#rlyehbound

Starter for @rlyehbound

These woods were old, they had seen many things, many loathesome, unspeakably horrid things no mortal eyes should ever lay eyes on.  Tonight, a visitor from another world treads here, one whom depending on who you ask, may or may not be in that category of walking horror.  

He knew in this world, without glamour most would agree he fits that bill.  Tonight he wasn’t in the mood for putting that up.

A figure in a dark, gold-trimmed cloak with mantle and hood obscuring his features walks silently on old feet.  Glowing violet eyes lay on another figure, a man.  He sensed something strange, old, and magic about this person, something rare in this world.

He crept closer.

They said that knowledge was power.

If so, this man was probably the most powerful person on Earth. He was also their only hope for survival: texts about the boxes that Steppenwolf wanted were next to extinct. Arthur swam across the ocean at supersonic speed, bursting through the surface and landing on the shore. The swim from Maine barely winded him, and he was making his way up the small sand dunes and onto the asphalted road. 

“Most people don’t go looking for such a book. It’s usually unwise to tamper with such forces.“

Of course Gideon had a copy of the Necronomicon in his collection. A nearly perfect version, as well. Not the original, but close enough. Gideon, in his thirst for knowledge, had studied the tome extensively. And in his wisdom, he had locked it away where it could do no harm.

A black hand finds purchase on a hunched shoulder, crushing in its grip. Without apologising, the unworthy one tears Aaron away from those he was conversing with, hijacking all discussions to fix him with crucial questions. “You venomous snake! All this time, you worked for Hydra?” The signs were clear to see, his true allegiance not so hidden that those wise to deceptive games could miss it. The Odinson himself did not realise the truth until it was too late-- when the resilient organisation had lured him into its embrace through other means, leading him along with false promises. 

She herself liked to believe she didn’t, but crawled uncomfortable shivers upward a spine when black eyes caught sight of a raven sitting on the window sill of the pub her feet inexorably neared. The unexpected repetition of mundane events, the bone-crushing feeling of a déjà-vu, had lost their capability to startle a mind centuries ago; the mere probability of re-experiencing of what one already had gone through once rose with every decade that passed -- rather than alarm, caused it nowadays only mild upset when she was reminded of her own imperishability. But proved the presence of the black-feathered bird to be, once again, a sign of impending change when slender figure finally entered the premises and spotted, amidst the masses of drunkards and weathered couples, a face she’d seen before but easily erased from her own memory.

Him. Perhaps would she have considered him a ghost -- the pale light of run-down light bulbs certainly made him appear much more faded than would have been necessary and the odd atmosphere that appeared to hug his silhouette when he got on his feet to, supposedly, leave, she was certain to not have seen before. But spared he no look in her direction, would have easily escaped her view if she had not, against all warning whispers in the back of a mind, decided to follow suit and catch him outside. But the hand that could have grabbed him from behind, tapped his shoulder once the wind was free again to tear through a tightly slung jacket, remained unmoved, uncertain.

❛ &. ┊ The raven squawked in a high-pitched tone, ruffled its feathers, and decided it was time to fly away. And before the bird’s departure could announce her presence in a fashion that was far too close to entirely unfashionable, withdrew she a packet of cigarettes from the back pocket of her jeans. One, she’d only recently started smoking because naught else was capable in keeping nervous fingertips preoccupied. “ You have a lighter? ” A question asked out of the necessity to talk; he soon enough would recognise the shape of a lighter when she’d forgotten about the uncomfortable incident -- a remnant, visibly, from days lived as a soldier for she’d never been one to easily lose the few things she held dear. But until then offered it an introduction to a conversation she hoped he wouldn’t turn down.