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
my monsters are realthey're trained how to kill, these monsters can fight
they'll never say die, there's no goin' back
if I get trapped I'll never heal
The sleek ebony feline settled obediently upon his haunches beside his mistress' door, his vibrant emerald eyes turned towards her and yet...those irises lacked the expectation that might come with fulfilling her explicit whims. After all, he knew that precarious line he walked, failing to give her the satisfaction of watching his humiliation while not entirely going against what she had asked of him. Whether or not she accepted his interpretation of her request depended entirely upon her mood...and how volatile that seemed tonight. The panther waited with baited breath as her slender figure gracefully stepped across those shiny wood floors - the sheer fabric of her dress brushing against pale, satin flesh that went wholly unappreciated by the man. Her slender fingers rose to rest upon the knob of her door, drawing the cat's gaze and yet...they did little more than pause upon the handle. Shit. That wasn't a good sign. Anticipation began to build within the Were-Panther's chest, the man innately aware that tonight was hardly going to go quite to plan and yet the power that abruptly crashed down upon him still caught him off guard. It was suffocating, her affinity, making the feline's chest almost gasp for air as it crushed him, seizing control of his very limbs.
How well he knew that feeling, that precursor of the shift - those milliseconds before he was ripped from his skin. A gasp left his jaws at the sensation of her power forcing his body to twist and contort upon itself in ways it rarely did were he in control of that transformation. A searing pain radiated from the back of his neck, forcing a strangled cry from his stretching vocal cords - the very note something of a mix between a human scream and feline yelp. How aware he was of the silver talons that burned and sizzled at flesh and muscle, engorging themselves into his neck. Blood poured down the nape of his neck, tinting his caramel skin burgundy as the ebony fur receded into human skin. Tetradore was left near panting in the aftermath of that transformation, his chest rising and falling with noted rapidness as a soft hissed breath of air left his lips. The Alpha hardly dared to move - the man remaining perfectly still if only for the knowledge that even a twitch would only further worsen the gouges on both sides of his neck. It hardly mattered though, his wholly body near paralyzed beneath the vice like grip of his mistress' affinity.
For several breathless moment's Tetradore stood there, immobilized within her grip before she released him with the same suddenness that she had grabbed him. The Alpha stumbled upon his feet with a hiss of pain upon his lips as his hand rose to delicately touch the very spot her silvered talons had burned so thoroughly. The bright emerald of his gaze narrowed at the sound of Risque's soprano voice, that glare shot in her direction, even though the man said nothing in way of response. Any syllable he uttered, after all, would surely have the opposite effect on her that he desired. The vibrancy of his eyes followed her as she circled around his figure, her hips shifting in a tantalizing dance that surely drew the eyes of many a man. Tetradore, however, could hardly be distracted by her movements, not when they promised agony with every closer step she took towards his paralyzed form. Her finger jabbed at the solid planes of his chest as she spoke, as if further emphasizing that, somehow, whatever ire he was about to be subject to, was entirely his fault. His silence persisted, the Alpha entirely aware that arguing that point was moot. She would never see it any other way beyond her own warped..twisted perspective. Rather, his jaw set firmly as he watched her, his gaze easily meeting her icicle stare.
Slowly, her eyes traveled downward, though what caught her interest, he couldn't even presume to know. Her hand reached out to brush against the dainty chain around his neck - the one he had found impossible to take off thanks to whatever spell she had cast upon it. How effortlessly she pulled the necklace free - the clasp near shattering as she tugged it from his form. Slowly, Tetradore's brows furrowed as she watched her step away with the icon of the phoenix that gave him his endless life. Where once Tetradore had yearned for death, now, slowly, he had found a sort of life outside of the Ark that was worth living for. How well he knew how capable she was of bringing him to the very brink of death...and with that necklace no longer securely around his neck, a flutter of anxiety was birthed in his heart, betraying the man's impassive features. He was silent at her command, that singular word holding with it an influx of power that kept his limbs from moving despite any effort he might have put in. His emerald irises remained transfixed upon her, simply watching as she seemed to survey the room in contemplation, all the while concerned of what thoughts lingered within her mind.
Abruptly her attention turned towards him, her inquiry seemed innocent enough and yet, how well Tetradore knew his very answer so surely sealed his fate. Each option promised a plethora of pain. Far too many memories he preferred to forget had occurred laying on her bed, on her lounge, on her newest toy of torment - that wooden rack. Little good had ever come from laying and immediately Tetradore moved past that option. Standing, perhaps, allowed him a bit more wiggle room and yet it was not without its faults. He had learned first hand how his own body could betray him when exhaustion set in and he could no longer stand, when gravity pulled at him till the silver cut into his wrists and pulled at his already tired shoulders. There was no telling how long he would be here and with her mood as...fickle as it was, there was equally of a chance that it was just for tonight as it was for a week. "Sit." He responded, offering no further words beyond that simple choice that was, he was certain, the best of the three.