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.
Bartender Raylin Chike
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
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
you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared
It wasn't unusual to find the witch frequenting the bar on the west side of the city - actually, it was one hundred percent normal. Though, Vhalla had to admit that she had been drinking less and less, the woman hardly falling into the drunkenness anytime she woke up. Yet, she still struggled with it, it wasn't terrible difficult to return to those alcoholic tendencies - take tonight for example: a glass of whatever was on the taps for the night. Her slender fingers encompass the glass, a nail delicately tapping on the condensation as her gaze is somewhat unfocused on the wall. She notes the shelves of shot glasses, the sound of the bartender taking a drink order several seats down from her somewhat muted as she ponders over nothing in particular. A frown creasing her brows as her white hair, unbound for a change, falls over her shoulder.
Vhalla had peeled off that notorious suit of hers early that day, the material lying in a heap in her bathroom, the assassin far too tired to take the time to clean it. Instead, she's clad in dark pants that hug her generous curves, a loose fitting white shirt and a black jacket slung across her shoulders. The nice thing about this bar was, to put it simply, it was shady, it was dingy and best of all, she was rarely bothered by anyone. Vhalla is vaguely aware of the clashing of billiards behind her and as much as she enjoyed a good game, even the pool table couldn't entice her out of her brooding. Lifting the draft to her lips, she takes a deep drink, and might have drained the whole thing if a familiar looming figure hadn't just walked through the door. Carefully, Vhal sets the glass on the counter, her blue eyes darting towards the man to confirm that it was indeed him.
It was no surprise to see the hesitation, honestly the witch was convinced he would have turned around and walked back out and yet, he moves towards her. Quickly turning in her seat, she kicks her legs up onto the chair next to her, crossing them as if she were lounging out home. Her hand reaches it her coat pocket and she pulls out her cell phone, eyes glued to the screen as she begins to rapidly fire off several texts. The woman looked nothing more than a bored queen in the establishment, the embodiment of laziness as she wholly ignored Lazarus as she approaches her. The moment he begins to speak, she lifts a finger up to silence him - interrupting whatever he is about to say as she continues to text. A minute passes and then two, surprise flickers somewhere inside of her as he continues to stand there, entirely aware of the rage that is surely beginning to build within him.
Finally, she sets her phone face down on the bar, her head tilting towards him, managing to look down her nose at him while he stood above her. A bland smile stretches across her lips as she gives him a once over, "Bartender," she coos over her shoulder without taking her eyes off of Laz, "I didn't realize you accepted strays in your establishment," she says, her grin turning wicked.
To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered