Sock Wars II - It's a game we are playing. We all sign up to be assassins. When the game begins we are each given a target and sock pattern and the goal is to kill your target by knitting them a pair of socks in the given pattern and sending it to them.
When you receive your socks you are killed and must surrender your weapon, (the socks you were knitting to kill your target) and send them and your dossier to your assassin so they can complete your mission and kill another target.
The game officially started on October 13th, but the game moderater posted from England, so I actually got to start knitting on them the night before. Which was great for me because I had to work on Saturday and Sunday, so it gave me a time to get them started, so I could take them with me.
The sock pattern was, Scar designed by Julie Gardner. I knit them in Debbie Bliss Cashmerino in a smooth, chocolately brown. I have dubbed them, "Death by Chocolate". It is a ribbed sock with an interesting "Scar" detail and knit up real quickly, knitting two socks using Magic loop method. I completed my weapon on Tuesday night and posted them on Wednesday.
Oh, oh, it would seem I am not long for this world, my assassin has left an ominous message for me for status has been changed to read, "The mirror crack'd from side to side."
I can't say that I don't deserve it, for I cannot claim innocence in these deadly dealings, for I have not been sitting idly by while my assassin has been seeking my demise. No, for I too have been actively seeking the death of a perhaps, not-so-innocent Floridian, employing my own considerably lethal skills in my chosen craft. (Knitting socks)
The deed has been done, the shot has been fired, (I mailed them today), now we wait for the smoke to clear to see how true our aim has been. (When you receive your finished pair of socks you are done in.)
From the clue I've received I have reason to hope that I perhaps have a little time, if I assume that since it is a reference to an English book that my assassin is a Brit, which means her harbingers of death (socks) have much farther to travel before hitting their mark (Me)
In the meanwhile, I may have time assuming my Floridian surrenders her weapon (the socks she has been knitting to kill her target) quickly enough and I have time to send off a second round. Either way it's all good.
I received my harbingers of doom on Friday while I was at working so I didn't know of my doom until that evening.
The following is the post, I posted of my demise:
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott. Magnificent Wilf
And so I meet my untimely demise, death by merino socks, the only way to go. It would seem that the reference to the mirror cracking was alas not the Agatha Christy novel but rather to Tennyson's poem, "The Lady of Shalott." And so my hope that the socks were coming from England were wrong, indeed my socks of doom came to me from the sunny state of California, from Santa Barbara.
It would seem that I and my target were killed at the same time, so it was kill and be killed.
Ah well, so be it, all's well that ends well. I will rest here in peace with my toasty toes.
So it goes, I was able to kill only one target before, I was out, but it was fun.
My victim surrender her weapon, and enclosed a nice note thanking me for putting her out of her misery, apparently it was a mercy killing. I sent her weapon along then to my assassin so she could take aim once again.
The card she sent amused me very much, since our cat Hobbes, had recently caught and killed his first mouse in that same week. Just like the cat on the card, Hobbes had brought his "hunting trophy" upstairs and onto my son's bed in the early morning to "present" it to him.
My son was not amused.