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.
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
That shift was all but torn from him, forcing his body to twist and contort in ways it would not have had Tetradore urged that transformation of his own doing. In mere moments, however, the Alpha was positioned upon his hands and knees, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath as he struggled to cope with the near suffocating sensation of Risque's affinity bearing down upon him. He remained silent, the striking emerald of his irises focused upon the hard floor beneath him even in spite of the simple knowledge of Risque's gaze upon him, roving his fit figure appreciatively. A dark, menacing growl reverberated within the back of Darcy's throat, drawing Tetradore's head upwards only to meet the vampire's gaze head on. He had absolutely no interest within his mistress, at least, not as far as imposing upon Darcy's claim to her and yet, it seemed his mere existence grated upon the vampire's nerves. How Tetradore would have liked anything but to be here, a stubborn pet at Risque's feet. He would have loved nothing more than to leave Darcy with his infatuations uninterrupted. If only either man could have their desires.
That barb upon his mistress' lips only resulted in a narrow of those emerald eyes and yet, for now, Tetradore chose to keep his silence. For years she had baited him with words just like that one. In fact, the man was near certain that 'cat got your tongue' was one of her favorites. A soft gasp left his lips as her affinities diminished, giving the man a moment to breathe. He rose to his feet, that lead jingling slightly with the movement as his collar fell the base of his neck, that silver only just barely brushing against his flesh, enough to prompt a small grimace of discomfort within the corners of his lips. That command caused his lips to purse ever so slightly and yet, Tetradore was well aware that fighting this was not an option. No matter how much he struggled against her affinity, he could not beat it and Darcy was more than capable of manhandling him into that very device if Risque desired it. Nevertheless, his feet dragged with every bit of reluctance as he made his way towards the rack, his progress halted only by the scent of blood and his brief distraction with Darcy's vampiric burst of speed.
His momentary hesitation, however, hardly lasted long before Tetradore found himself in front of Risque's new 'toy', the very newness of that device somehow harrowing in it's own right. He abhorred not knowing what to anticipate and yet, the silver alone that adorned the device promised at least some measure of discomfort, albeit it not quite to the comparison of that silver wall he had been chained to more times then he could count. Tetradore focused the entirety of his attention upon his breath, upon attempting to loosen those tense muscles as Risque's fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him backwards and onto the rack. His back arched ever so slightly in an effort to avoid the tiny silver spikes that decorated the wooden planks at his back. His hand was pulled to the first of those bindings and deftly her fingers worked at those cuffs, the silver embellishments laying flat against his wrist as she yanked the leather bindings securely around it. A soft hiss left Tetradore's lips, his features grimacing as that soft sizzle of silver on his flesh hit his ears. His second hand followed suit before his mistress meandered towards his ankles, ensuring each was strapped down with the same purposeful tightness.
Tetradore was entirely aware of the very fashion in which all of him was on display for her, the man testing those cuffs as Risque mused over how 'remarkable' her precious little present was. He said little of it, however, beyond that soft grunt of annoyance at how securely those bindings held him. It was the almost genteel caress of her cold, pale fingers against his skin that caused the vibrancy of his irises to shift towards her. His gaze narrowed as her hands moved against his flesh, both of them entirely aware there was little he could do to pull away from her touches in the way he so often desired to. His jaw clenched and yet, Tetradore was almost relieved by that temporary distraction that had seemingly ensnared Risque's attention. Briefly, his gaze followed hers though Darcy himself was just out of the Alpha's view. Risque's command was nothing short of sharp, however, those words prompting another burst of vampiric speed that Tetradore could hear rather than actually see. The Alpha himself was momentarily forgotten - a fact that he was grateful for as he tried to find a position that he might be able to better hold for a long period of time. Every movement, however, prompted that silver within the cuffs to eat away at his flesh, his jaw tensing with that pain as he tried to avoid those silver spikes that so too lined the wooden device. It was a feeble act, really, their sharpened points already gingerly brushing against his flesh no matter how hard he tried to find some manner of arch within his spine to avoid them.
Darcy's return to Risque's side immediately drew Tetradore's attention, his gaze briefly eying the vampire's self-imposed wound just as Risque herself seemed to fixate upon that arm. It seemed Darcy had met his limit, that blood lust and need to bite had eventually demanded to be fulfilled - and so it had...upon himself. How disappointing. He watched as Risque's box of silver was placed upon the table beside the rack, Tetradore entirely aware both of it's contents and too the torment each one could bring him. A soft, near steely breath left his lips as his gaze turned towards the ceiling, the Alpha attempting to remind himself that this was....better than watching those silver eyes suffer. He could handle this. He could endure this. Those words were repeated over and over in his mind, the were-panther wholly ignoring both his mistress and her lover for those few moments longer until Risque swept gracefully towards him.
Tetradore was hardly prepared for the abrupt turning of those gears, nor the immediate reaction it had upon his physique, His entire body was pulled tauntly, to the point that those muscles began to ache with a pain that caused his breath to quicken and yet. The action pulled his body downwards, Tetradore hardly capable of avoiding those silver spikes at the bottom of the rack he laid upon and immediately the sickening sizzle of his flesh filled the room. Those restraints hardly ceased though, pulling sharply with such force that his left shoulder was torn from its socket, breaking a scream to his lips. How well he understood, in that tortuous moment, exactly why the vampires had gambled on how long it would take before the fae was torn asunder. Oh, how he felt it! His every muscle was taunt and prominent, his right leg nearly felt in the process of an almost slow torturous tearing of sinew that prompted an almost pathetic whine to his lips - one he hated hearing even from himself. He tried to keep those sounds buried in his throat, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he struggled to cope with that very feeling that his limbs were being pulled from his body.
His head rolled to the side, Tetradore attempting to keep Risque within his sight for fear of what she might decide to do next and oh, how he had every reason to! That velveen case only promised that agony was nowhere near completion. Her back was purposefully placed towards him, leaving Tetradore unaware of the extent of his fate as another groan of pain left his lips. He could hear the melodic clinking of silver, the woman taking her time before pivoting upon her heels to present that silver whip. Of course she would choose the whip. How many times had he felt it's bite? How many times had he had that tip buried in his skin? As it was, Tetradore had little capability of moving, the emerald of his irises shifting from Risque to the whip and back again in a small display of his own anxiety. Naturally, however, his efforts to bury his fear and his pain were all but moot, not when his heart was near fluttering with adrenaline. That whip dangled over his skin, the Alpha near purposefully engaging those core muscles in a feeble effort to suck his stomach in and away from that silver that descended downwards all the same, those silver spikes only pressing harder into his back, his blood already flowing freely.
A choked cry left his lips as that silver whip finally touched his flesh, Tetradore's head lolling backward as his skin burned with each slow shift of the silver against his abdomen. How intensely aware Tetradore was of every shift of silver as she quite literally branded him with an extravagantly cursive 'R', his Mistress stepping back to review her art work. Any reprieve he might have gained, however, was short lived before those seemingly delicate links of silver slammed into his flesh, that lash leaving an angry, raw imprint against his skin with every lash she felt fit to give him, his efforts to subdue those screams somewhere lost between the second and the third. He could feel it, the blood that trickled down his sides, pooling where his body laid tauntly against the redwood of the rack. His mistress' near dreamy comment of the wounds she decorated his physique with caused the emerald of his eyes to focus upon her, that hiss upon his lips.
He was almost thankful as she stepped away from him, each languid step bringing her closer towards Darcy, the other vampire nearly forgotten amongst that world of torment. He watched as Risque's fingers danced in a near lover's caress upon Darcy's neck, exactly where he had bitten months ago. That very suggestion of a bite drew his head back against the wood he was so fastened to in a subtle glimpse of defeat. He could nearly hear the excitement within Darcy's voice as he agreed, only to ask permission as to where he might be allowed to bite. Oh how well Tetradore remembered what those teeth felt like, much less how strong the vampire's jaw was - this time, he'd be entirely unable to fight back...this time there would be no attempt to squirm out of reach. He was little more than meat for the taking and how well Tetradore was aware of that. Risque's near toying comment caused his lips to part, even if they were little more then a whisper,