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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!

just because you caught me, does that make it a sin? On April 14, 2017 at 5:38 PM by kearn.

it's a shallow little world

This whole city was unnatural, a laugh in the face of god, and so it seemed strange to think something here was out of the ordinary - but Kearn couldn’t find another explanation within easy reach.

Maybe it’s easy enough; she’s been drugged, or was only just turned into whatever monster she is. But everything about her screams of her newness, this naked stranger with her eternity-eyes who doesn’t seem to feel the cold that blows in from the harbor and cuts like a knife.

“Sacrosanct,” he answers her, lips quirking with amusement at the irony of such a name for a place that was far from hallowed and holy. “The Warehouse District, more specifically.” Nowhere she wanted to be, and nowhere that would take to her. He can’t imagine her smelling like wet concrete and fish, eating undercooked eggs with dockworkers. No. She belonged elsewhere, belonged -

He doesn’t get to finish the thought.

There’s another ripple in the damp fabric of the night, another hint of that smell from another world, and both their eyes fall to the sword. He has to keep himself from flinching when she picks it up; has to keep himself from reaching for his gun as her slender hand takes that strange hilt, as a tear makes a glistening track down the curve of her cheek.

Flora’s approach catches him completely unaware, a fact which he knows she’ll never let him live down, and so he makes his expression extra sour when he turns toward her. “Rude. I’d say she found me.” True or not, it was a lucky thing for the stranger; there were far more dangerous beasts out tonight, though it always stung to admit it.

A hunter. He turns back to the woman at Flora’s admonition and sees that it is true. The sword alone should have given that away. Kearn’s been off his game lately, preoccupied with the new gang in town, but that was a sorry excuse. He runs a hand along his jaw, considering her, but drops it with a scoff as the girl continues talking. ”Flora,” he warns, as if ever heeded his wishes.

He won’t admit he’s glad she’s there (glad to know she’s safe and glad because her presence takes some of the edge off this strange night), same as he won’t admit he’s grateful for the small distraction of the necklace. He glances at it, the blood-red ruby, the obvious craftsmanship, and lifts his eyes to hers. “Keep an eye on that. I’ve got plans for it.” He waves a hand at her as she goes on, turning back toward the stranger and her sword. “We haven’t gotten to introductions yet.”

But as always, Flora had a point. He blows out soft breath, considering the hunter. It seemed foolish to bring her back to their home, but not as foolish as standing here waiting for an unwelcome fourth to join their little party.

“I’m Kearn, this chatterbox is Flora. She’s right - you ought to come with us, get your bearings. Get clothes.” His words are steady but soft - they leave room for it to still be a question, an offer, and part of him hopes she’ll decline and absolve him of the responsibility he feels, having discovered her.

The other part of him…well. He’s rabidly curious about the scar, the sword, and any answers that might go with them both.


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