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.
Such unyielding faith it was that saw the young Russian's fingers plunging forth into the waiting darkness, probing where her eyes could not in an effort to discover her uncle's familiar frame. She would have waited, presumably quite vulnerable, in the darkness for none other than he and her father... the youthful Hunter's faith in either man having been cultivated and nurtured by blessedly patient hands for a century and more. And so does his hand find hers just as she knew that it would, the outline of his frame peeling somewhat from the otherwise utterly impenetrable shadow that surrounds him by virtue of the blades that he wields.
Her uncle's poorly-timed jest might have otherwise caused the exasperated rolling of sage eyes had it not been for the pressing nature of the current circumstances. Humor had always been both a virtue and a vice inherent within the Frenchman, this axiom apparent from the very moment that she had made his acquaintance all those decades ago. "It would be much worse if I were Catholic. Their predatory holymen are far more... plentiful." It is a statement delivered with the same acidic and plainly deadpan jest that was both stereotypical and symbolic of Russian humor. Surely Alexander would have heaved a momentous sigh at the pair of them and their proclivity for inappropriately-timed verbal tennis were he present. But there is hardly a spare moment in which to consider the hypothetical admonishments of her father for in the following second a brilliant bloom of crackling energy penetrated the darkness of her near-blindness, accompanied solely by the ethereal glistening of her uncle's blades. The clash of steel and sorcery is deafening, drowning almost entirely the crumbling of the cathedral's foundation that erupts thereafter.
Just as Anastasia is about to issue her understanding of Matteo's direction, a blinding rectangle of artificial light pours out unto the marbled tile of the church floor illuminating a wide swatch of the alter and the lone clergyman standing wide-eyed in the backlight doorway. His indignant cry garners not only the attention of the Russian duchess, but so too does the now-singular eye of their assailant land with such heft upon the elderly man. She moves with renewed athleticism by merit of the generous swath of light that has shunned the darkness inhibiting her ailing eyes, reaching the elder deacon and forcing him to his knees behind her own crouched figure only a sliver of a moment before the veritable meteor-blast of Rasputin's power obliterates a sizable portion of the stone archway at their backs.
Anastasia straightens herself even as the first pebbles skitter against the marble tile, a ribbon of silver skating against her dagger's edge despite the thick crimson sludge that swathes it as her arm swings skyward in a calculated arc. She can see her adversary now, illuminated in the ample lighting cast from the room at her back, a single blackened eye narrowing to a horrid slit as Rasputin's lips crack into a demonic grin. The dagger leaves her hands as skillfully as it always had... as it always would, though in that moment does her nemesis succumb to the darkness of his own making, coalescing into the ether just as the dagger passes through the space wherein he had been. The blade lands its mark against a far wall, a handful of grizzled, black hairs forced into the crumbling mortar proving her only prize.
"Der'mo!" (Shit!) The word parts from her lips as somewhat of an inhuman snarl, the tortured lament of a defeated predator, before a gasp of disbelief pierces the pregnant quietude. Anastasia turns upon her heels to assist the holyman who, laboriously, seeks to right himself within the mangled doorway of his quarters though he quickly rebuffs her helpful advances. Instead does he shuffle a few paces further into the ruin of his cathedral, piercing blue eyes slicing from Hunter to Fae, his arms outstretched, balled fists shaking furiously towards the pair as a voice far grander than expected erupts from him. "DER'MO!"
Grand Duchess of Imperial Russia