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
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.
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.
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.
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.
It was nothing short of satisfying to see that rock strike home and slice into the ebony flesh and fur of that worthless Were. The yelp that resounded from the pathetic panthers jaws a near siren song upon the night air. That very strike doing just as Darcy had intended and sending Tetradore launching back into the darkness. It was, after all, far more engaging to chase a victim that ran. Set up though that little game surely was. Darcy vaulted smoothly from that tree then. The Southern vampire every inch an apex predator in that moment as he landed upon the softened earth with the ease and grace of his species, his mismatched gaze seeking his lover within the darkness once more. Darcy aware of her presence near innately. Those years they had spent so hunting at one another's sides assuring a fluidity of sorts to their very actions now. He understood Risque when she hunted, how she moved and what she desired of him and of herself. He knew her methods, her techniques, he fed from her energy, relished in that sweet delight she in turn seemed to take within the thrill of the hunt like a hound baited upon the blood of its quarry. His own animalistic urges coaxed so willingly forward at her designs. Darcy unable to deny that excitement of sorts the bled into his very veins at the prospect of his own little game and so seeing the delight Risque took from it in turn.
His words alone broke that dark silence. That Southern drawl uttering that plan of sorts towards her. His eyes hardly left her own as they searched her features for even the subtlest hint of her approval. It was a plan they had used before and one that would surely prove advantageous now. Tetradore would surely be easy enough to herd like the sad little sheep he was. Expanding his energy, weakening his resolve and driving him toward their shared Mistress' welcoming embrace. Risque's ready agreement to that plan saw the younger vampire hesitate no longer. His head nodded in that simple, obedient compliance to put that plan into action before pivoting upon his heel to tear away into the darkness yet again. How readily he could smell Tetradore now. The bloodied gash, small as it was, leaking that pungent and delicious perfume into the air. How rarely he was ever allowed Tetradre's blood. Risque so often content to keep it for herself and yet even despite his own lack of preference for those Were tastes he could hardly deny that satisfaction he took in the scent of it alone. That predatory part of him near feverish in its urgency to find that very aroma. Dacry sprinting through that undergrowth now. It had been far, far to long since he had hunted like this. It took only several strides more before the sounds of the racing panther became clear. Darcy increasing his own speed now. The vampire dodging and darting through the undergrowth in an effort to locate the panther exactly. The beat of his heart, the pant of his breath, each stride of his paws so giving away that location despite the way the darkness seemed so determined to hide him. That scent growing closer and closer still until Darcy all but lunged from that undergrowth to land before the running feline and cut off his path with that near wicked grin in place, those fiendish fangs glowing in that faint light of the moon as those goading words all but dripped from his lips. Tetradore's frantic efforts to change direction were almost endearing. The beast swifter than Darcy had given him credit for as he turned and fled upon that new path. Darcy lunging after him in pursuit. Tetradore driven effortlessly back toward Risque now just as they had so intended. Fucking fool. He could hardly help that near feral growl that rose within his own throat as he took up that chase once more. That sound far more akin to ...excitement then any true outrage. The Southern vampire so clearly enjoying Tetradore's torment in those moments as he raced to stay upon the heels of the fleeing cat.
That near impercitible sound echoed suddenly ahead of them. The snap and crack of a twig or branch. Darcy so barely having time to assess that sound before Tetradore changed directions like spooked steer. The panther racing perpendicular to Risque now as that hiss of discord rose within Darcy own throat.
That singular cuss word was near lost upon a growl. The vampires heels digging more firmly into that darkness then to increase his speed once more and close in upon his quarry like death itself. If he had to throw the boy towards Risque then so be it. He could feel her then. His beloved. Risque having moved in turn to shift through that undergrowth of her own accord and reposition herself. His mistress seeming to linger in the undergrowth ahead. Tetradore seeming to slow in turn as Darcy checked his own pace to fall further and further back before his own boots skidded upon the forest soil. He could feel his lovers power then. Those very tendrils seeming to emanate from within the utter glory of her figure positioned within the shadows ahead. Her dark hair appearing near liquid blue and black beneath the moon's pallor. Whatever artistry she had created invisible to his own eyes. Her gifts for illusions incapable of blinding his own sight and yet.....how well they afflicted that feline. For several moments still the vampire simply remind content to watch from his own position. Just what Tetradore saw he hardly knew and yet it appeared enough to slow the WereKing.
Darcy moved silently once more, his boots treading softly on that damp ground as he circled wide and around that Panther now, his mismatched gaze lingering on the feline warily all the same just in case he should make a sudden dash once more in some effort to flee whatever visions danced before his gaze. Yet too- how readily he watched his lover. Darcy waiting with a ready anticipation for Risque to seize her prey from the depths of that very torment she had so surely ensnared him within. How readily his mistress liked to play with her food. How often he so adored to watch her even when his own hunger struck with pangs at his gut and that want for violence wetted at his lips like the saliva that pooled in anticipation within his jaws. He came smoothly from behind Risque herself then, stepping out of that darkness to glide to her side like an ever obedient shadow. Tetradore, for now, surely ensnared enough within her trap to hold him fast. Those cool words barely above a murmur. That look of confused intrigue lingering upon his features as he came to a stop beside her.