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
His skin stung sharply at the mere touch of the small, seemingly nondescript silver ring placed within the center of his opened palm. It hardly appeared worth any concern and yet his Mistress so rarely did anything without reason - albeit largely a warped, twisted, and astonishingly selfish reason. The apprehension within him only seemed to grow with his barest glimpse of comprehension between the piece of jewelry and his Mistress' gleeful comment of his physique requiring a 'hole' to facilitate it. How Tetradore's stomach fluttered in dread of some unperceivable horror upon the horizon that he couldn't quite grasp as he stared down at the ring with furrowed brows! The emerald of his vibrant irises turned up towards her as her pale gaze studied him in intense consideration. Risque's tongue swept languidly across her bottom lip - her mouth was stained a soft feathered hue of burgundy from the wine she'd only just indulged. Her query, however, was answered with a brief lift of his broad shoulders. How well he knew his opinion failed to truly matter. With her finickiness, there was every chance his Mistress might purposefully do the opposite of his preference as much as she was to give into any desire he might have uttered. Frankly, however, Tetradore preferred not to have the piece of jewelry at all. It was a feeble wish, he knew. After all, Risque had always enjoyed adorning her men in whatever caught her fancy - be it the plethora of clothes that once lined his closet to the myriad of collars that once adorned his neck on a near constant basis.
Tetradore easily fell back into that silent apathy he had once employed with such masterful precision. How ill fitting that facade was now with each passing day he spent away from the dance club. It was hardly the proper time to dwell upon such thoughts, however, not with his Mistress hovering over him with her sharpened silver lance poised within her grasp. Her idle comment went unanswered by the Alpha, though she hardly provoked him for any sort of acknowledgement either. Rather, abruptly, her hand reached out - the sharp silver talons upon her fingers stroked his caramel flesh with the action, leaving a searing pain within the wake that forced a soft, audible inhale from the Alpha. She tilted his head ever just so, the polished silver that decorated her fingers leaving raw red marks upon his chin as Risque continued to study him. Swiftly, she dropped her touch, only to lift the instrument within her hands, rolling the rod with far more glee than he was sure was necessary. The emerald of his gaze remained focused upon the sharpened point of the object, though it's mere presence failed to provoke a noteworthy reaction from Tetradore. He had, after all, experienced far worse at the touch of her hands than this.
She lifted the tapered point of the device to her own finger - it's sharp silver edge brushed over her flesh before, unexpectedly, she pressed her porcelain skin against it, allowing it to pierce her skin. A bright ruby spread along the divets in the silver point, caught within those previously indiscernible valleys. How it seemed to swell with magic, one that Tetradore hadn't noticed before. Risque turned towards him again, leaning over him as her hand pressed into his temple, forcing his head to the side to grant her access to not only his ear but also the smooth, pristine skin of his neck. He flinched ever so slightly as she reached for his ear, the silver tips brushing against his flesh all over again. Risque's pointed talons paled in comparison, however, to the momentary pain that came as the needle-like point of her lance as it pierced the cartilage of his ear. A soft, guttural sound reverberated within the back of his throat as the silver burned the edges of the newly made hole. The tip of the instrument remained within his skin for far longer than Tetradore was certain was necessary before it was sharply pulled out. The small silver ring was plucked from his hand before, only to be quickly threaded into the small hole within his ear.
The Alpha hardly anticipated the sudden sensation of magic that polluted the air, prompting a potent, breathless stillness within every living creature within the room. The hair upon his arms and the back of his neck stood at attention with that electrifying undercurrent. Risque's voice, melodic though it was, seemed overly loud in the quietude of the room as she uttered a simple spell that prompted a hint of unease within the Were-King. Even he could recognize the tell-tale signs of blood magic. The words that crafted the incantation were rather tongue-in-cheek, after all. Such magic held a hint of finality within it, one that promised this would hardly be as easy to escape as he might have thought...but still the question lingered - why? Why had she felt the need to ensure that the silver ring was impossible to remove? Was it some effort upon her part to show the world that she owned him? But why would she switch away from those collars she so loved and he had worn for the majority of his life? A small frown crossed Tetradore's lips as he listened to the soft, almost imperceptible click of the earring clasping into place. His body's astonishing capability to heal had already been kicked into overdrive. The touch of her silver talons had already faded into mere angry red marks. How diligently his body strove to heal away that earring that shouldn't have been there in the first place - that once piercing pain had dissipated into a dull, irritating and ever constant itch.
Risque stepped away, the silver instrument within her hand was deposited upon the coffee table nearby with an almost satisfied sigh upon her lips. Her voice held a saccharine sweetness to it as she confirmed that which he had already begun to expect. Removing the earring was likely more trouble than it was worth, with such dark magic binding it within his ear. Acquiring his mistress' blood for it's removal would undoubtedly bring about consequences that Tetradore had little interest in enduring tonight. Instead, the Were-King remained still upon his knees, the vibrancy of his gaze lingered upon her in silent continued suspicion. Her own gaze seemed to settle upon him in furthered contemplation before she gestured sharply to the full length mirror on the wall across from the room. Her command caused his gaze to slowly deviate towards his reflection, though from his current position he could hardly make out the glint of silver in the low light. Tetradore rose to his feet, his head tilted slightly to the side as he approached the mirror, if only to get a better look at the object now dangling from the upper part of his ear. Thankfully, it's presence was largely lost in the curls of his brunette locks. The last thing he wanted was to answer questions from his pack on the sudden presence of an earring.
The sharp sound of Risque's voice cut through the silence in the room, drawing the Alpha's gaze back towards her. Her command prompted a small frown to his lips - whatever words he uttered were sure to provoke some ire within her with her current mood.