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    The West

    The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a certain grunge that permeates the town from the graffiti on the once cleaned brick buildings to the broken and unmaintained architecture. Crime runs high within the western half of town, making it the home of supernatural gangs of illicit activities. Such activities are rarely reported however, and most residents are distrustful of individual's of authorities, instead letting the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

    What's You'll Find Here

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    Noah's Ark

    owned by Aiden Tetradore
    1 employees

    Noah's Ark

    Resting upon the harbor, Noah's Ark appears to be little more than an abandoned cargo ship. Accessible from an entrance hidden in the shadows, The Ark is a veritable Were-playground that specializes in fighting tournaments for all creatures great and small. With both singles and doubles tournaments to compete in, the title of Ark Champion is hotly contested amongst the Were population. If anything illegal is going on in the city it's sure to be happening within the back rooms or behind the ring-side bar.

    Owner Aiden Tetradore

    Co-owner Tobias Cain

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    Warehouse District

    Warehouse District

    The warehouse district rests just upon the harbor within the city. Many of the warehouses belong to corporate companies although some are used for less the legal means. Be careful when wandering this district at night for many groups meet within those dark, dilapidated buildings. There are also whispers of hard to obtain goods being sold behind those closed doors but you have to know who's who to get an in!

:: He'll Only Break Your Heart ::124171Posted On April 25, 2014 at 8:37 PM by Tobias

Those jaws part once more to grab hold of the nearest mackerel, long claws sliding free to grip the slimy sides of the fish and hold it in place, piercing the tender flesh as the remains of the blood within the fishes long-dead system trickles to the surface and patter down atop the dock. Sizeable canines and incisors go to work in a matter of mere seconds, tearing open the white skin and sinew to reveal the blossoming white flesh beneath, the stench of fish near overpowering in these moments as he rips and swallows- the boy forever and always a fervent feeder in any form. To be slow is to lose a meal and he has no intention of going hungry tonight. There are enough fish here to feed him for three days he is sure, if only he can consume enough meat. Bone crunches with sickening snaps beneath his powerful jaws, tongue moving to lick at his lips and white clean any linger fish as he continues to work at his meal, seating himself now, pulling a further two mackel closer to himself- the next to suffer his raging hunger. The footsteps of the fisherman grow weaker and weaker, the men moving further and further away and only further contenting the cat into a quiet repose as he feeds, mind momentarily focused upon his meal- rather then the hunt he has persuaded for well over half his life.

This silence is short lived however, ears turning atop his head at the rapid approach of claws and agitating panting of what he presumes is a dog, such creatures kept by many of the men that work upon the dock and indeed more than once he has been given to sate his appetite upon them. Golden amber eyes glow once more within what little light exists between the slither of moon and dropped torch that sends a flash of gold in a single strip across the dockyard, eyes seeming to narrow slightly at the approach of the black and grey dog. It is large, it is female and he pays no attention, returning to his meal. He has long since recognised one of his own species- to a certain extent, the dog a lesser creature to his mind and yet he has no desire to engage with her, so often reflecting the nature of his animal form. He is aloof, indifferent, designed to be and work alone save for one other and that other is not this creature whose stuttered words taint the air and earn little more then a rumbling growl of warning from within his chest. She claims no interest in his food and yet he hardly believes her. Always they try to steal his food, vile scavengers, perhaps the reason he is not nearly so well-fed as he should be, sailors dogs, foxes, crows….forever attempting to take what he has hunted down, seeking to gain from his supernatural hunting ability- and he believes no less of the bitch.

There is much space between them still, yet he deems her entirely close enough, large dog or not he outweighs he still, is more agile then she will ever be, wears weapons upon his paws as well as his jaws and he has no patience to entertain. He dislikes females of any species, has little use for them save for that which he is assured women are for, though it would seem, fortunately perhaps, he holds no interest in such things tonight. He rises smoothly to his feet, ribs and hips protruding perhaps slightly more then they should, for he is never able to eat enough, the distances he has travelled stripping the meat from his bones over and over again, yet the threat is no less clear as lips pull back once more, fangs exposed in the half light as a violent hiss spits free, unsheathed claws sliding in clear earning atop the concrete floor, the large blackened weapons holding their own glow as he snarls again, the sound ricocheting across the empty expanse of harbour and warehouse before he snorts, turning from her with disdain until he sits with his back to her entirely, tail flicking suddenly upward in a very clear and very obvious ‘up yours’ gesture, the feline equivalent, perhaps, of giving someone the finger, ignoring her entirely- or almost so. He is rarely given to speak, regardless of form, his own voice rough from disuse and yet her fractured words seem to earn her an almost open mockery as he mimics the way in which she forms her words, allowing his own to stumble slightly as hers do.


There is a pause in which the deeper baritone of his voice finds her ears, the golden male proceeding to sweep at the fish strewn around him until they sit in a perfect pile before him, assuring not even one is left for her as he keeps his back deliberately turned, trusting entirely in his own unnatural intuition to indicate any attack she may seek to launch. Perhaps more men will come, they often do. He plans to be gone before then, slinking away into the shadows as he often does, his ability to climb assuring him a safety the wolf does not have. Perhaps it is she who should run, men will chase what is within reach and he is confident- arrogant perhaps, in his own abilities. He has survived a long time without any other, he does not need help now and certainly not from a female.

“Maybe you should run. Maybe they will catch you, mmmmutt.”

He draws the final word out, voice seeming to change tone in that moment, indicating perhaps for the first time…..he is not really all there, dilapidated mind displayed, if only briefly for the first time- either way, he has told her to leave. She is a female, beneath him- and she has been given an order.

madness, as you know, is like gravity: all it takes is a little push