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
Ashton's chuckle immediately brought a smirk to the woman's features. It was the kind of sound that could brighten up anyone's day, no matter how it had started. She didn't want to offend him when she came off surprised about his job teaching others to surf so she was happy to see him smile back like he understood how she had meant it. Malia still knew little to nothing about money and all its uses so the idea of a job in itself was still very new to her. Sure, Frost gave her stuff to do and called it "jobs" and she knew some of her pack mates and friends talked about spending time making money at their "jobs" but she had no idea what that really meant in the scheme of things. But at least he could make money doing something he liked, cause there was no doubt about the light in the man's eyes when they were out on the water.
When she tried to correct him about them not hanging out, he still kept trying to convince her and take all the blame but she wasn't having it. The WereCoyote did her best "you better stop that right now" look, but his next words about how he felt that day threw her off guard. Her face faltered and she quirked a brow in question for a moment as she thought about what he'd said. Felt things he'd never felt before? Looking down at herself, she glanced back over at him with a confused scowl. "Felt things? Like what? Was I super dirty or something? I promise I took a shower before I got dressed."