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 (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
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
my monsters are realthey're trained how to kill, these monsters can fight
they'll never say die, there's no goin' back
if I get trapped I'll never heal
How well he knew that distinct hue of silver, the dark grey rim that ran around the circumference of them, the near white highlights against the stark large black of those pupils that stared up at him. They were not quite the right shade, perhaps a bit more blue and less monochromatic then the true ones he knew so well and yet, the harder he stared, the more they haunted him. There was no salvation for this fae, of that Tetradore knew the moment the inkling of mercy entered his thoughts. The very best he would ever be able to provide..for this fairy, was a swift and relatively painless death. It was far better then the future that surely awaited him upon that infernal device of wood and rope. Admittedly, Tetradore had hardly considered the fallout of his decision, the Alpha simply assured that whatever it was would surely pale in comparison to the mental anguish of watching those eyes die beneath his weight. His ears flicked in vague listening of the almost sadistic contemplations of the vampires beside him, Risque's order provided him with just the guise he needed. He cared little for the betting the two vampires engaged in as he leaned down, utilizing their distraction to his advantage as, abruptly, the were-panther lunged. His jaws were swift as they enclosed around the fae's skull, his sharpened incisors puncturing bone and, more importantly, brain. His acidic saliva kicked into high gear, effortlessly destroying the very thing that so controlled all life within the fae.
In the wake of that sickening crunch, an uneasy sort of silence filled the depths of that dungeon. The screaming had stopped, but so too had that idle chatter between the two undead creatures. He could feel the weight of their eyes upon him as the Were-King leaned back upon his haunches, his ears flattening upon his skull. That taste of blood upon his lips was altogether prominent, though he remained poised and still as Risque suddenly leaned forward. Her fingers caressed the fae's jawline in an almost tender maner, the very touch confirming that which they all surely knew. He was dead. His life was gone. Those screams Risque had prompted would no longer fill the room and whatever fun she'd had with that fae was now reduced to enjoyment she could draw from a mere corpse. The vibrant emerald of his gaze slowly slid towards Risque, the Alpha silently judging the tenseness of her usually fluid figure. That rage, it seemed, had been far...greater then he had anticipated. Fae, though hard to find, were hardly a rarity for her, after all he knew of at least three others locked up in the depths of Syn...so why did this one provoke such anger?
He'd only just begun to consider how he'd let those emotions for the fae get the best of him when suddenly, Risque's voice near hissed in her anger. His lips pulled back to flash those canines and yet, any growl that might have echoed from the back of his throat was abruptly cut off as her hand slammed into his face. The sheer force of that vampiric strength threw the feline off balance, his head turning from them with the blow. The very sound of that snap seemed to reverberate within the room. Tetradore hardly had a moment to recover from the intensity of that strike before her clawed fingers clutched at the skin around his neck, the large jungle cat thrown to the ground like a mere kitten. The impact left him gasping for breath before he felt the jab of that heeled shoe within his side between his ribs, the force of it promising retribution if he so much as moved an inch. Her hissed command was hardly necessary when the sheer ruthlessness of her affinity plummeted into him, making the panther's form little more than a marionette on her strings. His body simply refused to move, regardless of any want or desire he might have had. How well he knew that feeling, even if it had been months since she had subjected him to the ferocity of her true control. Tetradore was well aware of that sensation of her heel pushed deeper and deeper into his side, digging into his skin with each passing moment, though he was incapable of doing anything to escape from the pressure.
Tetradore was almost relieved for that brief reprieve as Risque's attention shifted towards Darcy, the other vampire had fallen...distinctly silent, as he was so often prone to do when their mistress' irritation was targeted towards the Were-King. He listened in utter stillness at Darcy's near trained response, the Southerner ever eager to please Risque, regardless of how...challenging of a task it was she gave him. That threat that trailed within the wake of her command was one they were each keenly aware she'd follow through on and silently, Tetradore hoped that bloodlust would get the best of the vampire. After all, it was so...rare when the cowboy slipped. Unfortunately, that distraction hardly lasted long before her heel pressed with renewed vengeance against his side, prompting a low sound from the back of his feline vocal cords. They, after all, were hardly as expressive as his human ones.
It was that very thought that seemed to linger within his mistress' mind as she abruptly commanded him to shift, that demand accompanied with the weight of her affinity. Tetradore hardly afforded his mistress even the slightest of glances as she hissed within his ears that promise of pain that he knew was coming. In fact, it wasn't until she muttered of that fae's importance that Tetradore's gaze shifted from the floor. What did it mean to her? How curiously that consideration lingered upon his thoughts, far more than any declarations of letting a mere fae dominate him. Rather, it was the threat of Darcy's jagged teeth that drew his attention back to the present moment. There were distinctly few times in which the vampire had ever been allowed to feast upon him and yet, each one had left him barely clinging to life, his body struggling to cope with the shock to his system that Darcy could cause. Thankfully, Risque's possessiveness over him so often meant such threats were rarely followed through. His gaze fluttered towards the vampire that pulled the fae off the rack, only to dart back towards Risque as that simple command rang through the dungeon.
That shift was pulled from him before Tetradore could even initiate it of his own accord, his body twisting and snapping as those human bones and muscles replaced the ebony feline. In mere moments, Tetradore was left upon his hands and knees at Risque's feet. He heard that growl upon Darcy's lips, the sound awarding the vampire with the weight of his gaze before, slowly, Tetradore found Risque's metaphorical chokehold upon him had lessened enough to allow the man to raise to his feet. He was well aware of Risque's icy blue irises roving over every minute inch of his caramel form, though Tetradore did his best to ignore her gaze in the same controlled, often indifferent way that he ignored everything that surrounded him. It was, however, that order that caused Tetradore to hesitate, the Alpha had...distinctly little desire to take that fairy's place, especially considering the way the pair of vampires had so gleefully discussed the damage such a machine could do.
Slowly, his bare feet dragged his physique towards the rack, that action spurred, in part, by Risque's own affinity when he had failed to eagerly submit to her whim. Tetradore had only just settled at the edge of the rack when that scent of blood reached even his nose, Darcy employing a near supernatural burst of speed to put a sizable distance between himself and that collection bucket. That task, it seemed, was wearing upon the vampire. It was...unfortunate that he had at least managed to complete what was asked of him, leaving Tetradore alone as the object of Risque's fury. A soft breath left his lips as he leaned back on the singular beam that ran down the middle of the rack, his spine pressed against the wooden piece, the man attempting, in some fashion to steel himself for whatever came next. He could hear Risque's demand for silver and a request for a drink, Darcy once again quick to jump to his mistresses every whim as Tetradore merely strove to focus upon his breath, willing his body to release that every present tension as if it might somehow assist with whatever came next.