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
Without further warning, the skies above mercilessly released a torrent of rainfall upon the innocent couple, so quickly drenching Alistair. Carolina's hand no sooner settled within the palm of his own as the artist pulled her to her feet, well aware of just how...uncomfortably wet he was so quickly becoming. His hair was quickly plastered to his features, his shirt too sticking to his skin with every moment they remained outside. The low rumble of thunder overhead caused Alistair's gaze to lift upwards as Carolina's hand tightened its grip upon him. That breathless command accompanied that soft tugging of his hand, though truly Alistair hardly needed any further coaxing to escape from the cold downpour. Her laughter seemed to drift upon the sharp wind that cut through his already damp clothing, the sound of it near melodic with the ominous rolling thunder to accompany it. Nevertheless, Alistair raced after her up the street and back towards the protection of their apartment building. The last thing the Dark Hunter had anticipated, however, was Carolina's desire to venture up the fire escape rather then the sanctuary of the building's entryway. For a brief moment, he hesitated, the emerald of his irises glancing back at the open entry even as Carolina pulled him up the metal staircase.
Effortlessly the pair climbed the flights of stairs, the thunder overhead somehow louder with each passing moment as the storm grew ever closer. The moment they reached the third floor, Carolina reached out to pull open the cracked window before she tumbled inside with Alistair at her heels. The very darkness of the apartment was the first thing Alistair was aware of, followed by the dim, earthy scent of a candle. A small chill passed through Alistair, now that they were out of the rain, he was well aware of just how...wet...he was. The breathy laughter upon the woman's lips drew his vibrant eyes towards her, a small, vaguely bemused simper crawled across the artist's features. "We...did not make that in time," Alistair admitted, even if it went without saying. After all, the pair were...soaked...the storm near springing upon them with an urgency even Alistair hadn't expected. It was the very peel of a particularly loud crash of lightning, followed by the angry deep rumble of thunder that seemed to quickly chase away every hint of jovialness within the woman, and briefly, Alistair's gaze fluttered towards the window. They were...safe inside, even if the magnitude of the storm outside seemed determined to sound otherwise.
It was the sound of her soprano lit that drew the artist's attention back towards her, the very presence of his notebook somehow seemed to make the man...relax, his shoulders somehow not quite as tense now that the book was back in his possession. He reached out, taking the notebook from her, altogether aware of the intensity of her eyes upon him as he did so. "Thanks for not throwing it in the ocean." He responded, half in jest, and yet, it had been a very real concern, even if he had no reason to believe such a thing from her. The Dark Hunter was well aware, however, of the silent stillness that seemed to befall upon them in the moments after, Alistair simply left...standing with his back to the window with the dripping of his clothes upon her floor, hardly certain of what she expected of him. Well, no, that wasn't exactly true. The romance novels his sister would frequently read during their years at boarding school had informed him well of what he was supposed to do - if this was one of those ridiculous fanciful stories. He was supposed to take her into his arms and kiss her with a passion that rivaled true love -- but...Alistair was no prince in a fairy tale and his interest in love had always been particularly limited. Alistair was more akin to a slow-burning candle than the fireworks of passion and romance. "So um...it was...nice to see you again?" He offered almost lamely, the Hunter making some measurable effort to break the silence whilst still seeming...social.