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

you can't raise hell with a saint

Posted on July 19, 2020 by ASKAREE



There was definitely a big ass bee in that bonnet... maybe even one of those bloody murder hornets. A-fucking-ffirmative.

"I am so glad that you asked," she coos in a fashion that might have bore the slick, oily varnish of something very nearly giddy had she been prone to such sugary girlish crap as that. The bulb of a black lacquer-tipped thumb skates easily over the glazed screen of the phone craddled within her palm, the device held up moments later so that her would-be companion might gaze upon this evening's prize: the sleek black chassis of a 1967 Shelby GT500 Supersnake. An opulent gem that had captured the attention of the Egyptian woman some weeks ago whilst out upon one of her many 'errands'; a chance encounter that, given her obsessively self-serving demeanor, was to prove prolifically problematic to the vehicle's owner by the close of the evening. A feat that would be achieved with a much greater degree of efficiency if the Master of Melancholy would get his mopey ass up and out.

But she would have what she desired- if not one way, then another.

"She's beautiful, yes? Belongs to some Italian blow-hard on the far northside." What Askaree fails to disclose, whether by design or unfortunate byproduct of a slippery mind (ha ha, as if), is that this particular "Italian blow-hard" just happened to be the proverbial head upon the tightly coiled viper that was the local sector of Italy's mafia. A relatively insignificant detail, truly; after all, he was merely a man that just happened to have a rather magnificent toy. A toy that the ophidian Egyptian finds herself wont to obtain.

"So," she offers, sliding the phone back into the snug pocket of her pants. "Shall we? I'm assuming that your boundless generosity might coax you to let me borrow a pony from your stable?"