably wouldn't be long until that bloody Valeniine tried to get his hands on it. Damnde I'd be if I ever let that happen. A mysterious group assembled outside the church of the St Mary the Greatest, where other fellow scavengres like myself were told to seek some kind of Dark Tower. I thought to meself, theree's only [THERE ARE NO DARK TOWERS IN CAMBRIDGE], the one dedicatide to one of them old saints form the good book, [SAINT] I fink it was, so I grabebed my trust scarf so noone could see my ruined face, especialy not none of theose who Valentine had metnioned me to, if he's left any of them still alive. I might hate that man with a passione, but dammit he's effective when he neends to be. Unfortnuately, some officious pereosn guarding the location thought we was far to suspishus for him to be comfortable with us there - none of these fancy upper class types we were, but in my quick thinking I named someone from the area I had met before and he let us off with a word. Maybe he felt sorry when he realised quite why I was swaddled in the concealing attyre. Turns out that there was none for us there, but we eventually got to the old library where we were pointed towards a park area in the north of the city. The clash of weapons sounded from well far from it, so me and my partner-in-crime snuck up and shot them where they stood, solving the next clue qwickyl and left with haste. Another group of the scavengers engaged on us as we left, and with my combat experience I fought them off, killing one and injuring the rest but my partner was not so lucky so I hade to leave her there as I proceeded up the rise with haste to an old fortress. Atop there seemed to be a funny old chap in a top hat, who was engaged in a furious clash ofblades with one of the people who had already got there, but when sheo bested him I challenged as well. During the duel I pulled out my old man's pistol and took a shot, but he shrugged it off like it was nothing. [YOU SHOT ME WITH A PISTOL DURING A LIGHTSABER DUEL. That was never going to work.] Never mind, I trusted in my honest steel and eventually after relieving him of a leg aI finished him (and seveal others who decided to amuse themselves by fighting my on my out). I rushed to he centre of the market, where a proper Lady like had a tame bear - where we then mutually exchanged fire, her hitting a market trader and my own self square in the face., None the less I recovered in mere minutes, and proceeded to a steep bridge, holdingg the high ground until all the scavengers had assemebled. We then duelled in rounds on the grases nearby,making outr victory in the second but arriving too late at the sited of the doomsday device too laste - it had already been takeen by those who had just bested us. I was only consoled that there seememd to tbe no sign of that wrecked Valentine, so at leaste my presence may have prevented him from grasping it. ANd also htey had these old-worlde sweet things they called 'donoughts'.
yrs, diary
HESTER SHAW

I'd rather go to Oxford than St John's reports:

The Muse appeared when I was young,
By summer's sunlight kissed.
With mellow voice I filled each lung
And uttered forth her song, unsung
Through years of autumn-mist.

Then I was Bard of Poetry:
Bold deeds of yore I sang.
As winter formed frost-filigree
On autumn's rustling elegy,
My metres rang, and rang.

Who was to know the burn of steel,
Its coldness, flashing bright?
The Muse sang loud: Fate's rolling wheel
Dashed off the cowards' last appeal
And snatched them from the light.

As seasons changéd, so did I.
Assassin sharp and bold,
With weapons cruel I'd dance, and fly
Through shadows, scream the Muse's cry.
The seasons grow yet old,

And soon, my verse receded be
Behind the fogs of time.
O! Winter draws yet close to me:
Its icy winds howl finally
That ended is my rhyme.

Still, there are aeons drawing near
And aeons yet to pass
Where, huddled in the lamp-lit cheer,
Long tales of epic deeds we'll hear
With mulled wine in our glass.

Let Winter howl! I die, I fall:
This means but nought to me.
My stories still regale us all
And by these tales, I'm held in thrall
To immortality.

Twitch reports:

His eyes slowly opened.

'Ah, you're awake.'

Where was he?

He looked around himself, taking stock of the room. Papers... papers were scattered everywhere. One drew his attention, one which had a different style of handwriting to all of the others.

'Dear [REDACTED],

We have heard of your recent success and would like to offer you your old position again. Please reply if you are still interested. We have much to discuss.'

He looked up at the other man in the room, a tall, grey haired man who was peering at him through a multi lensed monocle.

'Who are you?' The man questioned him.

'I am [REDACTED].'

'Incorrect... what is your purpose?'

He looked down at his hands, two warped metal objects attached to the ends of two metal rods. He was vaguely aware that something on his back was releasing smoke into the room.

'To [REDACTED].'

'Incorrect... you are not me. That is my name, and was my purpose... now who are you?'

'I... I...' he looked across the room and caught a reflection of himself in one of the faces of a refracting crystal. He looked vaguely human but for the fact that his eyes were clearly glass and the skeletal figure of his arms seemed to be made of metal and jutting out from under his skin at around his shoulder blades.

'You are incomplete... here.'

The man picked up some sort of skin coloured sheet from his desk and started stretching it over the automation's arms.

'Who am I?'

'You'll have to figure that out for yourself... but I can tell you your purpose.'

The man stepped around to his back and seemed to fiddle around with something for a few moments.

'There... now, your purpose is [REDACTED].'

'I...I...'

'Yes?'

He paced over to a weapon which was lying on the desk, his movements sporadic, as if he was moving one joint at a time rather than walking fluidly as a human would. He checked the weapon, then turned towards the other man. His hand was shaking, although why, he had no idea.

'With this?'

'Yes.'

'... I see.'

Suddenly, he brought the weapon up and pointed it at the man before him.

'You are [REDACTED]... but I remember being [REDACTED] too... and if it's all the same to you, I'll be taking my name and my purpose back now.'

'... I wish I could say that I hadn't anticipated this, but-'

He pulled the trigger. Somehow, the man before him actually ducked out of the way of the bullet.

'Redemption.'

He froze. His limbs refused to move... He tried to pull the trigger again and found his finger twitching uselessly, unable to squeeze properly.

'So...'

He dropped the weapon.

'Do you wish to try that again? I have another twenty deactivation criteria built into you. So, here is how the rest of this is going to work. You are going to do what I have told you to, and in return, you are never going to see me again. Survive, and you can have your own life... but create a new name for yourself, a new life, because you are NOT me.'

'... I... I am Jiro Twitch.'

'Excellent. Thankyou for your cooperation in this, Mr Twitch.'

The man turned and walked towards the door.

'I will leave this room and everything in it to yo-'

Twitch dropped to the floor, retrieved the weapon, moved his aim upwards and fired. Again, the man was forced to duck away, behind the door.

Now... if he had decided to create a mechanism to control an automation, where would he put it?

Twitch's hand flew to his neck, then burrowed through the skin on the surface and yanked a small series of cogs and gears from it.

There... that would do it.

Seeing what had happened, the man turned and fled.

'Interesting... so I am not [REDACTED]... but I think I might just try to become them.'

He observed himself in the refracting crystal. The visage wasn't quite complete, but it would fool most... he was, to all who looked upon him, [REDACTED].

Yes, this would do nicely. He sat down at his new desk and began to take stock of what had been left behind for him to use.

Maybe [REDACTED]'s story was over, but here began a new one... maybe a very short one.

'And on the sixth day... God created man.'

The unfortunate third year engineer from Pembroke who was killed by his own arrogance reports:

Stabbed Songbird at 1455 outside [REDACTED]. Probably doomed myself for the week now, but cowwuption is always fun. Dark side smashing it...

Songbird reports:

The Songbird was struck down by the corrupt police, but will rise again. The traitors cannot stay safe for long, for we are immortal.
Fear the Songbird (once I'm alive again)

The unfortunate third year engineer from Pembroke who was killed by his own arrogance reports:

Met with the other declared members of the corrupt police to clean out [REDACTED COLLEGE] of the five fresher police. The five of us entered the bar to discuss tactics, conveniently spotting Bennezio da Llama Trampled playing pool. After Vimes told Gentleman's Fury to 'stab the guy playing pool', he killed her civilian opponent. Fortunately she was unarmed, meaning he could rectify his mistake unharmed. One down. We agreed to split into groups to catch the others en route to hall. After totally-not-conspicuously loitering for around 10 minutes, Psychofreshery Personified spotted Gentleman's Courage. Vimes and I moved in for the kill and we both attacked, me with NERF, him with sword. Not sure who went first. The corpse looked awfully confused so I stabbed her friend next to her for good measure - who also happened to be a civilian. Two down. After not spotting any others, we decided to go door-to-door. We entered the staircase and Psychofreshery Personified saw Pork on the staircase. A swift sword thrust and three were down - after which I shot the corpse for good measure. This brought us to Gentleman's Heroism's room. Vimes knocked and convinced her to open the door by trying to recruit her to the corrupt police. Her paranoia was assuaged by him claiming to be unarmed. However I was hidden behind the door and shot her as soon as it opened. Gentleman's Fury then made the customary corpse desecration by shooting her as well. Four down. Unfortunately, we could not convert this to a clean sweep as [REDACTED] was not present.

Final count: 4 dead police, 2 desecrated corpses, 2 dead civilians, 0 dead lawbreakers. Gonna have to step up your game, losers...

Gentleman's Fury reports:

Dear most Horrible Gentleman, [Hi, he's out at the moment. But can come back at any time if you'd particularly like to die...]

The four others, of the most fanatic corrupt police, alongside myself entered into [REDACTED COLLEGE] and proceeded to kill four police officers. The loyalty of whom you could now call into question after they found themselves unprotected by the rest of the police force.

At approximately 5:50PM, The first death was of Bennezio da Llama Trampled, by my own hand. Admittedly there was a miscommunication and at first her male companion was killed as the presumed target. I confess without guilt therefore that I murdered an Innocent alongside the target, my only defense is the miscommunication and that his posture and dress suggested he was more of Assasin ilk.

As a group we then split up, and I waited at an entry point into [REDACTED COLLEGE] Dining hall. I had to go incogneto, and therefore like any good [REDACTED COLLEGE] student, read the at-hand guardian newspaper, making appropriate anti-trump and pro-corbyn noises. Alas, no targets passed by me, but my group secured another kill, her name I am sadly without.

We regrouped afterwards and made the third kill, on the staircase nearest the dining hall. again I am without name for our victim, but she seemed in a fairly upbeat mood.

We stalked [REDACTED COLLEGE]'s halls and found another target, who opened her door to the persuasive and beguiling voice of Commander Vimes. A frenzy followed as numerous members of the group opened fire on her. In the following calm when it was uncertain who had actually landed the killing blow, I fired my Jolt at her torso as a double tap, just in case. I again understand alongside killing an innocent, I may have also desecrated a corpse. But rule 2 of Zombieland is to doubletap, and rules be rules. so... Trump is to blame really...

From there we made a final sweep of the college, and quickly dispersed into the night.

Many thanks,
Gentleman's Fury. [And the award for the most ironic pseudonym goes to...]

P.S. As an added note, I would like to point out, that all my melee kills, in particular the killing of innocents, has been conducted with a 'knife' provided by the Gentleman (Umpire) himself. Ergo, is he not the real villain by facilitating misconduct? [What a fascinating question. At least someone's got my dramatic theme for this term...] I open the invitation to our misguided police friends, to go corrupt and provide a police force the Assassins value.

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

Five loyal police on the same floor of the same accommodation + that accommodation being right next to the hall they all attend = JACKPOT.

I took the helm for this raid and rediscovered what I had already been painfully aware of: subtlety is really not my strong point.

Attempted to be suave about pointing out Bennezio da Llama Trampled next to the pool table (she really likes the pool table). We decided Gentleman's Fury would go and make the kill; he darts around the corner, then returns confused, saying 'He's not even playing'. We frantically signal that it's the girl he's after and he returns back around the corner. Luckily Bennezio da Llama Trampled appeared to have just waited amusedly for him to return.

[I DID PUT PHOTOS AND NAMES ON THE CHAT. AND THEY WERE ALL WOMEN.]

Gestured haphazardly as Gentleman's Courage walked past, leading Vimes and The unfortunate third year engineer from Pembroke who was killed by his own arrogance to storm her with nerf darts, and her friend as well. Oops.

I spotted Pork walking unsuspectingly down the stairs and sniped her with my beloved laser sword before the others had time to recognise her. We then had a pleasant chat. I've met her twice now and both times I killed her. I'm very unsociable.

I already knew Gentleman's Heroism was a policewoman, so we decided on a group tactic, letting our eloquent Dear Leader Vimes do the talking while the four of us flanked him along the corridor. He covered the peephole with his finger while attempting to recruit her for the Corrupt faction.

Gentleman's Heroism: I'm a little nervous that I can't see out of my peephole.
Vimes: ...
...
I don't know, maybe there's some dirt on it or something.

Long story short; he (entirely truthfully) tells her he's unarmed, she opens the door and 'the unfortunate third year' and I pounce in, 'the unfortunate third year' getting the kill with a well-placed dart. [REDACTED] was out, but 80% of [REDACTED COLLEGE] police dead and no casualties = HYPE for the corrupt faction (joiiiin ussss)

Also I DEFINITELY killed the Umpire tonight but APPARENTLY, him just *deciding* he was OOB when giving me back my Python, despite never articulating this to me, meant that he was OOB and my entirely valid laser sword kill was annulled. BURN THE TYRANT. [It's almost like I'm omnipotent or something. I even told Ruby about me making myself OOB before I saw you, so that you couldn't call foul. The look on your face when I dropped my OOBness and threw a fluffy animal at you was a picture, though :p ]

- Psychofreshery Personified

[Despite the fact that I can't make you any more corrupt, please avoid killing innocents. Further innocent-killing missions will result in thunderbolting. Consider yourselves warned. -The Gentleman]

Lord Eigenvector reports:

I started today with a trek to my laboratory, where I have been hard at work experimenting with the latest advances in optical communications. My fellow guild members tell me that we could reliably encode secret messages with this technology and outsmart those who still rely on the telegraph.

However, progress does not always go smoothly. As I was preparing to return home, I was ambushed by a member of a rival faction, clearly hoping to steal my plans. After confirming my name, he stabbed me through the chest with a penknife. All my hard work gone to waste...

The Archduke of Farad reports:

Fortune finally struck me today, as I was able to remove one of those men of science who set out to abuse his skills and experience for manufacturing the most perverse and malicious instruments to harm others from the living. While attending some business of my own, I spotted the ghastly individual at work and promptly decided to set up a ruse to end his doings. I decided to lurk in the shadows outside his location until he showed his face and, while he was tinkering with one of those modern mechanical contraptions for transportation called out his name into the cold of the early night. Sheepishly, he turned his front towards me, as if completely unaware of the imminent danger his dealings had brought upon him, thus signing his own undoing. Swiftly, I forced my blade in his chest and brought his dark and twisted operations to an end before vanishing into the shadows again.

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

#killfarming

Talleyrand reports:

This is a dangerous business to be in, especially when outgunned by so many shadowy enemies working together. Fortunately, as allies of the true crown will be glad to hear, those enemies are now one fewer in number. During a chance encounter on the street, a certain treacherous individual and known affiliate of [THERE ARE NO MAFIAS IN CAMBRIDGE] was identified and swiflty dispatched with a single shot. The revolution will succeed. The Brass Throne must fall.

Clockmakers lie.

- Talleyrand

The Furnace Blaster reports:

They finally succeeded! As you are reading this, dear friend, I will have stopped existing, my body cold as stone and my soul gone to either heaven or hell. Just after returning from the city's dentist (an accident had necessitated minor work), my ears received the following question: "Are you a student?" (or so I thought), when in reality my assassin had the confirmation of my identity in mind. As I was turning towards the direction of the voice, ready to offer help in entering certain premises (which require those keys operating over the invisible aether), I realised the fatal mistake that should mark my undoing: Suddenly, I felt confronted with cold steel, ready to pierce my soft flesh. In trying to escape (another mistake, as I now realise), my unfortunate back resembled a bullet's golden opportunity. May you, dear friend be more fortunate in avenging me. Farewell!

Shrike reports:

I was killed at 3:30 by Chudleigh Pomeroy while I was in his room studying. Songbird walked in about 10 seconds later; I disguised my facepalm and diligently sat there acting normal until the inevitable happened, and Songbird died too.

Chudleigh Pomeroy reports:

Shrike and Songbird have met their death at my hands (or rather a knife in my hands). They unsuspectingly came round to work in my room while studying deeply I stabbed them.

Long live the corrupt police

Songbird reports:

Ok, this corruption in the police is getting out of hand. [Oh, NOW you notice?] I've just been (quite literally) stabbed in the back by a friend.

Songbird reports:

Death does not hold back the loyal police. With the help of Shrike, one traitor has been struck down. The rest will follow.
All who are corrupt, fear the Songbird (and Shrike. He's quite dangerous too).

Shrike reports:

4:05 after our deaths, Songbird and I went to Chudleigh Pomeroy's room and burst through the door, only to find his roommate alone. He said that Chudleigh Pomeroy was on the way back from something then. I shot the roommate for being in on our deaths earlier, and then collected and rechambered the dart; it was a special dart (pictured).

As we were leaving, we heard footsteps coming up the spiral staircase, so we backed against the door. They got slower until an inch of Chudleigh Pomeroy's head poked over the bannisters. He ran and we chased him. We shot out into the night, casting about the court, when a passerby pointed and said "he went that way", presumably assuming the 3 grown men running around manically were related. We found him in an ally way. He charged towards me over the few yards, so I shot repeatedly, him taking most of the hits on his satchel, so I couldn't tell where they'd have hit him. As he broke cover, Songbird opened up on him with the backup weapon I'd given him in case it didn't go cleanly, getting him with many darts.

Gentleman's Fury reports:

Dear Most Honorable Gentleman, [I'm glad I've been up-titled from 'most Horrible']

An interesting gentleman, who identified as a 'friend' but refused to give a name knocked on my door this evening. He asked for a 'teatowel' and when questioned stated it had 'coffeecups' on it. So actually if anybody in the Assasins has seen the missing towel, please give it to the second year Compsci student at St. Johns who is enjoying his second Year, but has no name and a charismatic voice.

I assume it was one of the Police's 'Finest', I see now their attempt at beguiling the public shows how Crooked they truly are. Once again Comrades in the Police, join our corrupt rebellion. Are we really the corrupt ones? I certainly haven't lied to kill anybody.

Many thanks, I shall be more prepared next time.

Gentleman's Fury

The unfortunate third year engineer from Pembroke who was killed by his own arrogance reports:

Sir Lucius Resurrectus came to my locked door at 2155 and tried to get me to open it with the excuse 'I thought you agreed to meet me at the plodge'. We agreed to settle this with a NERF duel and I promised not to shoot him as I left my room. I then opened the door with hands in the air. He placed his weapons on my bannister. Following my death in a similar fashion early in the game, I picked up his discarded knife and stabbed him with it - thereby not breaking my promise. [DISHONOURABLE!] In my defence, I had a lot of work to be doing and considering the negative impact on my studies duelling would have had (it takes time, you know) I'm sure we can agree that this was the best choice of action.

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

Continuing the police war sir-yes-sir! [No, sir!]

Sniped Black Ninja and Gentleman's Honesty outside [REDACTED FUN LECTURES], then stationed myself outside [REDACTED LECTURES OF FUN] and managed to kill Cheery Littlebottom after repeatedly pacing by him and him apparently not recognising me, despite the fact that I killed him the first time. I'm so forgettable *cries*

I also saw two live players from opposing factions in the grounds behind [REDACTED LECTURES OF FUN]. I presume one died to the other.

Twitch reports:

Primary objective:
Retake old life, assume old role

Conditions necessary for objective:
Survive
Remove potential threats to continued existence
Impersonate creator

Current objective: Impersonate creator and gather information.

Twitch's glass eyes flicked around himself as he walked towards his destination... nothing was meant to go wrong, but in order for the primary objective to be completed, he needed to minimise the risk of being destroyed. That meant that assuming there would be a threat would do no harm. Walking had become easier since his creation... he could now pass for human if it wasn't for the fact that every so often, one of his joints would twitch of its own accord. Perhaps that was for the best... he'd assumed his name due to the weird way in which he'd been forced to move around and it would have seemed quite strange if he'd learned to eliminate the very reason he was named what he was.

'Alright, see you Steamed Broccoli.'

Steamed Broccoli?

Twitch instantly searched the archives of his mind.

Identification: Steamed Broccoli
Affiliation: [THERE ARE NO MAFIAS IN CAMBRIDGE]

He blinked. That was strange, it was almost as if as he'd tried to think of this person, some all powerful force had redacted some of the information in his mind.

Affiliation: [REDACTED]

He assumed that meant that she had allies.

Face: A blurred out image displayed itself before his left eye, an image that he examined for a few seconds, then compared to the woman before him.

Probability of match: 58.7%

Twitch's gaze focused on her.

Primary objective:
Retake old life, assume old role

Conditions necessary for objective:
Survive
Remove potential threats to continued existence
Impersonate creator

Potential risk involved in making a mistake outweighs potential gain from taking shot. Police intervention would seriously harm probability of continued survival.

Suggested action: Ascertain identity

Complication: Already running late for current deadline.

He stared at her.
She stared back.

Match likelihood increasing... confirmation still required. Likelihood of identification as target: 70.4%

If she went for a weapon, he'd know it was her... come on, he was more identifiable than she was... she had to know it was him. She'd go for a weapon, and the moment she showed any sign of panic, he'd shoot her.

Why wasn't there any recognition in her eyes?

Why wasn't she at least putting her hand in her pocket?

Likelihood of match: 68%

63%

It continued to drop and he started to turn away, checking the reflection in a nearby window to see her reaction. Now would be the perfect time for her to kill him... it would be easy. She had no idea he was still watching her.

Still, nothing

50.3%

Damn...

He started to walk away. At that moment, somebody grabbed his arm.

'You idiot, that's her.'

...

He quickly ascertained the identity of his informant... what were they doing here? He was pushed back towards the now retreating figure before him.

Probability of target: 97.8%

Adjusting for probability of betrayal: 86.3%

Adjusting for prior knowledge and earlier naming: 97.5%

Suggested action: Take the shot.

He carefully walked up behind her, placed his creator's gun to the woman's head and pulled the trigger.

Of course, her affiliates would know that she'd gone missing... they'd be here soon, searching for her... he had to make a hasty exit. He was running late and was taking a shortcut through this area anyway.

All in all, that had been incredibly fortuitous.

Steamed Broccoli reports:

Trying to integrate with the other mathematicians in my year I was chatting with sum outside the lecture theatre while walking back to [REDACTED]. However it seemed to be very tricky and absurd being able to differentiate between trustworthy ones and not, or even imaginary ones or real ones. Just as I was walking out I heard a bang. It took me a moment to get my bearings but by then it was too late, I died.

Mikasa, Edle von N reports:

Dear Gentleman (autocorrect changed it to "Dead Gentleman", how threatening) [Well, I understand there is a certain desire among the more Corrupt elements of our Police to take me down...],

I briefly met with my shadowy friend Psychofreshery Personified outside [REDACTED COLLEGE] today, with the hopes of taking a little sneak around the grounds before heading off, with her murderous advice, to make some attempts in nearby colleges.

Things... didn't quite go to plan. After a matter of minutes stood by the archway, a pretty lady walked through it, and upon the sight of us, drew a large gun defensively. Uncertain of my identity, and wary of my lack of obvious weaponry, she eventually turned away and started walking down the street. At which point I clocked that she must be Countess Wells, a potential kill for me, and decided to follow along a little behind, trying to get a clear shot of her head.

Realising that there was little chance of that on such a busy street, I began to hesitate, just as Countess Wells turned and started walking back towards me. At this point I did what any self-respecting, out-armed assassin would do: walked briskly, and the moment I was around the corner, completely legged it. Looking over my shoulder, it became clear that two thirds of the [THERE ARE NO MAFIAS IN CAMBRIDGE] were in pursuit. Thankfully, a few well chosen turns and a lot of running allowed me to survive another day.

Following that near miss, I headed to [REDACTED COLLEGE] to attempt to kill Lord Deathstone. Easily infiltrating his college, I found his accommodation and waited carefully between the door to the corridor and the door to his room, weapons at the ready, for nearly twenty minutes, before I became wary of the suspicious glances of his neighbours. Deciding that it was safer to leave for the time being, I headed back to my own accommodation to recover from the day's events and plot my next move.

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

So I decided to help my dearest friend Mikasa, Edle von N get back on their feet, and agreed to meet with them outside [SHADY COLLEGE THAT HOUSES NO MAFIAS WHATSOEVER, NONE] to show them where some accommodation of live players was before we went to make an attempt at [EQUALLY SHADY COLLEGE].

I was not Count-ing on Countess Wells (see what I did there? Did you see it?) waltzing out of the door of [SHADY COLLEGE THAT HOUSES EXACTLY 0 MAFIAS] thirty seconds into my nice chat with Mikasa. So, there I am; live player to my left, live player to my right, neither recognising the other, both my allies, not each other's allies, and Countess Wells is pointing a gun my way and looking very suspicious, and I'm entirely calmly considering my options and not swearing inside my head at all.

I made some unconvincing small talk with Countess Wells before they walked off down the street, and I looked sort of incredulously at Mikasa, who hadn't seen Wells before and didn't know they were an assassin. Mikasa then took off down the street, but not having any real distance weaponry on her, she quickly doubled back as soon as Wells started to run. I told Mikasa to run through [SHADY COLLEGE THAT WOULD BE A LOVELY PLACE TO PUT UP A MAFIA, IF ONE EXISTED, WHICH IT DOES NOT] sharpish, which she did.

Wells then returned with Marcus Kenway, both looking extremely suspicious and holding impressive whirring guns under their jackets. I quickly talked them down and informed them Mikasa would not be a problem for them again, and explained my current scheme of action, which they seemed to accept. Following my advice, they left discreetly.

I met back up with Mikasa after my incredible feat of diplomacy and showed her the way to [EQUALLY SHADY COLLEGE], where she attempted on Lord Deathstone by hiding in his toilet and waiting for him to leave, except according to her messages people actually needed to use the toilet and he didn't look like he was coming out anytime soon, so she left.

And here was me thinking my life would get so much simpler once I died...

[General note: Police accompanying live and incompetent players, while not ideal, is OK. Accomplicing for them is not OK and is likely to result in thunderbolting. Doing either while they are Wanted will result in thunderbolting]

Vimes reports:

FABRICATI DIEM, PVNC

[Side note: Commander Vimes would like people to know that he successfully employed a cosh and a disguise too] [Without dying? You're on shaky ground...]

The Blunted Knife reports:

At approximately 10.30 pm I was drinking and socialising in [REDACTED BAR] when I was brutally coshed and lightsabered by Commander Vimes.

I didn't initially recognise him because he was wearing a very sinister disguise

Topped off a very long day quite appropriately if I'm honest.

The unfortunate third year engineer from Pembroke who was killed by his own arrogance reports:

Alas the final end of my game has been reached. I was, shall we say, pessimistic about my chances of survival this evening. I had to attend a meeting of [REDACTED]. The time and place of which were well known to Shrike, seeing as many antics had occurred there previously. My plan was exit hastily and hope to disappear within two minutes. As I left, Shrike rushed at me with a laser sword, after which I smugly reminded him of the rules on societies. My survival chances had improved. I then left at lightning speed, thinking that he surely wouldn't be able to keep up and get the jump on me by tailing on foot. 'On foot' being the key part of that sentence. For he had a bicycle. Bit silly of me not to think of that, given that this is Cambridge, but this allowed him to avoid my scanning. He engaged me again outside [REDACTED], this time successfully. Well at least I wasn't the first to go down.

All power to the rebellion.

Shrike reports:

You know what they say about wanting something done right. Finding both my top lieutenants indisposed, I went it alone. [Fascinating, I was considering a similar thing not so long ago...]

I waited outside the brass band venue for the second time this term. The music stopped a little after 10. I was just typing out a message to my lieutenant to tell him I was about to attack and that if I didn't respond it meant I was dead, and he should send backup. Halfway through, I found The unfortunate third year engineer from Pembroke who was killed by his own arrogance had emerged, and was a short distance away, asking someone from the local college to open a card only gate for him. Thinking he was probably still out of bounds, but deciding I could ask questions after, I bounded forward, racked open my sword and chopped his head off. He plead 2 minutes, and while it was 10:06, they hadn't finished on the dot, and I'd consider packing up his kit to be part of the meeting, so I concurred that my beheading was ineffective. He passed through the gate, and was on his merry way. Assuming corrupt police would be on top of me in moments, I turned and ran back to the front of the college, where I'd parked, jumped on my bike, and shot around the college, heading for [REDACTED COLLEGE].

I passed Psychofreshery Personified on the way, who was heading in the opposite direction to The unfortunate third year engineer from Pembroke who was killed by his own arrogance; I believe I recognised her first, as I was smiling sweetly as I cruised past while she looked at me aghast, finally drawing a water gun the size of a child from the bundle of things in her arms (there was no way in hell it was water with care grade, but she didn't shoot me with it, so no harm done). I was already out of range by time she was ready to shoot, and I cruised away with a mirthless laugh and a call of "yeah right". I didn't catch her exact response, but it went something along the lines of [CENSORED]. For a moment she looked as though she was considering running after me, in a glorious expression of indecision that I've only seen once before when someone who had me as a target in Lent '15 shouted to me as I cycled passed her. Psychofreshery Personified wisely decided she probably couldn't run at 15mph and turned away to continue on her journey.

We watched one another as we drifted further away, until she looked *even smaller*. Satisfied she wasn't going to bother me, I returned my gaze forward, and found that The unfortunate third year engineer from Pembroke who was killed by his own arrogance was a few hundred feet in front. He was checking over his shoulder, and seemed to look straight at me as I slowed in the centre of the road. It occurs to me that if he and Psychofreshery Personified had coordinated when they passed one another, they could have effectively ambushed me. I pulled into the [SITE], and parked my bike. Taking my bag off my back, I moved my guns into a carrier bag, and emerged onto the road. I saw him on the other side of the crossroads. I was lucky, and the traffic were stopped. I ran up behind him with him still yet to see me. I'd drawn my gun and closed to a few feet by time he knew I was there. I only needed one, which was fortunate, since my gun jammed after that one. It hit him in the back and bounced back towards me. So close to his home, it would seem he couldn't decide whether he wanted to run, return fire, or drop his instrument case on the floor.

He compromised with halfarsed versions of all three. The shot from his triad went wide over my right shoulder, and he backed away. Seemingly realising that I'd stopped chasing him, he edged closer to me while I looked for my spent darts. He hadn't felt me shoot him, but seemed convinced when I showed him the dart on the floor, having stopped mid-flight where he'd been standing, and facing back towards me where it had bounced off of him. He picked up his instrument (saying it was fine) and we had a quick chat before I turned back in the hope of tracking Psychofreshery Personified.

I guessed she'd have turned right, towards more colleges at the end of the road, so I cruised past [REDACTED] and [ALSO REDACTED]. Finding she wasn't there, I sent a warning message to Gentleman's Fortune at [OH LOOK, A REDACTED COLLEGE], and headed in that direction. I got all the way to [REDACTED] without any luck, and proceeded to outsource her tracking to the rest of the police. Nobody had any suggestions, so I continued to scour the nearby streets, even making it 2/3 down [NOT A MAFIA HOUSE] before pronouncing that a suicide mission and turning tail back to cruise [EXPURGATED] and [NOT RELEVANT TO THE MAIN GIST OF THE TALE] again. Having no luck, I made for the center of town, thinking she might have fled for home. Being out of luck yet again, I called it a bust, and returned home for a (partial) victory drink, and a 3am essay crisis.

Haikufier reports:

Shot him with my gun,
O Cyriac Cyriac,
Why you die so young?

Talleyrand reports:

Late last night there was an altercation between The Haikufier and Cyriac Cyriac. Cyriac was loitering on the street with a friend, apparently unworried by his proximity to The Haikufier's college. The Haikufier happened to be passing; as they approached him, they were able to identify him as an assassin. Apparently recognising The Haikufier, Cyriac briefly moved behind a lamp post in an apparent attempt to hide. As The Haikufier drew level, they drew to a halt, exchanging a brief, tense greeting. For a moment, neither moved. Cyriac then called a bang-kill and drew his weapon; The Haikufier drew as well and shot him through the chest. For some time, it was unclear as to who had been killed; after a brief discussion, Cyriac agreed that he was deceased, and accepted condolences and a donut.

The revolution will succeed. The Brass Throne must fall.
Clockmakers lie.

- Talleyrand

box of socks reports:

A box of socks was seen on Silver Street. This time it was knocked over by the Haikufier and its contents fell all over the street. What is a box without socks? Empty and meaningless.

Rook reports:

After the disastrous mess the last time and the mess after that one where Lucius got stabbed when parleying for a duel; Sir Lucius Resurrectus and I decided it was high time that we wiped that off our record. It was good timing. Shrike had sent me the details of a corrupt police who coincidentally shared my lectures.

Brilliant. Target acquired.

Unfortunately I was known to him and he to me. So I called Lucius in with the hope that if the target was distracted by the thought of me gunning for him, he might leave himself open to an attack from behind by Lucius.

I have no idea why I thought that this time our plan would work. The last hunts should have taught me better. I met up with Lucius outside [somewhere pretty] and wandered to outside the lecture hall where the target would appear in a few minutes.

We passed time by scrutinizing the faces of everyone entering the hall:

"Is that him?" Lucius asks, eyes narrowing, fingering his gun under his jacket.

"No." Is my answer, thumb sliding down the edge of my knife as a look alike strides up the stairs and into the hall.

Then he appears, appearing like a phantom, on the stairs and I jolt, expecting to see him before- we barely had time to catch him before he went in!

Lucius darts forward:

"Hi, mate. Are you [I have genuinely forgotten his name]?"

He gets a cool smirk in response and the dark police ducks into the hall without an answer and a whisper.

Drat.

But failure is getting to be an old friend now.

"You get him." Lucius shrugs at me before he lopes off. "You see him for two lectures in a row right?"

"Yes." I answer. "But he knows my face and KNOWS I'm definitely gunning for him now. Hmm."

Lucius grins and parts: "You'll be fine."

I roll my eyes, mind seething of ideas to get [what IS his name?]'s guard down enough so that I got in stabbing distance. In my lecture, inspiration strikes me-it was a terrible idea-but I had no better ones and I was not going to fail again!

On the way back to my stock-room, there was this tense stand off moment with a member of the (inco-bash)-bash quad that wiped us out(?? I may be terribly wrong here but he looked very familiar).

But I make it back to my stock room without losing my limbs, life or will.

"Never doing this again." I promise as I pull the blonde wig over my head. "NEVER"

I change everything that the police can use to identify me: clothes, shoes, bags, glasses, hat, watches and the wig is genuinely distracting enough that I think that it might have a chance of working.

I totter out of my room. My house mates look at me like they've never seen me before. To be fair, I looked at mirror-me like I'd never seen me before when I had finished.

My heart in my throat-this would be difficult to explain, if people saw through this-I made my way back to the lecture hall. My partner sees me and dissolves into giggles so strong, she has to clutch her locked bike not to fall over. Thanks for the vote of confidence...

But it works. Miraculously. No one who doesn't know me thinks anything is amiss.

I make my way up the stairs and by the mother of all coincidences the corrupt police can be seen in the corner of my vision, coming up the stairs behind me. Barely daring to believe my luck, I lean against the banisters. From the back, he has NO chance of recognizing me.

He comes up on my left.

Steel flashes.

A hilt is buried deep in his rib cage and the man staggers, looking at me in shock and disappointment, blood turning his shirt a scarlet so dark it looked black in the light.

To my satisfaction, he can't tell who I am until I tell him. To my extreme irritation, he still can't remember me or my face from two hours ago when I tried to assassinate him with Lucius. This entire thing was not necessary?? Lucius really did a good job in distracting him.

I then sit through my lecture in my disguise, taking it off in front of so many people when I know there's live assassins about might be...a tad unwise.

Note: I do not recommend wearing a cheap wig and a woolen hat on top of that if you don't want to feel like your head will melt from the crown.

Ah, I've remembered his name, it was Gentleman's Kindness.

Banantastic reports:

After a fruitful morning of lectures I was pine-apple-ing for a new target so I set off for the college of [PUN REDACTED FOR APPALLINGNESS AND RELATING TO A COLLEGE]. Alas, after a chilly morning my pistol was misfiring (should have brought the trusty banana gun, a much more a-peeling weapon) and so I was reduced to my humble knife for the grape assault upon the citadel itself. With my now much pear-ed down arsenal, I proceeded into the college, past the watchful gaze of the porters and to my target's room- helpfully enough someone had labelled their door with the correct name so as to remove any ambiguity for me. By this point I had worked out my opening line ("Hi! Orange you glad to see me? BANG") and was berry much ready to greet my target, however, despite my persistent knocking there seemed not to be anything in a way of response. Fig-uring I probably wouldn't be able to catch my target today, I reluctantly left.

Banantastic

P.S.

Last week I tried to get into [REDACTED COLLEGE] and discovered you needed to swipe in to access the staircases- I didn't avocado!

Psychofreshery Personified reports:

Shot down Incompetent Phoenix in cold blood in his room, next to his unperturbed college wife (considering she's killed him before I think she's pretty on-board with the concept). Exchanged pleasantries and then headed out, kitted up, to go on the legendary Mad One That Never Was.

I was proceeding down the road near [COLLEGE, LOVE OF MY LIFE, FIRE OF MY LOINS] to start the #madone, when I noticed the familiar, terrifyingly smooth and expressionless face of a TYRANT proceeding towards me. [That'd presumably be me.] Unable to disentangle my bandgun from my coat (what did I buy you for, coat?!) I drew my laser sword first, and then of course took advantage of the element of surprise to elegantly kill -

yeah, nope. Froze up like a Taste the Difference raspberry parfait and was about as useful in battle. He drew a jolt from his pocket, loosened his lightsabre from its hold, aimed at my shoulder and took the shot. It hit. Fear the psycho! [CENSORED]

We then strode back through town, re-passed [COLLEGE OF UNTOLD SPLENDOUR, UNTOLD GRACE] and went for a pleasant and not at all BITTER coffee, after which we left for the Umpire to travel to the [LIBRARY OF A HEATHEN SUBJECT - I COULD NOT STEP INSIDE FOR I WOULD BURN]. On the way I noticed my conversational companion had suddenly disappeared, since he had veritably flown from my side of the street over to the unsuspecting Graves and shot him in the stomach. The Umpire has had a good day. Our forces have not.

For a third and final time, I bid you all adieu. Happy murdering! :) P.S. THE CORRUPTS SHALL PREVAIL, EAT SABRE SHRIKE

The Gentleman reports:

The day is bright, unusually so for this time of year. The streets thrum with the flow of life. Here, a disciplined crocodile of young students walks, their voices high and cheery. There, a couple walks, hand in hand and soul in soul. And yet here comes The Gentleman, smiling slightly as he contemplates the city around him, but his eyes tight and his soul troubled. The years weigh heavily on him, responsibility and duty run behind him as twin dogs. The dreadful malice that is in the heart of Cambridge drags him hither and thither to serve its whims, and if he is too long away from his grim master, his heart urges him to go back to that dark tower, and contemplate the whirling of that vortex that lies within. So he cannot be pleased, cannot take pleasure in the shock of the cool air as autumn yields to winter. Such is his lot.

Some things still stir him, though. His lady-friend, love of his heart, returned to life by the power that he serves and yet unaware of his present bondage resides not far from the town. He goes to her at lunch, to forget for a while his life and to be warmed by her touch. For meaningless mundane chatter over meaningless food- he has long ceased to require sustenance, driven on by dark energies coursing through his body. When his hour is up, he stands, he bows, sweeps his hat back on to his head, and takes his leave, stiff-legged in his stride into the sunshine. No sign of pain on his face but- just occasionally- a tear in one eye, dropping to the cobbles below, disappearing into the hungry earth, forgotten as it falls. He is The Gentleman. An emotionless mask cloaking an empty shell. He knows his duty, and that is what he goes to do. As carriages clatter by, he walks back towards the centre of his city. The siren-song draws him on, back into reality.

There has been much death, but not enough to sate him. Different factions in his police force clash, with a small faction seeing altogether too much, declaring him a 'tyrant' and taking up arms against him. He cares not for this. Yet he knows that the power on which he has drawn to resurrect his remaining loyal servants means that this season's harvest of souls will be in effect diminished. The baleful intelligence will find him lacking, and he will suffer the fate of those who have passed before him. It must be ended soon, at any cost, or the consequences for his lady-friend will be dire. These are his thoughts as he crosses the park and steps back into the bustle of the great, straight street which pierces into the town centre.

He walks on, head high, one hand casually in his trouser pocket and a finger on his gun. Tyrants tend to be targets for would-be rebels, and it would cost him dearly to bring himself back from the grave. His skills, honed in the dreadful conflict which happened twelve months ago, would suffice for him to continue his stroll onwards. That slight smile again. He thinks back to how he was a year past- living in fear of the zombies Snow White had created with her power. Almost to the day, his friend and ally known only as Stanley had died the final death while waiting for someone to emerge from a lecture. How things had changed since that time long passed. Now his undead minions roamed the streets, and dead slew dead while the live struggled to live. The wheel turns.

A movement in front of him. There stands Psychofreshery Personified. Once the brightest and best of those who struggled under his feet, she had long since fallen to the blade of another one, who yet survived. Her bloodthirst had bought her back to being, sustained her through another death, but then bought her into conflict with the very person who had raised her from the grave. Her eyes are bright, a smile plays about her lips, and a laser sword is in her hands. Without hesitation, The Gentleman draws his gun, his eyes grey and his face calm. This is but one more repetition of what he has experienced before. Death is on the line, yes, but not the final death. Not that yet. He steadies his aim as she pauses in her tracks. The shot must be true. He draws his lightsabre with his other hand, still ready, and holds it in reserve. People move about them as they stand there in the street, one poised and ready to leap, the other like a statue, threatening but still. A moment passes.

More movement. Psychofreshery Personified's hand goes to her coat. A tightening of the eyes. A movement of a few fingers. Psychofreshery Personified falls to the ground. The taller figure shrugs. He sheaths his blade, tucks his gun away. Swift steps take him to the dying woman. With a motion almost automatic, he folds his knees, as his coat trails behind him. He looks into the eyes of the fallen.

'Damn it... I was almost on... thirty kills as well...'

All motion stills.

He stands again. His face is quite emotionless. He closes his eyes as people pass by. If anyone had been listening, they would have heard a whisper, and detected a rush of wind. They pass on by, oblivious, as the spirit of the dead person is raised, trapped by the power imbued in The Gentleman, bid to rise from new-found peace and be communed with. No shell of flesh and blood for this one- no, all too dangerous. But to talk, for a time, before this soul too is added to the dozens reaped over the past weeks. The pleasures of a simple conversation are all too often overlooked, particularly with the recently deceased, who undergo a rapid and radical revision in worldview. He samples this delight often, with his dry voice asking about this and that aspect of life, living life through the dead. Such is his lot.

Time passes. Eventually, as the day wears on, he is needed elsewhere. He rises from his seat, and the spirit rises obediently with him, a pearly presence near his elbow. They walk together through the quiet streets where few go, as the sun lowers in the sky. A glance across the road. There walks Graves, head down and unsuspecting. No reaction on the part of The Gentleman, who merely continues his conversation. Only a tightening of the hand on his weapon. They draw level, and then pass. Judging the moment to be right, The Gentleman runs across the street, points a pistol at the man's heart, and pulls the trigger. He twirls the weapon in his hands as this man, too, dies. No emotion here either, as the new spirit is trapped and meets the old. The three stand there, mortal and damned together in the streets of Cambridge. They converse- chat, discuss new events and old differences. In time, The Gentleman tires, and with a wave, directs one of the spirits to its final fate. He carries on his path.

A tall door. Insubstantial in the air beside him, the spirit of Psychofreshery Personified flickers. The Gentleman turns to her, bows, and then lifts his hands in an adieu. The spirit fades entirely into the air, joining the first in its journey to the ultimate destination. The Gentleman ascends the steps to this place. There is always more to be done. And yet he is quite pleased with the turn of events today. As the sky darkens, and the brightness turns to dusk, his thoughts move back to grimness, for that is all that he can think now, without his lady-friend. All that he can be, grim, and cold, and terrible.

Such is his lot.

Gentleman's Fury reports:

Dear Most Honourable Gentleman,
Who's title is restored, King of the Andals, last of his name, mother of Dragons, King of Both England and Scotland, Duke of the Western Lowlands. [You forgot 'M.A.']

The following message is... muddled, the events that occurred cannot be accounted for fully, and I do not know of the names of the participants.

*Squeak Squeak* Whats that? I smell a Rat?

Sadly, Approximately 25 minutes ago (7:00PM) In my attempt to meet with the deceased previously corrupt Psychofreshery Personified (for the exchange of weapons and advice) I was stabbed by an unknown assailant in [REDACTED COLLEGE], with a knife, to the Torso, with only the word "stab" in greeting, as the knife sunk into my chest, and (presumed she) skipped away, before I could react.

The circumstance in which we met is highly if not undoubtedly suggestive of betrayal, either by Psychofreshery Personified's hand herself, or another 'fellow corrupt' officer, who would have had to have access to the Corrupt police Facebook chat to know my exact whereabouts. [Corruption in the Corrupt police force? THE HORROR!]

Recreim eternem the Corrupt police. Too many of our numbers have fallen this day and it is my belief that the chance of Victory is nill for the remaining corrupt officers, of which only one I trust of to be competent enough to finish the job. [Ouch.]

I therefore, in the blood wrought by betrayal, sign my concession to the Umpire as a Member of the Corrupt Police. The only way in which I could accept this to be changed (due to the excellent execution by my assiliant) is if the Umpire finds potential 'rattery' and backstabbing, worthy enough a reason to resurrect the corrupt police, [Not really, it's just quite amusing] OR it is found that my murderer was indeed perhaps not a member of the police and therefore not involved in the War. [Anyone can kill Corrupt police...]

Either way, to my unknown assailant, In every way you have bested me. *tips hat*, keep away next term :P

Many thanks to my Comrades, the Commander Vimes and to all known rat poisons and types of rat traps.

Gentleman's Fury.

audaces fortuna iuvat reports:

I have been monitoring the actions of a select few against our glorious Umpire and his forces, after being made aware through a shadowy contact of the movements of one Gentleman's Fury, I deigned to conceal my unruined face under layers of disguise and set off for [REDACTED COLLEGE]. I made my way up to the court of a familiar previous adversary, stationed near the entrance when I caught a glimpse of this traitor. My ruler was small but it proved to be enough. Then I bounded off into the night, my foe lying confusedly behind me, not knowing how they had been betrayed.

Brown duck (because the yellow ones are fake anyway) reports:

I've been loyal for too long. Time to stir shit up. And really, you don't deserve any better if you, after a very suspicious knock at your door, peak through the peephole, see that some unfamiliar people are standing outside and then open your door anyway. Sorry Rookie Mann Herbington but that's a rookie mistake (says the rookie herself) [He literally has 'Rookie' in his pseudonym, what do you expect?]. After said opening I even hesitated for a moment, checking that I wasn't killing an innocent roommate instead of my target and then shot him straight in the heart. Alright, it was more in the general stomach area (sue me). Whatever, mission accomplished. My shot was met with instant resignation, something along the lines of 'goddamnit I knew you were an assassin'. We chatted for a bit, then I left with the promise to bring him cookies as an apology in the future. After all, some people don't like getting killed (how strange).