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

hell is e m p t y (Open)


Posted on December 03, 2016 by Blaise Duval
West
hell is empty
There is too much iron in the warehouse district. She can feel it like a wave of heat brushing her skin, sending shivers up her spine and a thin sheen of sweat across her forehead. Her lips purse in distasteful silence as she surveys the layout of the area, her fingers brushing over the bronze switchblade in her pocket, a tool of her own making for times like this. Her only comfort in this city of iron is the thrum of the other metals, how they sing to her, are malleable in her expert hands. She notes the copper and titanium hiding in the bones of the buildings, lingering at the heart of it all and cloaked by that poison layer of iron.

She could bring it all down, if she wished it. A simple tug and her magic would sing to the copper wires winding their way through the walls, to the titanium beams supporting the exoskeleton of it all. There would be a price, of course; there is too much iron here for her to think she could walk away from an exertion such as that without paying for it in blood, or more.

Her mother had told her stories of the old times - the days when the Fae had nothing to fear of mortals, before the skyscrapers went up and the guns with their hot iron bullets came out. Then, the Fair Folk were a free people, a formidable adversary. At one time, her people had been whispers in the dark, fairytales or nightmares depending on the story.

Then the humans had come with their iron swords and still they could not damper the hearts of the proud Fae. Then they had come with their iron armor, hiding their tender flesh and rendering it impenetrable without some consequential burns to show for it. It wasn't until they'd come with their guns and their cars, their buildings and their phones, dripping iron into every aspect of their life that things had truly become hopeless.

Of course, her people had adapted, evolved; it was easier to tolerate the proximity of the poisonous metal, though still deadly to the touch. It didn't make it any less uncomfortable, though.

The sharp, metallic stench of it burns her nose as she slips into the side door of one of the smaller warehouse buildings, her green eyes quickly scanning the room for any evidence of unwanted company. Her ears are better than the weak ears of humans and she hears the quiet pad of footsteps approaching. She hopes that it is the contact her confidante had put her in touch with, the dealer who claimed to have a certain Fae artifact she had been hunting for years; the amulet of the Dullahan, once her mother's and her mother's before hers.

Would her mother, a high Lady of the Unseelie court, be disappointed in her? Probably. It had, after all, been her duty to protect the artifact after her mother's death and she had failed, on so many levels.

The thief had come in the night, prepared for her attack with iron chains that he bound her skin with as he pillaged her belongings, searching for the one thing she had left of her ancient mother.

Even the mere memory of it has her rubbing her wrists, touching the skin around her wrist, just a shade paler than the rest where the chains had laid into her. If it weren't for.... Well, she wouldn't talk about him right now. He'd saved her life, but he was gone now.

Her attention is pulled back to the present at the creaking of the door and she turns back to face the contact, an impish smirk pulling at her lips to reveal her sharp canines, another mark to brand her as fae.

"You're late," she purrs before going silent, watching the newcomer with eyes that gave away nothing of her intentions.
and all the devils are here

Replies