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

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


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

In the deepest darkness, I'm coming for you;

Posted on February 03, 2019 by Risque

Out go the lights and bump goes the night

And with your fear comes my delight

How unlike Darcy was from the others, her hooked coils fastened within him so deep and yet she hardly possessed the same control she possessed over her felines. Yet she tests him, tests that adoration and devotion he possesses for her because it intrigues and perplexes her at the same time. Yet, he was the very creature because of that intense drive and unyielding loyalty that he found himself the closest being to the cruel mistresses threshold. She had learned long ago not to trust in those that she could not control and yet here was that anomaly that was Darcy, defying those very odds like those cards he mastered over.

Despite that voracious hunger of their movements there is a certain fluidity to crushing of their blood slick bodies. Between the blooming bruises that are like scattered rose pedals across flesh, the blood which was a proverbial feast to satisfy their hunger, the wounds offered like a declaration of ownership, they seem to consume one another. Finding themselves on some kind of peculiar battle to claim the other.

His lips hover just so over her neck in a strikingly tender fashion, but there was nothing gentle about this encounter as the movement of his hips tell another story. That ravaging second bite ripped into her flesh, he had never bitten her twice before. He was seemingly brave tonight, bolder than usual as she wound him tighter than she had before as though curious to see how far she could push him. She had given him reign and he continued to take as if he could dare pillage every last morsel. Her own internal dominance thundered within her chest which so nearly makes her shudder, but that pleasure assaults her as does that pain. Even despite that urge to simply strip him of all his control was so very potent and yet she does not as though there was some revolting part of her that revels in watching him become undone. He was a product of her own torment, was he not? Yet she is lost to the pleasure, all but assaulted by it as he shifts his hips, to hit that spot that that nearly made her writhe. She could feel her blood eagerly rush to meet his waiting mouth, feeling just as much wasted as he consumed. She could hardly help the way she tightens around him, convulsing beneath that pressure beneath her will to simply take back control because she could. That cry that escapes her is entwined with so many sensation, pleasure, rage, and want. And just when she thinks she had received the full brutality of his fangs his teeth ravage into her neck even further and she is nearly left with no voice at all.

For a flash of a moment, it borderline too far, but she was queen of pain and this form of worship seem to appeal to something so dark and twisted that it could have very well been deemed insane. They were like two predators turning each other into prey, like some sick gruesome tango. She felt that hand leave her, even as he hardly hindered that building friction of their bodies, producing more and more of that whipping, hungry static. He slams that free hand into the wall with such a force it shudders her in that very moment, his hand undoubtedly a mangled ruin from the sheer ferocity of it, that ripped a hiss from her. He is on some internal brink and she cannot help the way she seemed to fuel it, push into that madness along with her. That very burst of rage that escapes him, seems to speak to that primal urgency. How quick her irritation seemed to shift into sick hum of satisfaction that almost seems to trill excitedly within her. Perhaps they both are beyond that point of lunacy as gush of air escapes her lungs, stifling her once more, his hips pummel into her like he could crawl inside of her. She could hardly help the way that silver heel presses into his back, barely hearing the way his flesh sizzles beneath it as she clings to him further, welcoming that assault as she does offer it.

Risque was rapt, succumbing within a dangerous unyielding swirl of sensation, like hungry gaping maws threatening to tear her apart from the inside out. How the she-devil knows that precarious wire of pleasure and pain and her body needs, clings to it like it is some kind of direct line to life itself, how she craves that carnal incessant abuse, like a mortal needs air. That blend of assaulting pleasure added to that intoxicating mix, as if fighting some violent war within her, it was irresistible to her. They practically rip each other apart in that wicked, relentless passionate dance and Darcy was the only partner that could keep up with her every whim. Silently obeying those commands her body made without even herself being entirely aware of them. But this night was fueled by something far more nefarious. It was driven by utter possession, it rose sharply like an ancient beast seeking for unrelenting control and she would not stop until it was sated. She hardly tolerated someone else marking what was hers, even if were hardly meant to be a mark by own of her own, that predatory greed still reacts like it was.

It was like fuel to the perfect catastrophic storm with Darcy appeasing her every whim and that utter possession she felt for him in that moment she first ravaged his neck, surprised even her. She hardly knew how to embrace those tender emotions, her form of affection was lost in a trail of relentless violence, abundant passion and unsating hunger. How they blend into a wicked blend of sadistic delight and she need it in that fragile moment like a fish needed water. Risque was perhaps far more broken than the creatures she shatters from the inside out, for those very creatures had not had the time she had to set and condition those dark, malevolent traits that consume her near resolutely. She had given herself entirely to the dark bowels of hell below and Darcy seemed quick to follow.

How she relishes the feel of her nails digging into his back, that silver clad talon slicing through his skin like a hot knife through butter. It parted as obediently as he is to her commands. That sound of pain escapes him and it drives her wild, that carnage and Darcy's practiced strokes of his hips nearly pushes her over the edge on his own assault.. So much deep crimson plasma showers them both along with the debris of destruction and yet she hardly cares in that moment that her entire office was near destroyed. She hardly pays no mind to the very brink her own body is pushed. She near ferally uttered those words and how truthful they were. The vampire she-devil wanted nothing more in that moment to consume him entirely. But she holds back, knowing she could nearly kill him this way. How she enjoys the flirtation of the true death but even she does not dwell much passed that, she was hardly finished with her Darcy yet. That heated growl shudders right through her, almost between her very core, but never once did he release his claiming hold upon her throat.

Her hand snakes out to clasp that thick masculine chain around his neck, next to her mark, this was her symbol to the very world that he was hers. Only her most prized possessions wore her signature and Darcy was no different and yet a different category all in itself. She jerks that chain vehemently, which only causes his teeth to ravage her once pristine flesh in a deliciously painful gnash. Her own body responds in a powerful tremor, how he could maul a man's head right from his shoulders and how it only served to satisfy that sweet sin she was comprised of. That firm hold at his she keeps on him is near suffocating as she rasps that final command into his alluring flesh. How eager he seemed to summon that final burst of energy to submit to her command, she releases him only to sink her own fangs into his flesh, that sick need to invade him like he had her. His hips are a blur as they move their relentless pace, as he worshiped her to the brink of his own body's potential. How she relishes in pushing him to those very limits, testing his control, his adoration. It was like she speaks an entirely other dialect that Darcy had seemed to predominantly mastered with a certain ease.

How that very wall threatens to give way entirely, and should it have not been reinforced by a cement wall behind it, it most likely would have. But she even questions that cement's integrity for a moment. But she would not have it any other way, this building could have come crashing down around him and she wouldn't dare let him stop. She did not anticipate his hand sliding between them, that very caress of that sensitive spot almost drove her out of her own skin. Between those relentless thrusts, his teeth pressed into neck and that blinding sensation of his hand it was enough to lurch her over the edge.

No one pushes her over that edge like he does, a veritable master to her bodies desires, as she freefell into that intense release her body exploded in that combustion. Her eyes flutter shut as she buried her mouth into his ravaged and bloody neck. "Darcy." She moans out his name into his skin, her teeth brushing against his neck as if daring to take another bite and yet she cannot as she gasps for air. She seemed to ride that pleasure, relentless wave after wave as she convulses around him. Clinging to him like she might be swept away into a violent, powerful microburst, his teeth embedded themselves so deeply within her neck in that animalistic fashion, as he pins her in yet another way, preventing her from moving away, like she had done a thousand times to him, keeping him bound within her bed as she had her way with him. As utterly painful that bite was, she relishes in the very feel of it, his dominance that dares to rival her own in those moments and yet it only did it more for her. By the final moments of her own ecstasy he soon plummets after her, his body overcome with exhaustion but not without one last powerful thrust, giving into that orgasm. That sound of his own release was like a symphony of sweet sin to her ears. "Merde.." She hisses breathlessly, her own breath near strangled from her as her body seems to pant in an involuntary way, her body just as spent as his own. Her very body seems to tremble its satisfaction against him, her entire body extremely sensitive and nearly throbbing. In one fluid movement, his teeth dislodge from her neck and she nearly spasms all over again, that content sound escaping her lips. His tongue languidly licks closed those wounds closed and she nearly struck him to stop. Instead, she only allows her lips to find that most recent punctures her teeth had bestowed upon him, purposely leaving that mauled wound to heal slowly on its own. That one was a statement she refused to allow him to forget so readily. She kissed those newly ravaged marks from her own fangs, her tongue brushing along those incisions, savouring that lingering taste of him on her tongue. His hands allow her to be released, her heels strangely finding that floor. That very movement provides an ache, such a pain dulled only by that release of precious endorphins. A fine sheen of sweat made their skin glow, if most of their exposed skin that wasn't covered in blood.

"Perhaps I should leave you with your hands more often.." She purrs like a content feline, as if that she-devil was nothing more than a tamed pet. How she wishes nothing more than to shower and indulge in the finest blood to recuperate her strength to its formal glory. How much blood she had lost, they both lost, it was a wonder how the two vampires could even stand. She leans into the cool shattered surface of the wall as she allowed his tongue to linger upon that opposite side that had already started close on its own accord, he was nothing if thorough.

Risque hardly felt like working after that. Wanting nothing more to gorge herself on blood and curl up with those new kitten cubs, lounging like a house cat basking in moonlight. Their fur at this stage was the very softest it would be while they were so terribly young. She fully intended to think on their names, it would also appear she would need to make an order of a slew of new custom collars from that European jeweler overseas.

She snatches that right hand that had put an impressive hole through that wall, how it ripped and tore at his skin. "I like the way you lose control.." She mutters sickly. Drawing that hand toward her mouth licking that mangled flesh upon his knuckles in a near tantalizing fashion, while she met his mismatched gaze. Relishing in a moment before dropping it suddenly.

Darcy's blood riddled lips met her own in a final lingering kiss, his mouth tasted like a blend of their blood and how she lapped that very taste. Her own hunger only peeking through as they still rode that high of that intoxicating sex. She allows her fingers to trace through the blood across his muscular figure as he leaned way. Some of it had already begun to dry, there was nothing worse that caked on dry blood on skin. That gesture may have been idle but still no less appreciative of his fit figure. He was a prime example of a man, from the way he conducted himself, down to every last defined muscle upon his coiled muscular physique.

That rare lazy smile danced upon his lips, looking more like the smug cat that got the cream and how that inner part of her was vain that she had put that look upon his features. How she had made him hers, and devoured him near completely. She would be feeling this for sometime, she mused almost curiously, as her abused body still throbs from his ardent passion. She could hardly help but wonder how long it would take to restart that process once more. "You are mine.." That possessive gleam shines wickedly in her eyes, her fingers move upward, trailing on that silver chain so very gently as though they promise the brutality of what could happen should he disappoint her. But perhaps in a way he already knew this already, but for once she actually spoke those words for the second time tonight. She paused as if considering something obscure for a moment an unhinged fleeting through she grasps at, her pale hypnotic eyes seemed to darken near sadistically. "I will not share you." There was something ominous and greedy in the way that she said it, like the very glint of an executioner's blade pressed metaphorically at his already ravaged neck. What that meant was not truly elaborated on, she was certain he could piece that together in his own mind. Yet somehow.. it was like that metaphorical leash attaching him to her, just got a hell of a lot shorter. That possessive hunger seemingly sated but not entirely diminished, perhaps arguably insatiable.

His unique gaze flickered to the very wall behind her, the debris barley clinging on to the wall itself. He claimed he would get it fixed without another word uttered from Risque herself. Her slender naked form slid away, that very wall seemed reluctant to let her go, as it had cradled to a perfect imprint of her sensual silhouette and a incredibly distinguishable crater where Darcy had punched that wall. She took witness to the damage of their perverse obsession, how much more potent it was than that, something that was so very volatile. She nodded her head in dismissive agreement before a sinful closed lip grin curls upon her own devilish lips before they part to speak. "We make quite the mess." Her voice is dripping with afterglow and hunger. How true those words were. She slides around him despite how painful it was to walk, admiring those claw marks on his back. They would heal far too fast for her liking except for maybe that silver gash she made. She allows her fingertips examine her own handy work as she brushes against him. How much her own possessive rage had undone her tonight.

Darcy claimed he had something to show her. "Oh? What is that?" Darcy retreated to his destroyed clothes while Risque moves with such predatory confidence to that Victorian couch nestled in her office. She gracefully sinks into it, poised and waiting, allowing to partially lay upon her back, legs bent artfully at the knee, while she used that high armrest for support. Her blood saturated blue-black hair cascades downward over her breasts.

So much of this office needed to get replaced anyways, why not a new couch as well. She looked like a beautifully grotesque painting in that moment draped along that couch. Signed by the artist himself, wearing her own bare marred flesh near smugly. His smeared hand marks were evident upon her once porcelain flesh while her marks defiled his own. Between the two of them and that very office it was a gruesome scene, between what they had done to each other and the shattered wall. Let alone all the blood, Risque hardly pitied the person who had to clean it up, she just expected it done.

She looked equally like the smug cat and yet she could not hide that suspicion from her scrutinous pale eyes at what he had to show her. It better not be something to foul her good mood, she could almost feel that twitch of her lip ready to hinder that well-earned smirk that found her coated lips. He approached her with his phone and she is perfectly still, like a predator laying in wait. She could not help the way her eyes rove over his blood-soaked form in what seemed like a flash of appreciation upon her features. She makes him wait for only a moment before reaching to grab that phone which possessed a collection of pictures of a feline with pointy ears and tufts of fur point upward from the tip of its adorable ears. She was not expecting that, not for a second. She could barely hide her own dismay as he began speaking, her eyes went from the lynx and then back to him again. It was so very rare for blatantly show this level of surprise but she could not even hide it.

Darcy began to explain, she could hear the substantial tiredness draped upon his southern drawl.

Immediately upon looking upon the image she knew what it was, even in its infantile state. She had not seen one on the market in over a hundred years. "An Iberian lynx?" The vampire woman knew that very answer and yet that very surprise that it was a lynx of all creatures that captured his attention. The cub was tiny, her eyes barely open. But what was even more alluring was just how scarce this creature was, rarer than even Darcy could even comprehend within the wild. Rare tastes so often meant expensive, much like the clouded leopards that wandered her very office. She was fully aware how much they would have set him back. "You have very rare tastes, but I suppose after being around me so long it was bound to happen." She muses, her eyes fall to the phone scanning through those photos, but her bloody thumb smeared across the surface the touchscreen was hardly functioning as it should. She near growled at it before she wipes her bloodied hand upon the velvet fabric of the couch, so she could make those pictures larger on that tiny screen. She needed to examine the cat herself to know if it was truly worth its weight in gold. " Why the sudden interest in cats, hm?" She inquires, but she is more inquisitive considering after all those years with no interest in the creatures she wields with her affinity. There was a satisfaction she could hardly comprehend, as though this were simply one last thing he submits to.

She muses for but a moment, a movement of the two new clouded leopard cubs curiously drew closer from their hiding place, their coats soaked with that warlock's blood. Her gaze draws down toward them all but idly. "I will get it for you. Think of it as a token of my favour." That voice, near offers with that dripping nonchalance. It was his very first interest in those felines that she kept. Even if that very feline was on the smaller side and slightly ridiculous looking, its ears were far to big for its head, but it certainly possessed a quirky cuteness to it with that unique bearded face. Perhaps it would grow into them. Risque found herself drawn to those much larger more ferocious felines. Regardless it is for some ineffable reason that she likes the idea of him coveting a pet of his own. " It must be you who trains it. I will not have one more unruly cat in my home... it would seem there were no shortage in those." Distaste flutters across her face as an idle hand reaches to scoop up one of the waiting felines. She was not one for coddling but she wanted to feel that very sensation of that baby soft fur. "Impress me." She dares. Her last words were like luxurious satin on bare flesh, like she tasted the very suggestive nature behind them. There was an unsung challenge hidden behind the depths of it.

He so coveted her attention and now he had ensnared it, but under those scrutinous eyes came graver consequences. Darcy perhaps out of everyone had the furthest to fall and there were just so many perilous, jagged, wanting rocks that awaited along the way down.


just face the moon and put your death mask on