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
The Artist's fingers deftly zipped the leather messenger bag closed, tossing it over his shoulder in the way he'd done millions of times before. He was hardly the last one to leave the office, even though the sun had set hours ago. Alistair hardly bothered to wave at his coworker, the pair of men simply had the understanding to leave one another alone in a way that few of the rest of Pentagram's employees did. A soft yawn echoed upon Alistair's lips as he pressed the button for the elevator, hardly anticipating his evening would be eventful in the slightest. The soft ding drew the emerald of his irises upwards, the elevator doors silently gliding open as he stepped into the bright, though thankfully silent elevator. Gingerly he reached up to rub his temples, his head suffering from one of those vague headaches that had become a norm of late. Alistair was still adjusting to those hunter instincts, the fluorescent lighting of his workspace simply too bright for his now acutely sensitive gaze. Alistair easily stepped out of the elevator and onto the brightly lit streets of downtown. He hardly feared those evening hours, not since he had become one of them - the supernatural. He had gotten better at recognizing them, though they still effortlessly picked him out of any crowd. Alistair, admittedly, spent far more of his free time on the metro simply watching the way they seemed to purposefully avoid him, just as he too worked on honing his abilities to recognize them. That one was a fae, the boy in the dark hoodie was some sort of Were. The woman in the pencil dress was a witch. And he....? He was the only Hunter on the whole damn train.
Alistair was nothing short of glad to be off the metro, a soft yawn echoed on his lips as he made his way down the streets of the far more industrial West. His present conundrum, however, largely consisted of dinner. He was largely ineffective within the kitchen, the artist simply hated cooking and as of such, eating out was by far his largest expense. Still, the idea of venturing into one of those restaurants sounded.... time-consuming. Maybe he'd get take out? Pizza? Eh...the Chinese food place down the street from his flat would probably still be open...yeah, that sounded good. He'd only just fished his phone from his pocket to search up the menu and number for the restaurant when the sound of footfalls reached his ears. Admittedly, Alistair hardly thought anything of it, at least, not at first. The West was, after all, a rather...derelict part of town. Crime was always present upon those streets but after his transformation, the lowlifes of the city tended to give him that same wide berth. In fact, it wasn't until those instincts scrambled vampire that he even bothered to look up from his phone at all - although, his reaction was a tad too late. A petite figure collided abruptly into the boy, sending the pair tumbling onto the hard concrete sidewalk underfoot.
A muttered curse immediately left his lips as the emerald hue of his gaze turned down and towards the blonde locks positioned on his chest. "What were you doing?!" He insisted with a hint of irritation before her face abruptly turned upwards and towards him. Oh. She....looked... familiar...? Yes, that was right, the girl with that awful old computer and her weird feminist book that didn't feature the Hunger Games. What the hell was she doing-? Alistair hardly got the chance to finish that thought process before the hiss of the vampire drew at his attention. The creature's face had been burned, and though he was clearly hungry, he too had quickly come to realize the threat of a new player on that metaphorical battlefield. If only Alistair was truly the Hunter he was supposed to be. "Get up." He muttered sharply towards the girl, half pulling her to her feet in the process. "You should leave her to be, hunter." The vampire hissed at him, clearly sizing him up. "You know I can't do that," Alistair responded, quite purposefully putting himself between the vampire and....whatever her name had been. For a poised moment, the two men simply stared at one another before, abruptly, the vampire lunged towards them.
It was the brilliant flash of blue light that captured Alistair's attention, the vampire himself also stopping as suddenly as he had launched himself towards the couple. The emerald of Alistair's irises turned towards the dagger within his hand, the one that flashed with an almost eerie blue. When did he pick that up?! He'd have thought he'd remember that? It was the presence of fire at it's tip that prompted the first glimpse of panic within the newly turned Hunter. His gaze turned briefly up at the equally as weary vampire, only for Alistair to throw the dagger at the vampire before those ever-increasing flames could trickle down to his hand. He'd hardly put much thought in the movement, his hand instead reaching out for the woman's wrist as he dragged her behind him, "Run." It was the only thing he uttered, the boy still contemplated those curious fires and yet, even he knew they could hardly dodge a vampire for long. God, this was so not the Chinese dinner he'd hoped his night would consist of!