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 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.
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 hardly often that Darcy felt any real need to engage with other vampires. His own species was rarely worth his time and more than that- they were hardly programmed to linger within each others company. Vampires were territorial by nature. Anti-social at best and ill-inclined to get along for the mere sake of it. Darcy perhaps the near personification of those very ideals. His mate the only vampire whom he was truly willing to exist beside for any extended length of time. Risque, after all, was the very epitome of al his desires. Tonight however his mood was unusually ...lenient. His intrigue in the tall, Swedish vampire before him enough to see that more volatile nature quelled for now. Such a specimen as this, after all, was a rare find. The vampiric cowboy curious enough to engage him in conversation for at least a little while. Darcy leaned easily back within his chair then, his lean form appearing as relaxed as those jungle cats that lounged throughout Syn and yet that mismatched gazed remain on Erik all the same. Darcy hardly foolish enough to turn his gaze away from an elder vampire. That faint undercurrent of age and the power that so came with it seeming to near thrum like a pulse all its own from the other man. It was similar to Risque and yet...stronger. This one older perhaps, then even his own Mistress' six hundred or so years.
The other vampire leaned back within his own chair then, Darcy content to continue to flick those playing cards about within his fingers in an absentminded action as he queried after just where the man before him had come from and why he'd left. The Old Ones rarely seemed to travel, at least from his own experience. Even Risque, of late, had begun to send others to do most of her business overseas rather then make those journeys herself. His mate preferring to remain atop her veritable throne within Syn. A traveling elder vampire surely had a reason for it. Darcy inclined to query after it. Erik so unfortunatly seeming far less inclined to share those reasons beyond that being a long tale, that the raids had become boring and he'd been driven to see the rest of the world. Raids? Darcy's gaze narrowed ever so slightly once more. The Southern vampire not nearly so uneducated as his poor language so often made him appear. Raids so normally associated with one particular group of people.
"Yar a vikin'?"
That look of intrigue within the younger vampires features seemed to grow once more, Darcy knowing little about those vikings save for what he had read in books or seen on television over the years. The man before him seeming to fit several of those ideals. Darcy momentarily distracted from that further line of questioning by Erik turning those queries upon himself. That Southern pride flickering potently then as Darcy spoke of his own home state of Georgia. Erik commenting on that Atlanta traffic and that town of Jackson.
"Atlanta ain't what it used ta be, it's too modern now, full'o dem hippies. Jackson ...I ain't been ta Jackson in years. Back in my day it.....I guess it dun manner."
His hand waved loosely, Darcy dismissing those thoughts of the past with that easy wave. The man hardly desiring to consider that civil war more then he had too. His day, after all, was surely long since passed. It was those thoughts of just where else Erik might have been in his time however that turned Darcy's attention toward Night Train. The other vampires query on why it made him 'squirmy' coaxing that flash of irritation to his features, that facade of good nature momentarily slipping to reveal that decidedly poor temper that often lay beneath. Darcy's fangs momentarily flashing before he moved to wrangle hold of his temper once more. Erik, perhaps fortunately, claiming to have little knowledge of Night Train, let alone anything to do with it. That neutrality returned to Darcy's features once more as he contemplated that very information and Erik sought to delve a little deeper. Darcy hardly inclined to give him too much of that information beyond what was already so widely known in the vampire community.
"Territory. Day a big coven. We a big coven. Ain't enough space for us both. If ya see any of dem boys from Night Train hanging 'bout outside dun feel to bad 'bout knockin' some teeth out."
That, surely, explained the situation clear enough. At least to a certain extent. Darcy snorting abruptly as if trying to rid himself of even the scent of those potential enemies before shifting that conversation again, this time towards those more formal introductions. Darcy offering his own moniker only to gain Erik's name in return. Erik Tolgan. He'd remember that one. This fellow, after all, was kinda memorable. Erik was silent for several moments then as if weighing up Darcy's own question, the vampiric cowboy allowing that silent contemplation. Erik hardly a fool by any sense of the imagination. That notion he was looking for revenge hardly surprising. That he was seeking a Hunter perhaps a little more so.
"A 'unter? Dat 'unter Council's got a 'eadquaters in da city center, day got a stable complex in da Park too. Day keep dare Were'orses dare. Might find who yar lookin for dare. If yar look'in for a rouge 'unter 'ough ya might be outta luck. Day don't tend to stick around. What did he take from ya? Dun reckon a vikin be all dat easy ta steal from."
We are rough men and used to rough ways.
bite me - By Erik Tolgan on September 12, 2019 at 6:42 PM