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.

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
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

we're going down, down in an earlier round

Posted on May 12, 2020 by Darcy Blackjack

That single, sharp command from his Mistress was near akin to iced water thrown agianst his figure. Risque's demand he control himself readily prompted the vampiric cowboy to shift his gaze from her own near submissively and too- to quell his own hunger even despite the fashion in which those needs clawed with desperate greed at this throat. Rampant hunger licking at his veins. Fae was rare. Truly rare. A bloodied Fae mere inches from him was a temptation like no other. Darcy, in those precarious moments was forced to rally near all of his control in an effort to do as commanded and stay his own fangs. The vampire instead biting down all the more firmly until his own jaw set hard within his mouth. The sound of those fangs grating agianst his teeth softly audible between the Fae's panicked screams and hysterical flails of pathetic desperation. Darcy's desire to please Risque the single and only thing preventing that violent, volatile creature from seeking to quell those predatory urges upon the prey presented so perfectly before him. Risque's wrath was not worth that taste. It had been years since she had truly punished him and yet those memories remained intact, as if they had been burned into his flesh- even if those scars had long since healed. Darcy, in that moment, all the more aware of the feel of the chain at his own neck. That ever present reminder of his own place. A boundary he was unwilling to overstep even despite the temptation presented to him.

Risque lifted that bloodied blade from her newest toy. The vampiric woman ran her tongue across its edge, that very act so captivating Darcy's attention all over again. Hunger and...desire turning rampantly within him and yet, once more, the Southern man so firmly held his place. Darcy, tonight, nothing if not the epitome of well-trained. Tetradore, for his part, seemed inclined to remain silent and yet the panther seemed nearly as curious as Darcy himself of the fashion in which their shared Mistress seemed to fixate upon that Fae. Risque had declared she did not know him and yet how very....captivated his lover seemed with that man. How irksome it was. That faintest touch of displeasure seemed to marr Risque's ever-perfect features then, the woman puzzling over that blood as if it displeased her in some fashion before that blade was abruptly presented to Darcy himself. His Mistress commanding he try that blood. Did she truly wish to tempt him....this much? Such games, after all, were hardly unusual for his lover. Risque so often taking pleasure in his own frustration. Darcy's tongue had no sooner brushed that cold iron then Risque drew that blade sharply away and out of his reach. Darcy left to taste that complexity of flavors upon his tongue from that single smear he was afforded and yet one single flavour struck him near overwhelmingly. Christ how he hated that taste! That vampire near sputtered in the aftermath. Darcy attempted to rid himself of that taste upon his tongue before his gaze shot back toward Risque in a manner near....accusatory. Had she known that was the taste? Had she been toying with him to offer him something so delightful only to know it was tainted? How very....devious of her. His declaration that the taste was banana seemed to please the vampiric Queen. That taste had eluded her. Neither of them, after all, chose to indulge in human food very often and yet that singular flavour Darcy had detested since his human childhood was not one he was inclined to forget.

Those sweet, melodious lyrics left his lover once more. Her words distinctly accented as she punctuated that sentence with her native French. How...desirable he found that accent. How much more fearful it seemed to make that Fae. Perhaps his blood was hardly as desirable as Darcy himself would have enjoyed and yet- that Fae taste was nothing short of...addictive. Tainted or otherwise the Southern Vampire would have drained him still. That simple obedience to his lover all that kept him in place now as Risque so demanded her new toy be placed on that rack. Maneuvering that terrified Fae was nothing short of easy. The man weighed nearly nothing. Darcy's own vampiric strength ensured his flailing was little more than the vaguest of irritations, Tetradore's weight upon the man only further aiding in keeping him still as Darcy moved to fix each limb in place as his Mistress commanded. The near fixation Tetradore seemed to have for the Fae in turn however was hardly lost. Why the fuck did Risque and the Panther both continue to stare at that Fae so much? That very irritation Darcy found was snapped sharply towards Tetradore. The Panther having become a suitable outlet for all the vampires frustrations over the years. This one no different. That disobedient hiss he was offered in return from that wretch of a Panther only served to see his lips lift from his own fangs in warning. Darcy knowing better then to strike at the Were in Risques view and without her express consent. Risque herself offered that assurance her venom surely still affected the Panther- that the Fae might appear as someone or something else to the Were. The faintest growl of discontent stirred within the depths of Darcy's throat. A sound he hardly allowed to escape him. The vampire...unconvinced of that very thing and yet how foolish it would be to question his beloved's words.

"Venom or not, he's a lil ass is what he is. Hissin' at me like a fuckin' Rattler."

Risque continued to near taunt the feline then. Darcy, in the very least, remained content to enjoy the big cats' discomfort at their Mistresses' attentions. Until she spoke of Tetradore's venom. The marks on his own neck had long since healed and yet how well Darcy remembered that acid as it had torn through muscle and sinew. Tha pain had scorched his veins. The vampire having been forced to travel for....hours before he had been able to find any relief from that venom. The heated water of the shower- diluting that toxin- had been the only true relief. He had nearly been decapitated that night. Oh how he would remember that slight agianst him forever. Darcy, for now, remained distinctly silent until his own name was called once more. How many cranks did he think it would take to dislocate those limbs.

"I reckon 'bout five."

How...curious it would be to see how accurate he was. The vampiric cowboy suddenly took a near perverse fascination in that Fae once more. Risque demanded the Fae's attention again. The man's screams filled that space and yet, over those centuries, Darcy had become near deaf to the sound. They all begged, all pleaded, all cursed, all cried. It was always the same. How...unimaginative people were when they were tortured. Risque's french lyrics cut through that screaming then, his mistress once more seeming to indulge the Fae with those words. Darcy barely able to capture a single phrase she uttered and yet those words hardly seemed to lessen her desire to enjoy her gifts as intended. How he adored to see her so delighted! Surely she had forgotten his earlier transgression? Then again....Risque so rarely forgot. Darcy's mismatched gaze lifted to his lover once more as she commanded he take that torure slowly. Tetradore, in turn, commanded to assist. How pleasing it was that his hands were so hardly required to be anywhere near that saliva that all but ran from Tetradore's lips. EVen if he so refused to admit it.

"As yar wish."

Darcy's hands gripped at that lever, his own gaze turned downward to their victim in clear, distrubed fasciation as he began to crank that lever one notch at a time, slowly, as Risque so required.

"I ain't never seen no one's limbs all come off at once 'efore. Do ya reckon day will, Darlin?."

We are rough men and used to rough ways.