The east side of the city is the very heart of Sacrosanct - it's unique skyline is a clash between modern sky rises and small Victorian-inspired storefronts. In the heart of downtown, the sleek colored glass buildings reign supreme though their old-world roots can be seen in the most peculiar places from the lamp post styled electric street light to the stone sidewalks. The old world architecture slowly returns the further from downtown you travel, however. It's here that magic thrives, it hums in every stone and can be felt in every breath. Often, newcomers to the city may become overwhelmed by such sensations but, eventually, it becomes an ever-present feeling that's hardly noticed.
City Creek Center
Dark Hunter Department
Red on the Water
The City Creek Center is an upscale open-air shopping center centered in the heart of downtown Sacrosanct. With its numerous fountains, foliage-lined walkways, and bubbling streams, City Creek Center offers three blocks of chic boutiques, delicious dining, and the newest showrooms.
The City of Sacrosanct's Dark Hunter Department's primary concern is the safety of all of Sacrosanct's residences. Their public safety responsibilities include code enforcement and supernatural crime prevention. The Sacrosanct Dark Hunter's Department follows the directions of the International Dark Hunter Council and serves as a local point of contact for any Dark Hunters working within the Council's ranks.
The Inner Sanctum is an independently's owned specialty coffee company and cafe with a singular focus: quality. A hidden gem on the side streets of the busy downtown, the Inner Sanctum source's the world's finest beans and local treats. From it's delectable pastries to the exquisite latte art, the Inner Sanctum is dedicated to both its craft and the customer's experience. With beans roasted in house and every cup prepared by the best baristas, you will never be disappointed at the Inner Sanctum.
Owner Alexander Macedonia
Nestled in a pleasant alcove that is but a stone's throw away from the dazzling labyrinth of downtown, Red on the Water is a spectacle in its own right. Renovated in the style of a classic Irish pub with a dash of modern flair befitting the city that boasts it, this up-and-coming venue is the perfect place to snag an impeccably prepared home-cooked meal and enjoy the city's most impressive collection of brews from Ireland and beyond. You and your guests are sure to be mesmerized and invigorated by the energetic offerings of the live Celtic band to be found here every weekend.
Home of: Elysium
Owner Isolt Griffin
With one hundred floors and a 125-foot spire, the Starlight Tower rises high above the Sacrosanct skyline. More than just a landmark, the Starlight Tower offers a unique mix of restaurants, shops, and offices spaced throughout the building. Organized into nine verticle zones, each of which features a sky lobby and a light-filled garden atrium which merge the upscale interior with a faux landscaped exterior setting.
It would have been a shameful farce for the Russian woman to deny that the inkling to coax further details of the outcome of her life's quest from the unfathomable bounty of her uncle's mind did not tug at the very fabric of her soul with the insistence of a nagging, petulant child. Curiosity was, after all, the most beguiling siren... especially at a time such a this when Anastasia traipses the treacherous crag of a personal crossroads. And yet she moves to prod him no further despite the ravenous gnawing of the urge as it presses its needlepoint teeth into the tenderness of her insides. Instead does she offer her uncle little more than a knowing glance, leaving unsaid all of the things that dare not pass betwixt her crimson lips.
It is yet another count for the merit of the elder fae that he seeks to maneauver the conversation towards far more light-hearted fare... or, rather, what should pass for it between two such peculiar individuals as themselves. "I shall not breathe a word of your indulgence," she concedes in a manner that is darkly playful. A manner that quickly becomes markedly insidious with the mention of the existence of a Crusnik, a savory conversational morsel that the Duchess seizes upon as any practiced predator would have been wont to do. It did not do for a Hunter to have their hands bound by the idleness of a peacetime lull, no matter how tremulous or marked by brevity it was. For Anastasia, the notable absence of proper fodder had instilled within her a stagnation that was nothing if not entirely precarious.
Matteo's assurance that the Crusnik existed beyond some proverbial barrier of protection forged by the company he kept does naught to sully the devilish grin settled upon his niece's lips. The Russian woman's simper does not wilt at the brims as some flawed and fragile blossom beneath the touch of a greedy hand; no, rather do her eyes change, their light sage darkening with alluring intensity as she peers towards her companion with a slightly narrowed gaze. "You know far better than that, dorogoy. I answer to no one." As tempered and as poised as Anastasia was given to appear, she knew that Matteo was far from daft, the fae having spent the greater portion of his existence in the presence of a man who had conquered worlds, had crushed them within his own hands. And he had taught his daughter well the art of the hunt. It would, indeed, behoove this Crusnik to stick tightly to the presumed security of his "family" lest he should wander too far astray...
"Da," she concedes, allowing the topic of the Crusnik to fall into conversational oblivion for the time at hand, for there were considerably more paramount matters to be tended to than the hypothetical fate of a wayward vampire. It was a tradition, of sorts, and one that Matteo had indulged upon all of the pair's ventures to Anastasia's homeland. Yet despite the repetition the suppressive heft builds within the Russian woman as it always did as they drew nearer to the cathedral, its golden domes resplendent against the sprawling azure tapestry of the afternoon sky. It had not always been thus; the first time that Anastasia had traversed this particular avenue there had been a modest residence set upon this land. It is this house that her mind chooses to recall as they meander forth in nearly-absolute quietude, the memories flooding her mind as if by the breaking of some breeched psychic dam. She recalls without fault and in horrific viridy the feel of the uneven, fissured tiles beneath her feet, the aged, moist smell of the basement and the atrocious, peeling stripped wallpaper at her back.
It is that place that she battles so valiantly to relegate back to the shaded ether of her mind's furthest reaches as the pair traverse the church's doorstep. "I'll be but a moment," she offers quietly to her companion, taking her leave of him as she saunters toward the alter and the rows of candles clasped within their intricately woven iron holdings. In the dim light of the church they are her only beacon, her every step calculated in the near-complete darkness created by her defect. In a ritual that she had repeated more times than she dared attest, Anastasia ignites a solitary match, holding against the wick of each candle in turn. For Tatiana, for Maria, for Alexei, for her mother, and... the last was always for her father. Five candles set alight: such a small gesture of remembrance in comparison to lives and love that had been taken so suddenly. So consumed is she with the indulgent memories of her stolen loved ones that Anastasia hardly registers the approach of another individual at her back until the unnerving heat of his breath whispers against her neck. "You know... I always light a candle for you as well, moya Anya."
She would have known that voice anywhere, for truly it had spoken to her from the depths of many a nightmare since her transition beyond the mortal realm. But, before the Duchess can chance any movement, a flurry of movement from behind her extinquishes the myriad dancing flames before her... plunging her headlong into an impenetrable dark.
Grand Duchess of Imperial Russia