West

The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a grunginess 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, and often let the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

What You'll Find Here

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

Black Market

Just like any city - Sacrosanct is not without it's deep, dark underbelly. Hidden in the graffiti-ridden streets of the West, behind closed warehouse doors, lies the Black Market. Forever moving, it's nearly impossible to find without knowing someone who knows someone. Anything you desire can be brought for a hefty price within the Black Market - be it drugs, weapons, or lives.

What You'll Find Here

Edge of the Circle

Cull & Pistol

Hidden within the dark alleyways of the Western Ward, Cull & Pistol is a dim, often smoky bar. With a small variety of bottled and craft beers, Cull & Pistol is a quaint little neighborhood joint. With its no-frills moto, the dingy bar offers little more than liquor, music from an old jukebox, and a few frequently occupied pool tables.

Bartender Raylin Chike

Noah's Ark

Resting upon the harbor, Noah's Ark (known simply as The Ark) is a sleek superyacht known both for its fight rings and recent...renovations, of sorts. 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. Note: This is a Were only establishment. All other species will be swiftly escorted out.
Home of: Nightshade

Owner Aiden Tetradore

Co-owner Tobias Cain
Bar Manager Mira Ramos
Bartender Henry Tudor
Waitress Carolina Bedford

Syn

Within the turbulent industrial district lies this club. The warehouse doesn't look like much on the outside but it provides a memorable experience from the state of the art lighting, offbeat Victorian-inspired artwork, comfortable black leather lounges, and the infamous 'black light' room. There is a wide variety of alcohol that lines the shelves of both of the magical and ordinary variety. It is a common stomping ground for the supernatural who want to let loose and dance the night away to the music that floods the establishment. Humans are most welcome if they dare.

Owner Risque Voth

Manager Darcy Blackjack
Cats Aiden Tetradore
Cats Harlequin Westward

THE KITTEN KING; me and the devil, walking side by side


Posted on June 09, 2016 by ASKAREE
West

Askaree Bint Bahar


Of all the sordid places he could have chosen to do this thing... Why the hell couldn't they just have perpetrated this little rendezvous beneath the eerily flickering streetlight of a seedy alleyway or in some hygenically-challenged, squalid dive. Oh wait, they were. The notion might have pulled the chiseled facade of the Egyptian Were into that characteristic devil's smirk were it not for the dismal truth of her present situation. At some not-so-far-off juncture in time, perhaps when she had been forced to move her houseboat further down the dock because the goddman vibrations coming off of the Ark had proven nearly insanity-inducing to her ophidian self, Askaree had vowed never to grace this filthy little tugboat with her presence. Alas, here she stood in the looming shadow of the Westside's most prominent blemish all because Davante's clients were a carnival of fucking morons. This particular fucking moron had chosen the Ark as their hand-off locale because, she could only presume, he preferred to conduct his business whilst watching the animalistic slap-fights that were the staple of this particular business.

"You comin' in, sweetheart," came the paradoxically brusque and teasingly saccharine notes of the front-door stooge who, from the looks of the distended veins that strained beneath the flesh of his arms and neck, appeared as a sausage determined to burst from the holds of its casing. With naught more than a practiced look of apathetic boredom and the saluting of a choice finger did Askaree finally traverse the border between dock and dingy.

Hardly do her burgundy eyes peruse the scene before her; when you've seen one, you've seen them all as far as she was concerned. And Askaree had given her patronage to enough bars, dives, and backyard breweries to maintain a healthy confidence in this particular assertion. Instead does she meander about, though hardly are her advances aimless, the only precautious measure taken by the booze-hound is to maintain a socially acceptable distance between herself and the bar... at least until she found the one tool she was looking for in this metaphoric Home Depot. Jesus, was she going to need a drink after this...



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