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
Cleanup crew huh? So Tipson had gotten one guess right at least. How many other guesses about the guy would he get right? The spotless boring inside of the car sure wasn't a surprise. The guy didn't like to talk much, kept his thoughts to himself, and was all business. So the car itself said little and stayed clean. At the question of Tipson's expectations the young man responded with a dry retort far more use to all forms of humor, "Yup, I figured it would be boring."
Damn the guy really was boring. They were in the car, Tipson was at his mercy and he wouldn't look at the box? Tipson leaned back more in the seat thinking of the mystery object he wasn't getting to look at. Like a kid whose hand was snatched away from the cookie jar, or the blue jay denied its shiny bauble Tipson wanted to see what he'd gleaned. Amazingly Tipson went quiet for a bit. Like it or not his throat hurt like hell and it would take a lot of talking to get more than short answers from him. Oh well. He'd get dropped off at the doctor and that would be the end of it.
Tipson turned his head as the hunter actually spoke up first. Amazing. Of course, it was to ask a question on Tipson's plans. Tipson waved his hand, "There was a fight, I lost, shoulda seen the other guy. Ok, he came out pretty ok but don't tell anyone, alright?" Tipson shrugged, "Long as you don't mention abuse or anything they don't ask for a lot of details. The more details you give the more idiotic things sound." Tipson could spin quite the fun tale when needed but there were times simplicity was the most believable story. This time it was also the truth it just was missing a few details that was none of their business.
Might as well keep to a pattern, question for question. "Why are you taking me anyway? Pretty sure that wasn't in your job description and you don't play hero." The question game could be a fun thing, albeit painful. Each question asked in its own way was giving information as much as the answers were. So, who would get more from talking time?