𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕂𝕙𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕝𝕦𝕟:
The Candidate had both performed a combination; a combination and capture. Seduction and force were the stronghold. Khutulun had seen the small grains of sands grains combined with her need for escape. The Candidate’s words and coersion had lulled her into a stillness to where she awakened with him slipping inside of her. Her cunt had spread, splaying for the invasion as she protested. And the Candidate used her as if she was any slave to be dealt with. He ordered her to leave and his carelessness produced her vindiction, extracting tassa pins from her discarded clothing and subduing him before departing the semi-comicose form towards the North.
Axe Glacier welcomed her in its vastness and silence, the Aurea Borealis becoming a companion as she recovered from the violation. Khutulun dealt with sporadic corpses, her thoughts shifting towards Tyros and the main slaver’s demands that she had denied. She was vulnerable, aching in body for her rough treatment. The body on ice was her release as she began to practice her skills, releasing the dead, bloodied hearts of slaves from chest cavities with as much respect as she could muster and as much she could be paid for. One was sent in accident, the other sent with purpose to display a twisted sense of affection with hopes of reciprocation.
This was where the dreams began – a past that was foreign to her; she was familiar with the Black Caste, respected their demands and needs and simply remained on the outskirts of what was demanded of her. She was simply, accepted life as it came. But those hanting images of her namesake – moonlight featuring beasts of legend from her mother’s side. They were the kailla, the crow, and the lart. A trio beneath the Gorean moons according to the Wagon Peoples. Khutulun awakened and made prepations, finalizing details of her macabre profession and sharing with others briefly in the Tyrosian infimary. A chest cavity was pried open and a heart was sent to the wrong person before correction in her approach. Khutulun would stand at the beach, waitinyg for the return as a ship approached to relieve her of the south as she clutched a freshly treated skull in her hand and slipped it into her bag.
Al’sah was late with the pomise of a trainee, but mattered less to her. He and any other Black Caste had proved to discover her existence if she was needed. She movied to the docks and waited for the impending ship to dock before she would board with her favored items. The ship would discover the nearest port after Tyros, a location similar to where a butterfly once landed and met a descendent of a storied history. She was simply the shifting light of a single Gorean moon reflected by the sun, orbiting a fellow Earth planet. Making her presence know among stars if required and simply with a trio in the vast sky if it was demanded.
——– ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨’𝕤 ———– ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙
Crow was not in the best of places. The fall out with Scar, the run in with Ost and his long ongoing quest. The last took him too long to keep Haru. He had gifted her to another. She had been an excellent slave. As ever his charm had her fall in love with him. A love slave as she mentioned it. Little did she know that when it came to his profession little was true when it came to his emotions. Any slave might have considered him in love. Yet very few had managed to penetrate the depth of his emotions. Sol, Scar and Serpent made sure of that. So when he told Haru that he would gift her to another he could tell that she had been telling the truth. The expression of her face would be etched in the countless nightmares that occupied his sleeping hours. Crow was terribly sophisticated when it came to manipulating the feelings of others. In such there was no honor. Only the killer and assassin that used any means to his benefit and certain outcome.
Crow had countless contacts that over time believed him a loyal and trustworthy ally. These whispers informed him of all kind of matters. Some significant and some simple gossip. Perhaps it made him one of the most informed men in Gor. Not that he wished the credit. It was simply a way to his means. All depended on the source, the information and its value. Even here in his hide out these whispers seemed to find him. This time about a woman that docked. When he was told about a woman holding a skull, he simply thought it was a story one created out of fear or lack of something better to say. Surely a woman wouldn’t want to be questioned as to whom it might belonged too.
Perhaps out of boredom or simply to see what this contact tried to convey he found himself at the dock, studying the woman.
𝕂𝕙𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕝𝕦𝕟
Khutulun disembarked from the ship with the few belongings that she ws carrying. She was heavily garbed and about her waist was a series of medical supplies in the form of a leather belt. The physician preferred the lack of heavy trappings of her office – sumptuous green robes, silks and jewels most high caste free women preferred to wear. She found it impractical for her purposes, instead finding drab, cheap peasant-type gowns that would sustain her if an emergency occurred or if bodily fluid splattered on her she could easily discard of the gown. She boldly traveled alone, appearing diminutive and harmless. That was what made the supposed Candidate break his vows and overwhelm her. She seemed to be one of the few in this place, wherever it was. It seemed to be some sort of hold as the island was empty save for lush trees and birdsong and a few buildings. Anticipation did not prepare her for the black-clad figure who languidly regarded her at the end of the dock, the boards holding his weight. The physician then turned to him, studying his features. He was unfamiliar to her, but his clothing suggested that perhaps he was an emissary or some sort trainee that was sent by Al’sah. A throaty chuckle filled her throat – Al’sah certainly had his ways of discovering her location, making her more impressed with the Assassin. A mistaken submission of a heart was all it took for her to be held some interest. Yet, there was hesitation in her – in her cognac eyes and in her body as the memory of one who had violated her was fresh and that timidness would be constant, but her serene expression betrayed none of her internalized apprehension, “You are looking for me I presume?” She inquired of Crow. The Moonlight did not realize she was face to face with a legend him and mistook him for one of Al’sah’s, “You were sent Al’sah correct?”
——– ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨’𝕤 ———– ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚
Crow was known for his patience, his talent with silence but also with how he listened and voiced his thougths. Mysterious when he wanted to be, direct if it was needed and violent if the situation asked for it. Always measured, considered or thoughtful. “I am looking for you.” he replied blunt and to the point. “But not because I am sent.” he added surely to confuse her. The name she mentioned made him the more curious. He pushed himself from the little wall he had leaned against. The leathers of his attire, the claok and the feathers held this shine of the finer quality of Ar. His weaponry mostly hidden or consealed although his dagger could be seen at his waist. The golden sheath rich and adorned with jewls. Crow was in a way vain to his wealth. He had earned it over the many years in his craft. It was why he allowed his slaves to adorn themselves with silks, expensive jewelry. None had ever dared to question or challenge him for it.
“Rumor has it that someone is missing a head and you might have it?” he stated as he would move close – but just far enough to be out of her reach. Keen eyes upon the woman. Studying her face and expression. “Is this true?” he asks. His voice and question held a degree of authority. As if it already might tell her that a lie could have severe consequences while the truth could make an ally
𝕂𝕙𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕝𝕦𝕟
Khutulun appraised this black-clad man before her. He was one she had never seen before but the scent of the leather, freshly oiled and the finery of the jewels reminded her of Imperial Ar and all the experiences she once had there. Her veiled expression was expectant as she anticipated him to be one of Al’sah’s. But this man seemed to hold decades of experience with the furrowing of his brow and the pursuing of his lips. The lines in his forehead and his eyes which beheld faint mixture of curiosity and something else. Often she glimpsed into milky white, pearlescent eyes accompanied by chilled skin. This man was warm, he had endured and his confidence had an ease that no warrior could ever have
A smirk formed on her features, dimples forming in her cheeks as her hand rested on the bag. It was a black glove, digits folding over the brown fabric that was sturdy enough to hold a heavy weight so it seemed.
“Rumor holds true, Killer,” she replied with amusement in her voice, that surreptitious timidity subsiding as she languished in the moment. Her attire was opposite that of the Assassin’s – a brown, peasant attire, raven hijab and veil. An attempt to be close to that forbidden caste not of it. Cheap fabrics were easy to discard and change out of. One did not wear their best when opening tissues.
“It is a specimen I use. A simple slave’s skull. Sometimes for demonstration purposes and others… well it helps me think in some aspect.”
——– ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨’𝕤 ———– ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟛
Crow could tell she was smirking even if she was wearing a veil. The amusement in her voice was noted too. A woman with his kind of humor? As she answers he would dip his head as in this gesture of acknowledgement to her being that forthcoming. He guessed that her attire was done with reason. She didn’t seem to be the type that went her way without thinking, surely not when her answer came.
“I was once sent a head by a slave. A token of my kindness.” he shared. “I gave her a choice, while another felt I shouldn’t have.” he shrugged there. Perhaps there was something odd to share that story, but he guessed the woman was the more macabre type. So for casual conversation they could compare notes. “I disposed of it. Who knows it might be the one you are tossing about.” As she wasn’t now she could guess that he had observed or was told.
“Now … Since we are talking … I am called Crow.” he offered as to create this scene of familiarity. “You mentioned Al’sah.” he added while keen eyes would almost seem to be piercing through hers. If there was such truth as the eyes being the doors to ones soul, Crow was diving in. Searching for answers to his questions and curioisity. “I was once told it is dangerous to speak names … For one might turn into a turtle.” The story was true, although the one sharing the story – might not be totally taken seriously. “But serious … why would you wait for one of his contacts?” he just asked – ready to receive no answer. Surely he would keep the information for future references although he was hardly in the mood to police the caste.
𝕂𝕙𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕝𝕦𝕟
Khutulun reached into her bag and extracted the skull that was referred to. Her hands gripped the smooth, bleached bone and turned it this way and that. She had cared for it, tended to it and embraced it like a child in his presence. All the while her gaze never left his. Her digits seemed to know the edges and ridges of the bone. A hearty smile appeared on her lips while the Assassin shared his own personal history with bones, “Well,” she began morbidly, “At least it was a gift from the heart. Perhaps you may be correct. It could be your old companion,” she cackled at her own dark joke, her gloved hand smoothing over the ridge of the temple while her other curled beneath where a neck joint would have been, the tips of her fingers curled against the teeth. As he introduced himself, she allowed her smolderin, cognac eyes to appraise his apparel and whispered to herself, “Black hides blood stains,” It was her reasoning for drab, darker clothing that seemed to vex some and her eyes returned to his, “Well met, Crow. I am Khutulun,” A polite nod was offered to him and listened intently to his reasoning, another smirk forming beneath the layers of her veils, “I mentioned Al’sah… you are acquaintaned with him? I am such because of a small, minor mistake… regarding a heart that was accidentally sent to him instead of my original target. A misunderstanding that turned into something lucrative for both of us.”
——– ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨’𝕤 ———– ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟜
Crow would very much keep his attention to her. Trusted his senses that he would be aware if others would walk up to him. These senses had been developed over many years. First in his training and later in his profession. As he studied her and kept that gaze upon her. He could note the eye colour that held that mystery to them. When the white skull was presented and seemingly caressed he would regard it. “Nope, isn’t the same one.” he reasons. “See this.”as he pointed the space between the eyes “There was more space between them. And this piece here.” he again pointed “looks less well developed. Surely this head belonged to someone that was ugly.” of course he jested as his eyes searched hers once more.
When she spoke of black hiding blood stains he shrugged “I rather try to keep it from staining my cloak.” It was true. Surely some kills were quite messy, but most were done with deadly precision. Quick and swift.
As she introduced herself the name would role over his tongue as if to taste it. “A pleasure Khutulun.” he answers while his head dipped slightly forward. Still his gaze never left hers and remained focused. His brow raised when he learned as to how she had learned to know Al’sah. A killer he respected as he had spoken to him and still knew of his words in the court of the Black Lodge. He had understood his intent instantly. It reminded him of himself so many years ago. The same drive and view as to better the caste. Yet Crow had learned the bitter side of it.
“Now I know I am very easy to trust fellow. But one might be more careful to whom one speaks of being an acquaintance or having a lucrative business with him.” he warned. “Not all have the caste in their good graces. I am quite certain some would rather extinguish us.” He explained.
“So not only a head but also someone lost a heart?” he asks. “One wonders to whom you would sent mine, if it ever was yours?” his question of course to taunt or to learn something of the woman that in short time had intrigued him.
𝕂𝕙𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕝𝕦𝕟
Khutulun had inherited her mother’s eyes, those of which had seen the coming of seasons and the setting of suns and the rise of the moon. She felt the Killer’s gaze keenly upon her heavily garbed form. Unlike some other high caste women who preferred to accentuate their curves to entice, she could easily blend in with low caste and remain unassuming if she wished. She attempted to see the shade of the Killer’s eyes – windows to a soul that had witnessed much and had been part of a legend.
Her name rolled off of his song like a song as he pronounced it correctly in the manner of how he stated it, “I was named after a legendary female wrestler of the Wagon Peoples. Legend has it she would only mate a man who could defeat her. She ended up collecting 10,000 kaiila. She was supposedly never beaten. Khutulun means moonlight.”
While he gestured to the skull, his regard and noted the inaccuracies that compared to the previous one he had, a chuckle departed her throat. “One wonders why you call yourself a bird. I do of course. But it suits you… it means you are swift to fly away when the intensity is much… or is it because your represent death as the crow often does?”
As she listened to him, she tried to place his accent. She had been virtually on most of the planet but his tenor was something that was musical, soft… and lethal.
“Ah perhaps you are correct. I was too free in the exchange of names. Aren’t all of you Killers affiliated with one another?”
The heart situation was still the fore front of their discussion and his jest caused her eyes to widen and another smirk to form on her countenance.
“Well, Crow if I gained your heart… it would remain in my keeping. But who would offer a heart to a woman who would probably dissect it just to study it?”
She was rather enjoying the banter and would move a bit closer to him, but enough distance to where if she needed to escape, her small weapons and vials could aide her and to provide him space should he feel the need too.
——– ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨’𝕤 ———– ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟝
Crow gained more respect for the woman that didn’t shy away from his gaze. His eyes with their green hue. These eyes are deep and enigmatic, like the moss-covered stones of a hidden grove, whispering tales of forgotten lore. They draw you in, leaving you wondering what mysteries lie behind their depths. He knew that they were often considered one of his best assets when it came to luring people in and keeping them as this flute that would dance before a snake.
He chuckled as she shared the origin of her name. “I know of the tale.” he shared. “I wasn’t aware of the name though.” he admitted in all honesty. Truth often was one of the best weapons. It would not powerplay. It would create this atmosphere of trust and intimacy.
“You wish to know why I was called Crow?” he asks. “I guess it was once chosen because I came from Ar, was a tarnsman with a grand future and enjoyed the shiny things.” he jested. “Over time .. I hope I live up to the name fully as it stands for transformation in a manner of mystery, intelligence and adaptability. ” As he spoke she would learn that his dialect was that of Ar. His ‘former’ Home Stone and the place he grew up in. Her words of him flying away when things would get too intense were met with a arched brow. He was not one that would flee a scene that quickly. But smart enough to not engage when the outcome was uncertain and not in his favour.
He smirked when she spoke of all killers being affiliated. “Some wish.” he simply stated leaving it there. It was up to her as how she would perceive his reply.
When she spoke of his heart and moved closer his eyes give that dare for a moment. It had been since long he felt that excitement in his groin, but he enjoyed this steadfast and courageous woman. Surely the woman must know that there were dangers to and around him. Yet instead of keeping her distance she would move closer. He did not underestimate her though. Perhaps she was armed to her teeth with pins and needles. One more deadlier than the other.
“One wonders what will be found in that heart of mine when it is dissected. Some say it would be empty, while others like to speculate about the depth of it.” he would adjust his leathers – shameless of the effect of the woman upon him. It was her guess as to what would have triggered such. Perhaps he was just like any average Gorean man. Enough appetite for any women that might cross ones path. Or perhaps it had been too long?
Crows Murder 