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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!

Dead man walking; On June 17, 2017 at 8:39 AM by Brennan O'Connell

all that is gold does not glitter
not all who wander are lost

The shadowy demon appeared out of the vague darkness of the alley, efficiently cutting him off. At first it is like an ethereal smoky mass the billows out before taking shape into that large and imposing demon, at least partially. He doesn’t seem to take full shape. Its voice is broken and creaks like a rusty old door hinge. But Brennan is ready, always ready for what might suddenly appear in those shadows at any given moment. He cannot truly rest. His mind is tainted and broken from that other hellish dimension in which he had been cast away like the lowest piece of garbage for years with no way to return home. Not even a damn life raft to keep him afloat. He was intended to die. Every moment was a struggle to survive, every twist and turn was a possible trap into his doom. Yet his powers are what kept him alive, forming whatever he needed at his very fingertips. He became a skilled fighter, dangerous and deadly.

He had made a deal with a demon to return home, to return to her. Serafina. That raven haired witch that had captured this wayward soul entirely. Her mentor did not approve of their budding romance all those years ago and set him away to a place he thought he could never return from. She had thought he had abandoned her, thought he treated her like all those women before her. It shattered him to know she had moved on with another man. So here he stood, with all that loathing, facing the demon that returned him to a world that only rejected him. But he had to, he couldn’t endure to be in a world without her despite how it ripped him up inside, ragged and raw.

A series of creaks and hisses spit from the demons disjointed jaw, as he hovers above the ground, part man, part something else. The demonic force refused to take his human form, to become truly solid, as though he did not trust the world he was surrounded by. Its words are laced with threats and ugliness, the searing pain of its mark glowing into the shadowy alleyway that burnt his wrist. “Yes, I am aware of our arrangement.” That Irish lilt ringing through those grim words. He is poised for attack, a dagger already blossomed within his grasp, one his powers summoned. But how could you kill something that could not be killed? It was futile. The warlock was truly up shits creek without a boat or a damn paddle.

The shadowy creature suddenly screeches raggedly and piercing, its phantom-like shadow violently fast as it shoots like a bullet from a gun toward the oncoming figure Brennan hadn’t noticed. He was entirely focused on the direct imposing threat. His black leather jacket flaps open from the breeze that creature creates. How odd that someone would wander these parts so late at night and alone, it even surprised the demon that was clearly not finished with him. It shrieks like something feral and dangerous and it was. However, its form was nothing but black mist now. It travelled through her before it suddenly disappears, as if plucked from this reality and placed into another one. He knew he would be back soon, but for now it was gone. After all, he had a debt to collect. The warlock hadn’t the faintest of idea of what he would ask of him, a deal with a demon always favoured it and not one who signed their very soul away.

He knew it wouldn’t be good and he dreaded it.

It just so happened to be a woman lurking in the dimly lit alley. How peculiar. She smelt like pungent smoke and jasmine, beads of drying sweat clung to her brow that reflects off a humming light overhead, one that had flickered from the dark spirit that was just here. He assesses her, his expression calloused, his muscles coiled. “It is not safe for a young thing like you to be wandering alleyways a night.” His words hold a warning and yet he is hollow. His depthless blue-grey eyes betray an intermingling taste of emotion that resemble a dark and haunted man. Just like that, his expression is void from his worn face as he peers down at her, his dagger clasped tightly in his hand that deadly instinct still taking over his body.

Brennan O'Connell


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