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
Why did she ever let Frost talk her into this stuff? The WereCoyote dusted off her clothes as she walked out of the woods by the park. Those feral squirrels weren't wanting to go to a pack any time soon so why did he think she would be able to convince them? Because she was once feral herself? Psh. Malia rolled her eyes as she started down the sidewalk, making her way back to the pack house. All she kept getting was acorns and rocks thrown at her and sometimes even a squirrel bombing that left her rolling in the dirt as she fought off multiple assailants at a time. She had to admit, they were quite persistent and vicious. If she wasn't a quick healer, she'd have plenty of tiny holes in her from those long sharp teeth. This past time, she might have done a little more damage than she'd meant to, though. She'd gotten so worked up while fighting them that her power went into effect and she might have blown a hole in the forest.
A couple oak trees fell and the ground caved in. The squirrels seemed a little terrified after that, but luckily none of them were hurt. When she started trembling and getting hotter, they sort of figured out something was wrong and got away from her, running to trees. They did get pretty pissed when the trees they were in fell, but even so, no one was hurt from what she saw. They just gave her more distance now and really refused to talk to her now. Maybe she'd get Frost to try his luck, cause it definitely wasn't working for her.
Her clothes were ripped and dirty, probably even burnt in some places from the explosion. Her hair was definitely a mess, but Malia didn't seem to have a care in the world as she walked down the sidewalk. People stared and some even pointed, but if they made eye contact too long, she'd just give a glare and maybe even show some fang to get them to look away. The surprised gasp always made her giggle a little. The Were was getting in better spirits when she saw the man walking toward her, a funny looking stick coming out of his mouth. Sure, she'd seen people smoking before, but she hated the smell and didn't understand why they did it. The last time she'd wanted to ask, but Frost stopped her. Well, he wasn't around this time. Smirking to herself, Malia purposely stepped into the man's path and scowled in his direction, tilting her head a little. "Hey, that smells disgusting. Why would you stick it in your mouth?"