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    The North

    Within the Northern vicinity of the city the wealthy gather behind meticulously trimmed hedges and high class victorian architecture. The streets are paved with stone, the buildings are made of brick, and the storefronts are brightly lit and inviting. In the North every establishment is made to cater to the rich and the wealthy. Many such places are used to the sometimes peculiar requests of the otherworldly but here there is little that money cannot buy - weather it be illegal or merely looking the other way. Vampires and Dark Hunters are often found upon these Northern streets, their long lives often contributing to their sizable wealth which allow them the luxuries that the North provides.

    What's You'll Find Here

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    St. Pancras Station

    owned by no one
    1 employees

    St. Pancras Station

    A historical train station renovated in to a luxury resort-style country club that unites Victorian elegance with contemporary style. Relax in the full-service spa featuring spa treatments, saunas, spa pools with hydro therapy & aqua bar, and relaxation lounges. The club offers many dining and entertainment options including Seven Sisters Lounge, Victoria Bistro, Barlow Gastropub and the formal St. Pancras restaurant as well as boutique shopping and event halls. Join The Chambers Club for a more exclusive entertainment experience.

    Owner no one

    Iórkæll Dværg

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    The VooDoo Room

    owned by no one
    0 employees

    The VooDoo Room

    The Voodoo Room is an award winning bar that aims to provide an eclectic and exotic atmosphere. The bar is filled with intoxicating liquors and a voodoo vibe to keep you coming back. Their mixologists meet the highest standards with our fantastical themed selections of cocktails and specials.

    Owner no one

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    The Witchery

    owned by Rowena Metcalf
    0 employees

    The Witchery

    Dark, gothic, and throughly theatrical, the Witchery is a place to indulge yourself with it's fabulously lavish suites. Whatever room you choose, you'll find glamor, indulgence and luxury. The suites you have to choose from are: the Vestry, Sempill, the Old Rectory, the Library, the Turret, Heriot, Guardsroom, Armory.

    Owner Rowena Metcalf

and it's called black magic124.168.7.208Posted On August 25, 2015 at 7:37 PM by Alekai Evero

they argued my right to ascension


She knew what she wasn’t did she?

Sassy- this one. One eye of the man managing to lift ever so slightly in some mild expression of humour at her callous answer. He would never truly understand witches. Of all the species they alone seemed to lack appropriate fear, or more so, they seemed content to attempt to weasel their way from his clutches with bribes of home cooking or attempts at distractive conversation that seemed to continue to border upon flirtatious- a thing the Hunter seemed to fail to recognise entirely, nor understand. Even after eighty years of life, it would seem, the man still failed to recognise any sense of appeal he may provide to the opposite sex regardless of the species, the boy continually seeming oblivious to the advances of most women. Women, after all, were a species unto themselves and of the sort he finds continually bemusing. None more so then the teenage girl whom had taken up residence in his home of late and seemed to constantly brim with questions about the world around her- the sort of which he had either never truly considered nor had any desire to answer. Women, at any age, seemed to be in possession of a manner of thinking he finds elusive, bizarre and generally outside his understanding. Perhaps another reason he has sought to limit his interactions with them to a strictly professional manner- in (almost) all regards, seeking out those favoured few whom have existed within his contact list for years, a call he makes every few months, when he simply cannot take it any longer and finds himself seeking some sort of touch that does not escalate into the violence of a death at the end.

Such thoughts are chased quickly from his mind however, consumed by creature before him as she continues her rather noble attempt to maintain her facade of innocence with perhaps far more flare then he has seen any offer in some years. She was, in the very least an intriguing creature. How unfortunate it should be to destroy her, a waste truly, of a rather amusing, pretty being and yet she would hardly be the first or the last to meet her end at his hands. Why he bothers to allow her to even attempt to barter for her existence he cannot say, perhaps he simply feels generous today, else has found himself content to play with his food in a manner of speaking- allowing the mouse to struggle, to taste freedom before the close of the cats jaws. Maybe he is simply bored. Over eighty years of life will surely render anyone bereft of emotion after so many deaths at their hands- an indifference he struggles, truly, to maintain. It was easier to view them as prey, as meaningless, as less then human if only to better easy his own conscious. She had lied to him- all those years ago. Evelyn had lied and for all the love he had held for her on that single point he still felt betrayed perhaps. He would stop feeling, she had promised, he would stop considering them as beings in time and would seem them only for the creatures they were. Eighty years later and some part of his mind is still forced to look away with every callous kill- if only because some tiny, fragile part cannot bear to do what he does. Such a vile weakness to have in himself and yet it remains all the same, hidden from view in the very depths of his surely damaged soul.

He relaxes upon her bench, leaning casually against it- content to play his little game and watch her struggle all the same as she seems to take up his challenge with perhaps far more vigour then he had anticipated. Then again, the minion of Satan was sure to feel her life was worth some modicum of effort, even if he remained inclined to disagree. Her efforts to express her pleasure in their meeting however sees striking golden amber gaze narrow once more.

“Do not press your luck.”

The warning is surely all she will need, the man perhaps of the belief her pleasure was somehow insincere, else a sarcastic ruse rather then the honest admittance it was. After all, precious few were ever thrilled at his presence, his sunny personality often enough to deter even the most determined of individuals- even amongst his own kind. Tense? He very near corrects her once more, biting his tongue in perhaps the last moment as his mind is given to consider the potential correctness of her assessment, gesturing loosely for her to continue her bid for life as she assures him she enjoys assisting others with their health- the barest hint of a simper tainting his features at her admittance, an amused chuckle of sorts humming from within his throat.

“My bedside manner, even back then, was never truly exceptional, but I was good at-.”

The deep baritone of his voice holds a smooth note this time- something far less abrasive that seems to unhinge within this brief moment of nostalgia- before the very nature of his words seems to be made aware to him as his sentence is abruptly cut short. He is hardly here to have a conversation with the woman, eyes narrowing once more before he simply falls into silence, refusing to offer any further information on himself to one of them.

“Just get on with it.”

His words are sharp once more, dismissive, seeking to hurry her along towards her own impending execution- suddenly seeming aware of their small audience once more, people seeming to linger, to mill, rather than move along. He was used to such things by now- especially from humans, few other supernatural’s ever dared to chance their own lives upon his patience. Humans however, vapid, stupid creature that they were forever seemed eternally interested in the misfortunate of others. Truly he often wonders if they are a race worth preserving at all. The sudden production of…something from within her bag drawing his attention- the woman evidently in possession of intelligence enough to move slowly lest she accidently trigger the often irritable blonde’s reaction. Rosemary oil? Hmm. She was either a very clever creature or a very foolish one- the man as of yet undecided as she continues on in explanation of his apparently thoughtful mind, sore muscles and tense demeanour.

“What makes you believe I am tense or have any difficulty with my conscience?”

That she is wholly correct is….disturbing to say the least, the man almost defensive in his tone though the words are offered with seeming nonchalance all the same as he continues to watch her from beneath that tousled mop of golden hair. The witch would do well, regardless, to think carefully about her answer all the same. Her mention of his hair sees some moment of curiosity linger briefly within the depths of his gaze, if only for the absurdity of having such a thing mentioned. Her overly pleasant smile and wink however, are hardly missed- the briefest moment of something almost akin to bemusement seeming to wander across his features. The majority of creatures he meant fled in terror- very few had ever possessed the courage, perhaps, to wink at him- the thought hurriedly pushed away and written off as further female absurdity. Did it interest him?

“Potentially.”

It would be a lie to say it didn’t and lying never truly had been his….strength. The man however remained evidently wary, if not doubtful still of the attractive girl with the far to pleasant smile.

“Tell me then, what side effects, if any, does your potion have? If I turn into a goat I will be enormously displeased- or do you claim that your work has no magical properties at all in the supernatural sense?”

Long fingers drum smoothly against her table as he sits, one long, dark jean-clad leg folding over the other, balancing neatly upon the heel of his boot in some fashion.

“How much are you charging your fellow beings for the privilege of your naturally healing products?”




Azrael Evero

only fools walk where angels fear to tread




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