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.
Cull & Pistol
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.
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.
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
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
The Armory doesn't altogether suck, per say...but it could use a little more class. I touch my figner tip to the sword blade and turn my finger to watch the tiny drop of blood appear on the surface of my skin. I appear so vulnerable...and yet right before my eyes, I watch the puncture seal itself shut. How nice to be immortal. Yet I know Lucian also has a good set of stakes in the glass case just on the other side of the room. Those, I wouldn't like to press my finger to, not even for the taste of danger.
I wander over to another case of big hammers and axes. Those must be the manly men. I glance up at another guy eying a particular axe and my lips twitch. Tattoos and arms the size of my whole body. Yep, he's the type. I hold in my laughter as I wander away to a glass case filled with different sizes of knives, all shapes and sizes. Some look more like bloody knuckles with a hidden blade on the end while others look like tooth picks that might be able to stab a fly.
Once I've had my fill, I head toward the door, ready to find another way to amuse myself for the rest of the day. I stop right outside and take a deep breath of the cool night air. Leaning against the wall, I watch the other night owls as they walk by. Most are heading to or from bars and night clubs, living on the seedier side of life. I don't blame them. It's much easier to throw it all away at the bottom of a bottle. Too bad that doesn't work for me anymore. Everything just tastes like water once you're dead. Or rather, undead.