08:20... Felix Jaeger killed Tom Hardcastle

Twas brillig and the slithy toves - I mean, of course, that it was morning, and the rosy fingers of the dawn crept silvikin like across the sky as I set out, clad in sombre black, across the mists and marshes to Trinity Hall to kill my target.
Finding his room after a long and arduous search, I stood and waited. Presently I heard the sounds of his ablutions and knew that soon his blood would be spilled. But alas! Put on guard by some arcane or otherwise occult means, he grew suspicious and did not present the easy target for my poisoned dart that I had hoped for. Bolting instantly back into the safety of his room. By some foul and devious means, I know not what, whether by carrier pigeon, trained rats, or simply black magic, he summoned an accomplice. Hearing the sounds of this strange ritual, I fled the scene in terror. But standing for a moment on the steps, pondering my course, I saw a bold and dangerous figure approach - the dark accomplice of my target.

Felix continues:
Having been informed of a miscreant lurking outside my friend's room I swiftly proceeded to the location. As I was approaching I saw a man retreating and clutching with great menace a paper dart. Without hesitating I pulled my trusty gun out and shot him at point blank range.

08:55... A poisoned letter sent by Amber the Cat was safely opened.

I collected my mail on the way to lectures, and among other things was a blank envelope addressed to me. I began to open it with a pen, and a small amount of white powder seeped out. Quickly, I withdrew my hands within the sleeves of my jumper, continued to open the envelope, and then proceeded to find, as expected, a contact poison covered note sent courtesy of Amber the Cat. I had no choice but to destroy the note, the envelope, my pen and the jumper I was wearing at the time. A small price to pay I feel.

11:00... David Knipe trampled outside lectures! Hamandpineapple blamed for elephant stampede.

The African elephant is a proud, majestic beast. For millennia they have roamed the savannas of central Africa, a peaceful, blameless existence. However, in recent years Man has wreaked havoc on their traditional existence - destroying habitats, changing climates, hunting for sport and poaching for ivory. Scientists working in the field have noted a new phenomenon, the herds have begun to stray from their age-old migration routes, and head further north in search of new pastures. The residents of Cambridge, used to student pranks, were no more than mildly intrigued when a large herd of pachyderms swept up Trumpington St, bellowing and uprooting cars. Apparently panicked by a group of tourists, they stampeded down Mill Lane and entered (with some difficulty) the Lecture Theatres. Fortunately there was only one casualty - the unlucky David Knipe, who was the only person to have forgotten his elephant gun. The herd was later reportedly sighted leaving the Mill with several large suitcases of peanuts, though the police have been unable to determine from whom they recieved this alleged payment.

While leaving my Quadratic Maths lecture today I took a wrong turning, only to be confronted by the sound of elephant trumpets, closely followed by a frantic stampede of said elephants. Miraculously, no one else was injured, but I myself was crushed beneath the foot of a particularly nasty-looking one with big horns.

The other mathmos were much shaken by the stampede. Edward Wallace offers this story:

Gadzooks!! While strolling through Mill Lane Lecture rooms like a Perfectly Normal Beast, what should I hear but the distant yet distinctive rumble of an Elephant stampede. "Egad", thought I, and quickly removed myself from their path. A frightened Nerd of Mathematicians managed to avoid the Herd of Pachyderms, but the crazed homunculus riding one of the rearmost Bulls ensured that my old acquaintance Mr Knipe was severely flattened.

12:00... Ed Segal dies to a clever poisoned letter.

My post this morning:

  1. A (poisoned?) fruit. Retrieved with care, dispatched, contempuously, into bin.
  2. Letter no. 1, white envelope. Retrieved with care. Prodded gently to establish absence of explosives. Sticky substance inside noticed (in fact the neuropoison Pastasauce). Opened with tools, read, dispatched.
    Oh how I mocked the incompetence of my would-be killers. How easy to see through their amateurish attempts, and how trivial the precautions needed to survive them...
  3. Letter no. 2, brown envelope. Retrieved with care. Prodded gently to establish absence of explosives. Opened with tools. Read.
    Aha, a letter from the library. Overdue books it speaks of, yes I have several, fear not it is bona fide....
    More caution should I have taken. The fine was death.

The first letter was the work of Death Comes to Time, however the second, more fatal letter was from the Man of the Timber Industry.

13:59... Tristan Chi's favourite pet kills Elena Ratcheva.

Everything divined kindly, in lolling lumps succeeding! My nefarious plans had been lovingly kindled. My breath of fire had spread through the sewers and evil places of the city, turning people to my cause.
One poor history-of-artist was ignorant of the march of my nefarious forces. She went about her daily business in a haze of blissful ignorance. But with the powerful axis of Nadia's Patisserie corrupted to my cause, it was easier than treacle tart to damn the soul of a passer-by with the offer of chocolate crunch cake. Ahhh! See how even the finest things in life are debased by my art!
The passer-by led me to the unknowing one's temple of learning, and there in front of the rather nifty motifs on the columns I unleashed my trusty leopard Pardus. Her eyes glowed red as she greedily feasted on Elena's innards.
The quickening ignoramus looked blankly at me as my true visage became apparent. The poor darling had not expected to be eaten by a hellish beast this afternoon, it seems.
Just as her soul was within my grasp, a cherubim swooped from a nearby fresco. Momentarily blinded, I shouted "bugger" and lost the soul of the dead maid. But no longer shall she walk the streets of Cambridge in human form.
Pity our obsolete ravished Elena, life-expired, nevermore awake.

Once again, Ed Wallace was there to provide a witness report:

Crumbs! Elephants aren't the only African mammals marauding round here!
Yikes! Climate Change is here to stay!

15:40... EmmaTate cuts down Felix Fok

I was quite happily doing a bit of work, when I was alerted to the fact that my target had recently checked his email: knowing that a computer was in his room I suspected it likely he was in.
I raced over to the grand building, having a peep at his window as I strolled past. No sign of him, although it is a pretty large room.
After a swift knock at the door, a peep was made and a "wait a minute" was announced. Seconds later the door opened to reveal a weapon-less target. I followed my plan and asked for a "red marker", then a "red pen", or "any pen", all to which he replied "no". As I clearly was not going to get him to turn round, I simply pulled my knife and delivered one fatal blow to the stomach.

18:00... Avatar kills Chris Watling

I was sitting comfortably amidst the pleasant surroundings of my secret hideout, enjoying a pot of secret Yorkshire tea, and contemplating the fact that for the second day running my secret plans to kill target number one had failed. This is how I spent the mid-evening; so engrossed in my modest world that I failed to notice a duo of stealthy metaphorical shadows approach the entrance to my lair. Before I had time to acknowledge the presence of foreign footsteps I was hit on the back and the head with several potato-like devices. Instantly I was rendered dead and my assassin plus accomplice disappeared into the night like fish into a vacuum cleaner.

Nor-T-Hat kills Alex Scordellis, I think.

The Master went out to Tea to-day with Mrs. J.X. Talbott. He told his bumler that she had been having problems evacuating her Bowman's Cap'sule. Bumler was only too glad to help, judging from the way his boneless Armes slither'd splendidly about in the confines of the Master's bloo-mers.
None of the clothes like Bumler. One unfortunate Bowe-Tie is forced to spend night and Day living in fearful misery around Bumler's bulbous Primary Nodule. But it was Bumler who today provided the serfs of Worr-Drobe Villadge with an Great Boone, when his fleshy arms clumsily left the Door un-Locked! Bumler saw from the corner of his vision pustule two mis-shapen shapes scurry out across the plush floor of the Cloister, but the Master had already begun to walk into the Hall of Wasting Away, and Bumler could do nothing but weep an single, moist Dumpling.

Like an shoal of sausages, Nor-T-Hat and Greed-E-Shoe flew to the befilthened swampland of Queens' College, Esq. For 'twas there that the peasant had foretold the Ghastly Undoing of Mr. Alex Scordellis, BS. Even as the Master's Turncoat Hat n' Shoe (TM) slid into their tweed Combat Sheathes, Scordellis pounced with an scowl into the Chamber of the Throne-O-Shame. There he toiled for forty stenchful days and forty curse-fil'd nights. The brave garments endured all, dreaming of an White Christmas spent on the Islets of Langerhans. Eventually the cad in the Bestain'd Throneroom could stand his own beastly Howls no more, and he burst out of the Chamber with a hideous War-Crye and an "PLOWMAN'S LUNCH".
Nor-T-Hat beat the Knave to death with his own sin-stained nappy. But 'twas not over until Greed-E-Shoe, egg sacs swivelling fearfully, scuttled to the safety of an nearby Bathing Lounge. Then, 'twas over.

Wahey! More hiding in toilets :) - Umpire

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