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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!

and I will love you even when we're dust amongst the stars69.145.144.152Posted On April 25, 2017 at 8:26 PM by vhalla solarn

you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared

Try as she might, the assassin had difficulty removing Tetradore from her mind permanently. He tended to linger like a shadow in the depths of her mind, those tantalizing emerald eyes distracting her as if she were nothing more than a smitten teen girl again. Her pale complexion would still flush at the memory of his rejection when she least expected. Why would he want to bed her? She was nothing more than a murderer who happened to be leashed to someone that ultimately controlled every aspect of her life. It was like that night from several weeks ago was put on repeat in her mind, she hardly thought about anything else, much less did anything in these last three weeks. Ivan had been oddly absent from her life and she had taken to even ignoring Dorian and their lessons. A wicked scar was already blooming across her shoulder, one that she found she didn’t mind. Something she could remember, that even though Tetradore denied her in the bedroom, he still fought for her.

A grim look sets her features as she exhales sharply through her nose. Flexing that new, rather thin skin, that had finally replaced the scabs on her shoulder. The bruises that had littered her face from that night had entirely vanished as she slipped into her suit, noting that her shoulder still felt a bit stiff at certain angles. Rolling her joints to ease the tension, she quickly zips herself into it, her boots following suit before she snatches her white locks in her hands and braids it back. Strapping her favorite daggers to her thighs, she tugs the hood over her head to hide that alabaster hair from the world and she’s out the door, not daring to consider her bedroom as she passes it by.

Tonight, had been the first night since she had seen Ivan and he did not mention that night all those weeks ago. He had acted like none of it had happened and Vhalla had quaked in her boots. He didn’t even stay for the evening, the Russian man had simply handed her an envelope with a smile, demanding he wanted this man assassinated tonight and then he left. The woman had half a mind to ask about that evening, what her punishment would be, yet, she had simply realized he was toying with her. Vhalla had entirely no idea what he was up to. It was enough to keep her distracted as she wandered from her warehouse to find the meeting place designated in the envelope. She was curious as to what the man was trading for that had him crawling out of his hole he had cloaked himself in. There was no need to kill whoever was delivering the goods, she simply wanted to watch the transaction take place and perhaps follow the man home.

Making it to the roof, she inspects several of the windows finding that several of them were already broken thankfully, as she carefully slips in between the jagged edges to find herself in a rather dusty and abandoned warehouse. Stifling a cough at the dust that swirls from her footsteps, she pads silently towards the overhang and slips into the rafters, carefully testing each beam so it wouldn’t collapse beneath her weight, she shimmies gracefully towards the center of the room, towards the obnoxiously nice vehicle. It was so out of place that Vhalla hesitates her movements towards it and she stops entirely when she realizes just who was leaning against it. Her brows are drawn down into frown as she contemplates leaving, until another vehicle is slowly making its way into the warehouse. Cursing silently under her breath, she quietly makes the rest of the way to the center of the room, finding a good advantage point above the transaction.

Settling herself in, she watches as several men step out of the black vehicle across from Tetradore, four men heavily armed with weapons and a well-dressed man in the center; her target. Curiously, she watches as Tetradore bends down to open the crate of skulls and her target begins to inspect them announcing that it was cracked. Vhalla was hardly surprised to see that Tetradore dealt in other businesses besides The Ark, he was a man shrouded in mystery and she hardly knew him, though she had spent more time with him, as of late, than anyone else. Quickly shoving him out of her mind, her blue eyes lock onto the heated conversation below, the man near to shouting at the Were King. It was when Tet bent over the crate, slamming the lid shut and the sound of weapons being drawn that has Vhalla slipping both daggers free. Yes, she had intended to follow her target back to wherever hellhole he had crawled out of, but she was certain him and his men weren’t about to live for very much longer as she notes the scowl on Tet’s face.

She didn’t need to bring home anymore disappointing news to Ivan.

Easing the breath out of her, she drops from the rafters, two of the guards are dead before they even realize she’s there. Shots are fired in the panic and her target attempts to flee back to the vehicle as a wicked grin twists her features into something a bit more feral as she throws her dagger at the man, a sickening thud as it slices through flesh and imbeds itself into his calf. The scream that reverberates off the wall has his well-trained guards flinching from the noise which gives her enough time to whirl on them, unleashing herself upon the men. She was death incarnate. She has one disarmed quickly, a dagger to his chest has blood splattering her suit as he falls to the ground dead. The final guard regards her warily, his gun trained on her, though she can see the subtle fear lingering in his eyes. Smiling at him, Vhalla hardly looked human as that grin stretches across her blood-spattered face, causing the man to jerk when he fires, narrowly missing her arm.

Releasing the blade near her forearm, she launches herself at him, batting the gun away as she slices across his abdomen. He’s falling to the floor, cradling his stomach as if he could prevent the blood and innards from spilling out. Letting the blade snap back into place, Vhalla doesn’t even take a moment to glance at Tetradore before she’s stalking to the sobbing man on the floor, attempting to drag himself to his vehicle. Stepping in front of him, the woman hardly blinks at his tear stained face as she reaches for the dagger imbedded in his leg and rips it out. He manages to bite back the scream this time, though his body convulses with sobs. Crouching down in front of him, her face has a small smile tugging at the corner of those plump lips as she tilts her head, “Ivan Popov sends his regards,” Vhalla coos at him, realization dawns over the man’s face just as she slits his throat.

Standing, her back towards Tetradore, she casually wipes her dagger on the back of the dead man’s suit before sheathing it. Prowling to the man who she had stabbed in the chest, she wrenches her other knife from him, cleaning it the same way before it’s sheathed at her other side. Sometime during the fight, her hood had fallen off and splatters of blood riddle her white hair. Regarding the tail end of her braid for a moment, she finally turns towards Tetradore, plastering a disarming smile twisting her features, “It’s your territory, I suppose you can take care of the bodies,” she purrs at him before turning on a heel and stalking towards the entrance, that insufferable swagger of hers lining every sway of her hips.

Vhalla Solarn

To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered


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