The Crooked Lantern was precisely the kind of place Kevin expected to find desperation clinging to the walls like mildew, and yet, somehow, it was even more wretched than he had imagined. The air itself felt heavy, saturated with the stale remnants of countless spilled beers, the acrid bite of cheap whiskey, and the unwashed anxieties of its patrons. Shadows, thick and viscous, clung to every corner, obscuring faces, motives, and any semblance of hope. The mournful blues riff that slithered from a battered guitar, played by a musician who looked as though he'd lost everything but the shirt on his back, did nothing to alleviate the pervasive sense of decay; rather, it amplified it, driving the feeling deeper into the bone.
Lily, ever sensitive to her surroundings, wrinkled her nose almost imperceptibly. "Charming," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the melancholic music. Her eyes, however, were sharp, alert, missing nothing. Kevin appreciated her resilience; she could find beauty anywhere, but she was never naive about the darkness that often lurked beneath the surface. He trusted her instincts implicitly.
Kevin's senses were already on high alert, a familiar state when delving into the world of ancient powers and hidden threats. He scanned the room with practiced ease, his gaze sweeping across the motley collection of souls seeking oblivion in the bottom of a glass. He was searching for any telltale sign of their informant, Silas Blackwood, a ghost from the Serpent's Hand's past.
Leo had painted a vivid, if unsettling, picture of Blackwood: a man haunted by the ghosts of his past actions, consumed by a gnawing guilt, and desperately, perhaps futilely, seeking redemption. Once a high-ranking member of the Serpent's Hand, privy to their most sacrosanct secrets and instrumental in their darkest deeds, Blackwood had eventually witnessed too much, participated in too much evil, and finally, his conscience shattered, he had turned against them. He'd become a fugitive, fleeing into the labyrinthine shadows of the underworld, a marked man running from an organization with tendrils that reached into every corner of the globe. Finding him, Kevin knew, would be anything but easy. Blackwood would be paranoid, distrustful of any and all, and undoubtedly deeply hidden within the city's underbelly.
Kevin approached the bar, the worn wood slick with spilled drinks and years of neglect. He met the gaze of the bartender, a burly man whose shaved head gleamed under the dim, flickering lights. A permanent scowl seemed etched onto his face, suggesting a life filled with disappointment and resentment. His eyes were cold, assessing, betraying nothing. "We're looking for Silas Blackwood," Kevin said, his voice deliberately low and firm, projecting authority without aggression. He wanted to convey that they were not a threat, but they were not to be trifled with either.
The bartender's eyes narrowed further, suspicion clouding their depths. "Never heard of him," he grunted, picking up a stained rag and wiping down the already-filthy counter with a perfunctory swipe. His denial was immediate, automatic, suggesting that the name Silas Blackwood was either genuinely unknown or one that inspired fear or caution.
Kevin reached into his pocket, retrieving a crisp hundred-dollar bill. He placed it deliberately on the counter, sliding it towards the bartender. "Maybe you have now," he said, his voice even, his gaze unwavering. He didn't enjoy this dance of bribery, but time was of the essence. The Serpent's Hand would not wait, and he needed Blackwood's information as quickly as possible. Lily watched, her hand instinctively moving closer to her sidearm, concealed beneath her jacket. She trusted Kevin's judgment, but she was prepared for anything.
The bartender hesitated for a long moment, his eyes flicking between Kevin's face and the hundred-dollar bill. Greed and apprehension warred within him, the allure of easy money battling against the potential consequences of cooperation. Finally, the lure of cash won. He pocketed the bill with a swift, practiced movement. "He doesn't come around here much," he admitted, his voice softening slightly. "But I might know someone who knows him." He nodded his head subtly towards a dark, almost inaccessible corner of the bar, where a lone figure sat hunched over a drink, his face completely obscured by the wide brim of a battered fedora. The figure seemed to emanate an aura of isolation and despair. "Try your luck with him. But be careful," the bartender warned, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "He's not the friendly type."
Kevin and Lily exchanged a silent glance, a brief communication passing between them. They moved cautiously towards the figure in the corner, their senses on full alert. As they got closer, Kevin could detect a faint, almost imperceptible aura of dark energy clinging to him, a residue of his past association with the Serpent's Hand, a lingering stain on his soul. It was a subtle signature, but unmistakable to someone attuned to such things.
"Silas Blackwood?" Kevin asked, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable weight of command. He didn't want to startle him, but he needed to establish control of the situation. The figure didn't respond. He remained motionless, hunched over his drink, his only movement the almost imperceptible trembling of his hand as he raised the glass to his lips and took another swallow of what looked like neat whiskey. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the mournful wail of the blues guitar.
"We know who you are, Silas," Lily said, her voice more assertive, cutting through the tension. "We need your help." She stepped slightly forward, positioning herself to provide cover for Kevin if necessary. Her eyes were locked on the figure, assessing his every move, searching for any sign of hostility.
The figure finally looked up, slowly, reluctantly, as if the effort pained him. His eyes, when they finally met Kevin's, were piercing, wary, and filled with an almost unbearable sadness. He was older than Kevin had anticipated, his face a roadmap of wrinkles etched by years of hardship, regret, and sleepless nights. The haunted look that Leo had described was indeed present, a deep-seated torment that seemed to emanate from his very being. He looked like a man who had seen too much darkness, carried too much guilt, and had long ago lost hope of finding any light.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice raspy and strained, as if he hadn't spoken in days. "And why should I trust you?" His gaze flicked between Kevin and Lily, suspicion warring with a desperate flicker of hope.
"We're here to stop the Serpent's Hand," Kevin said, his voice firm, unwavering. "We know about their plans. About the portals. About X'zoth." He watched Blackwood's reaction closely, searching for any sign of deception.
Silas Blackwood's eyes widened, a flicker of fear momentarily eclipsing the perpetual sadness. "How do you know about that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, laced with disbelief and a hint of terror. The mention of X'zoth seemed to physically deflate him.
"We've been to the Vault," Lily said, her voice steady and resolute. "We've seen the truth." The weight of those words hung in the air, a testament to the dangers they had faced and the knowledge they now possessed.
Silas Blackwood stared at them for a long, agonizing moment, his expression unreadable, a complex tapestry of emotions playing across his face. Then, with a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a lifetime of regret, he finally relented. "Alright," he said, his voice resigned. "I'll talk. But not here. This place isn't safe." He glanced nervously around the bar, his paranoia palpable. "They could be anywhere."
He led them out of The Crooked Lantern, plunging them into the dark and winding streets of the French Quarter. The air outside was thick with the smells of jasmine, decay, and the ever-present undercurrent of the Mississippi River. They walked for several blocks, Silas Blackwood constantly looking over his shoulder, his every movement betraying his deep-seated fear. He seemed to expect an attack at any moment.
Finally, he led them to a dilapidated apartment building, its facade crumbling, its windows boarded up, its walls covered in graffiti. It was a place where dreams went to die, a stark reflection of Blackwood's own broken spirit. He led them inside, into a small, cramped apartment, the air thick with the smell of dust, mildew, and decay. The single room was sparsely furnished with mismatched, threadbare furniture. A bare bulb cast a harsh, unforgiving light on the scene.
He closed the door behind them, locking it securely with a series of clicks. He then drew the tattered curtains across the window, plunging the room into near darkness. "This is where I live," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "It's not much, but it's… relatively safe."
He gestured towards a tattered couch, its springs poking through the worn fabric. "Please," he said, his voice barely audible. He offered them seats, then sat down himself on a rickety chair, his body tense, his eyes darting nervously around the room, as if expecting an intruder to burst through the door at any moment. "What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't have much time."
Kevin and Lily exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the task ahead. They had a multitude of questions, a vast amount of information to glean from this broken man. They needed to know everything about the Serpent's Hand: their internal structure, the identities of their leaders, the location of their base of operations, the nature of their rituals, and the precise details of their plan to unleash X'zoth upon the world. The fate of their family, and perhaps the world, rested on the information Blackwood possessed.
Silas Blackwood hesitated, his face etched with inner turmoil. The decision to betray his former comrades was clearly weighing heavily on him, the ghosts of his past whispering in his ear. He knew that by talking, he was signing his own death warrant. But he also knew that silence would condemn the world to an even worse fate. His bargain with them was as much to save his own soul as it was to save the world.