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
The Ark had once sat as a proud testament to the power and authority to the pack of the West. Whomever held the Ark, held the docks, as far as the Weres were concerned. His acquisition of it had been a clear show of the beginning of his reign...and now...it was gone. Risque had taken it from him in a display of her own far reaching hold - a reminder of what he was. A pet. A slave. It was a dangerous game they played, and one Tetradore knew well not to verbally acknowledge. His Mistress' inquiry prompted his shoulder to rise in a wordless shrug, as if he was unsure of the answer to her query. It was far easier, after all, to play the ignorant fool. How easily his figure fell lax, any tension from his muscles dissipating in some feeble effort to hide the delicate interplay of emotions within his chest. Though the emerald of his irises remained pointed towards the floor in a display of submission, Tetradore was well aware of the weight of her gaze upon him. He could feel her eyes creeping across the naked plains of his chest and across each hardened muscle, peeling off his very skin with the intensity of her stare.
Abruptly, her attention deviated away from him as she pushed past him, the very force of her hand forced the Alpha to stumble backward. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor underfoot as she moved towards the mirror, though the sway of her hips hardly prompted even a glance from Tetradore. He cared little for the voluptuous curves of her physique, the sheer material failing to coax even a stirring of desire from within him. He knew what she felt like beneath his hands and around him - the memory alone was one Tetradore often preferred to forget. Still, he remained where he stood, simply watching her as she stared vainly at her reflection in front of her. Her hands moved languidly down her physique, caressing the curves of her sides and further down her hips, as if she was trying to lead his gaze further downward. He stared almost blankly at her, simply choosing a spot on the wall somewhere behind her while he simply waited for release from this trying game. Her head shifted as she glanced over the bare flesh of her shoulder, her pale gaze met his as she dismissed him on the single caveat that he literally crawled out of the depths of Syn upon his hands and knees.
Pride remained one of the Alpha's greatest vices. It hardly mattered that he was an owned...kept...pet. Still he had managed to craft some level of respect in that position he had been cast within - at least outside of Risque herself. To be reduced in such a manner went against the very blood that flowed within his veins. What she asked of him was an impossible task - and how they both knew it. Her conditions to release him revealed just how much of a farce his dismissal was. His jaw clenched in consideration as Tetradore's gaze shifted briefly towards the door and back towards her in contemplation. Slowly, the Were-King fell to his knees, the very action alone seemed to draw her gaze as she turned to face him. He had hardly wanted tonight to be eventful and yet...he should have known by her mood alone that such a thing had been a pipe dream from the beginning. A soft breath left Tetradore's lips as he allowed that shift to overcome him - his body rearranging with the same efficiency as it had a thousand times before as the hispanic man was replaced by the sleek ebony feline.
Tetradore hardly paused to give her a moment to voice her irritation before he slank towards the door, only to settle almost expectantly upon his haunches. His ears twitched at the sound of her tongue against her mouth, those vibrant eyes steadily focused upon her as she shook her head. Risque revealed little else of her thoughts as she moved towards the door, her hand reached out to rest gently upon the handle and yet...unsurprisingly, she hardly seemed inclined to turn it. His gaze flicked upward towards her as Risque spoke, her words hardly provoked an inkling of surprise within the Alpha. How like Risque to simply strive to fulfil her own sick and twisted desires, regardless of what he did, regardless of how compliant he was. It had been a painful lesson to learn at a young age, back when he had once tried to appease her, when he had tried to be good. It had never mattered in the end, back then. How little things had changed. Tetradore could feel her affinity as it came crashing down upon him, the very weight of a woman who could control every inch of his figure. He remained still and indifferent, the man retreating behind that facade of apathy in an effort to distance himself entirely from whatever was to come.
Her command was sharp and yet, the tone of her voice paled in comparison to the very power behind those words. Tetradore could feel it, moving through his bones, through his body, ready to take control if he should hesitate too long. He hardly had a chance to comply before she reached out with otherworldly speed, snatching the heavy panther from the ground. Her sharpened silver claws dug into his flesh, the very contact prompted a sizzling hiss as the metal ate away at fur and skin with a pain that brought a hiss from the feline's lips. That final singular word upon her lips was hardly necessary, as Tetradore allowed that change to come over him - her grasp upon him all but vanishing as the extra skin that made up the feline's neck melded back into the tauntness of his human form. In mere moments, the Alpha was left standing beside her, rolling his neck and the raw, angry skin upon the back of it. He offered her little in the way of retort, the Alpha entirely aware that it would hardly diffuse the situation. Rather, a soft breath left his lips as his hand reached up to touch the back of his neck where she had grabbed his feline body, his fingers wholly gentle as he tried to assess the damage from touch alone.