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
Bjørn watches Tipson from the corner of his eye as the car begins to move, the question he poses is quickly answered as the young man calls it boring. The corners of the hunter's lips turn upward slightly, a gruff, humorless snort is exhaled through Bjørn's nose as he maneuvers his car out onto the well-lit streets. A thought flickers across his mind and, for a brief moment, the older man ponders if should he tell Tipsy about himself. What would the young thief think of him if the hunter spoke of the years he spent alone in self-imposed isolation? Or the fact that it is easier to have just a few belongs for the time when he will inevitably move. Would Tipson feel pity if Bjørn told him that the hunter has already lived a lifetime alone? That everyone he has ever loved or cared about are buried somewhere far from here.
The hunter loves deeply and cares for people completely, which is why he has taken steps to shield his heart from others. The pain of their departure, whether from natural or unnatural causes, always leaves a scar on Bjørn's heart. No, the hunter knows there is no point in talking about such things. It is better to keep his stories to himself and others at arm's length. Thoughts come and go like the passing streetlights and silence falls in the car for a time. When Bjørn speaks up, asking about the story Tip will tell, the hunter's carefully constructed walls are firmly in place, his stoic expression only breaking for the lifting of an eyebrow. Tipsy gives a wave of his hand, a story falling from his lips as easily as the truth comes from the hunter and Bjørn gives a short nod.
Then Tipson asks why he is taking him and about not being in his job description. A dry chuckle rumbles out as the hunter says,