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 appears to be little more than an abandoned cargo ship. 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
Manager Raven 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

Carolina, don't let those butterflies out

Posted on April 26, 2019 by maeve liliwen
love is always bound to be there for us

Maeve, the little fae child with silken locks of gossamer, was a regular here at the Ark. She would walk around the ship with that bright, quintessential Maeve smile upon her face, either playing with Tobi, following Mira around, or admiring Tetradore. The ark felt safe for Maeve, there was a sense of stability to it. She knew who was probably going to be there, she knew their reactions towards her. The ark was predictable, the large ship looked as if it were something unmovable. And that was what the child with pale locks needed in her life. For so long this lithe little girl has bounced around from home to home to home, but, here in Sacrosanct, the golden haired child thinks maybe she will not have to leave.

She moves around the Ark, unable to find some off her companions. She brushes golden hair back behind those delicately pointed ears of hers. Maeve walks around the downstairs, moving off to where the fighting typically happened in the evening. The golden haired fae child had never been allowed to stay during the fights. With good reason of course, such things (violence, nudity, more violence) would never be suitable for a child. Still, Maeve walks around the downstairs area, making her way over the bar. She had tried wine once, copying one of her foster mothers, but the taste had been displeasing and the pale golden haired girl had no interest in trying another other adult beverages.

But that is when something happens that the cream haired girl does not expect. A sudden clap of thunder startles the petite child and she quickly feels panic flare up within her. She is frozen for just a moment, like a deer in headlights before her feet take off in motion almost before her brain has a chance to catch up with her body that was already searching for a place the petite girl with gossamer locks could hide. She dashes behind the bar and finds a cabinet underneath, surely too large for an average nine year old. But, Maeve, being the fae creature she was, is able to fit into the tightly cramped space, those hands flying up over her delicately pointed ears that hide beneath golden locks. Amethyst eyes close tightly as she waits for the storm to end.

So often during these storms is she taken back to that day, a day Maeve isn't even sure she actually remembers, and with every passing year it was growing more and more blurry and out of focus, as if her brain could not keep a hold of it anymore.

She had been so small, still with those pale golden locks that resembled something like early morning light. The lithe little child had panicked when the thundering started. Why was she alone? Where was her mom? Tears fall from those multifaceted purple eyes as she runs almost blindly along the street. Feet pound the pavement as the thunder booms in her ears and the cold air whips around her, stinging her face, turning those pale cheeks bright red. She stumbles, cause more tears to hit those violet eyes of Maeve's. Those golden locks swing forward, sticking to her face with moisture as she rises from the ground, a tear in her pants and a small scrap emerging on her skin. Quickly, she gets up off the ground and continues running, only stopping when she realizes she had come to a police station. Her mother had always said, if she was in trouble, she could ask a policeman for the help. The door, she tries to pull, but it is locked. The golden haired child begins to bang wildly on the door, tears frozen to her cheeks.

She doesn't remember them coming for her, just remembers sitting wrapped in a blanket in a chair, blonde locks still soaking wet, and violet eyes having finally ceased their crying, but there are still tear stains on her pale face. And perhaps, all of this, is why the golden haired girl cannot bare thunderstorms, cannot bear the way the loudness explodes upon the world. Nor does she like the streaks of lightning that reach across the sky like long, twisted fingers. Maeve would rather all of it just disappear.

And that is what she tries to do as she stays in the cabinet, those pale hands pressed firmly over her ears and those eyes shut tight. She doesn't know how long she stays like this, just focused on anything besides the storm that roars outside. It is after some time though that those hands grow weary and eyes become tired that the fae child finally releases her defensive stance. Maeve does not hear any thunder outside, listening carefully with those pale, delicately pointed ears. She thinks perhaps it may be safe now to emerge from her hiding place. She pushes open the cabinet door and crawl out, only for those bright, amethyst eyes to meet someone she had never met before. "Oh, hello," she chirps shyly before coming to stand up. "I'm Maeve."

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a beautiful time to leave our differences behind
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