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.

What You'll Find Here

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark

Black Market

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.

What You'll Find Here

Edge of the Circle

Cull & Pistol

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

Noah's Ark

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

Co-owner Tobias Cain
Bar Manager Mira Ramos
Bartender Henry Tudor
Waitress Carolina Bedford


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

Manager Darcy Blackjack
Cats Aiden Tetradore
Cats Harlequin Westward

Dead man walking;

Posted on March 20, 2022 by Brennan O'Connell

I've sailed a thousand oceans to be here in your arms.

The mounting roar of the crowd drew Brennan in. It was just a girl, the same mischief maker he saw trying to pull a fast one on that man at the bar when the Irishman first walked in. The first thing that stood out to him was that that startling red hair. Such a vibrant hue he had so rarely seen. He could tell she was young, he was good at by now. Probably more out of self-preservation. That was one thing the Irish warlock refused to involve himself in, an underage girl spelled all kinds of problems... and that just wasn't his thing.

It was something else that pulled him in, that made him draw to the sidelines, watching the teen scramble against an unfair opponent. Her opponent could have flicked her with a single finger and sent the girl flying. No, he refused to involve himself in this. He was not some kind of savior swooping into the save the girl. No, in fact, he had done his very best to avoid it. He was surprised that the man that clearly outweighed the girl by at least 100 pounds would even raise a hand on an opponent so outmatched. It wasn't a fair fight and it was like that bear of a man looked forward to it. Not even he would stoop that low.

He gave the girl credit. She stood her ground, even as that first backhanded slash went flying to collide within her unblemished face, sending her hair flying. He was quite certain that the single hit was enough. She should have stayed down. But no, this one was a fighter. No, that girl got back up. He could see it in the way she pulled herself up as if she refused. It would be so much worse for her to fight.. and yet she seemed so deadest on it.

Even as blood trickled from the corner of her lips, even as her eyes swam with fury. He should have minded his own business.. Should have let it be, she wouldn't die.... Most likely. But the Irish warlock stood, arms loosely crossed his hard chest, silvery-blue eyes glinting with some untold emotion. If she sought to fight.. she might as well fight dirty. He would have. But that was not him. Perhaps he might have reveled into stepping inside that ring, to release his frustrations out on something else.. But now-a-days he would much rather inclined fall into the warm soft embrace of a woman.

He had his fill of fighting and vengeance. Its all he had since he returned.... Its all he had since... He refused to finish the thought.. The angry scar upon his cheek, just below his eye was a testament to it. He would rather not add another if he could help it. Not that he suspected this man, despite his bulk would ever come close to scarring his beautiful, rugged mug.

That Irish lilt rang free from his lips, a hand running through the overgrown stubble upon his jaw. Go for the balls. He decided to interfere from the sidelines.. He should have advised her to stay down instead. Or better yet.. to run. She looked too young to truly even be in that bar, no matter how much rouge she painted on her lips or coal she lined her eyes with.

Those considerations were interrupted by the crowd that roared, as the neanderthal of a man beat across his chest that caused his eyes to roll at the poor theatrics. He would like to see how he would fair against one his demons... or better yet, how he would fair against Barnabas. He could hear the grunt of satisfaction and that smug grin that smeared across the opponent's harsh looking mug. He looked away to the girl who gave the warlock a pained smile, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a second. She almost looked familiar. But he did not make a habit of fraternizing with children.

Not that he was fraternizing with much of anyone these days. It was usually him and Barneyboy, his loyal..... hound if you could call him that, but that is all he would appear to the outside world.... And Serafina, whenever she chose to pay him a visit or bat her pretty eyes to ask him for a favour he could never refuse. But she never stayed. Not nearly long enough. Never too often. Always just a crumb to make him wonder before she receded like a mermaid in a fairytale, disappearing into the depths of the ocean.

His attention lingered upon the teen in the ring. She hardly looked dressed for any kind of fight, crouching oddly in that dress like she was going to launch herself for another round, that she would lose again and again. He admired the spirit and yet..... beaten and bruised, he face was starting to swell. She drew to Brennan then, too quickly with far more purpose than the warlock expected her too. He eyed her with a wariness as her fingers clutched so tightly to his coat.. much too close. He had been forced to drop his arms to the side. "Easy there Lassie, I was only trying to help." This was unanticipated.

What was she doing? But this was a lesson she needed to learn. This was her blunder, not his. "Just play dead...he will have to concede." He grumbled. He was not going to save her.. but he hadn't expected her strength when she suddenly jerked him forward, causing himself to place a heavy worn boot to cross the threshold to steady himself.

She gritted out those words to do it for him. A heavy sigh, his breath laced with whisky left his parted lips. "What have you done?" Her grumbled, his brows crumpling into a deep frown. Her eyes... those strangely familiar eyes that he could not place found his own. They narrowed upon her.

He shook his head, but the big man took a step forward with a heavy wide step as his body began to tremble with rage. His skin seemed to stretch and rip as he became part beast. Part bear. 'Fuck' he heard the girl say, but he was much too occupied now with the man encroaching looking for a fight, with a deep bellow that he was sure, classified as a battle cry. Women would be the death of it... it apparently did not discriminate with age.

A groan of annoyance formed in the back of his throat and escaped his lips. He didn't know the rules here... he didn't care for them.

"You have gone and done it this time, little lass." He looked back to the girl, giving her a disapproving look and yet in the game of survival. He considered shrugging the heavy leather trench from his shoulders, it's been a while since he got into a good brawl. But with every powerful step of that bear man, he wasn't going to fight him on mere brawn alone. The bear struck first, feeling the wind from those massive clawed paws swiping at him as he ducked and bent to the side to miss that strike to his face.. studying each movement. Predicting it.

"Ugly bastard aren't you.." The warlock spat, stepping just out of reach of the next paw, rage boiling in the were's eyes as he released an even bigger bellow than before, one that could rattle the bar and all its glasses, he was sure. The sound only fueling was the excited the cries of those around them.. He paid them no mind. Swipe. "Almost." Brennan's lips turned into a twisted, roguish smile as he side stepped away again, leading the partially shifted man upon himself and facing away from the girl who was clearly not equipped for this battle..

Alright, well here goes nothing.

Brennan O'Connell

a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor