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

this night ain't for the faint of heart

Posted on March 27, 2022 by ASKAREE


That noise was fucking appalling. Certifiable. Like the insidious tickle of a fly doing the samba inside of your ear. And, just when it seems to have subsided... there it was again, a poignant pinging, coaxing the Egyptian woman none-too-subtly from the whimsical embrace of her booze induced almost-coma. A blissfully all-consuming slumber that she (and her liver... credit where credit was due) had damn well earned given the impossible amount of alcohol currently pickling her innards.

"FUCK," she issues in the gravelly roar of the prematurely woken, emerging from the literal tangle of foreign sheets looking somewhat the worse for wear given the... exuberance of the evening that she had enjoyed, flinging the heavily tattooed arm of her impromptu pillow pal from its place draped across her torso. The disruption earned her naught more than a groan and the ruffling of what coverings remained upon the bed in response. With as much coordination (and far less grace) as might have been expected given her current state Askaree pads across the wooden floor, every other board issuing a mournful creak in protest, plucking her garments from among those strewn about the bedroom. Hoisting the twisted denim of her jeans from the floor finds her rewarded with a clattering as the culprit of the vexatious ruckus falls from its place nestled within one of the pockets.

Consideration tiptoes across the dusty ether of her booze-addled brain- the notion of spending her afternoon doing something that even nodded towards the idea of being a "girls' night out" made her fucking vagina dry up. But- a few (several) drinks would, for a certainty, stave off the hangover that was beginning to tap its Brailed promises into the inside of her forehead. Hair of the dog or whatever the hell it was that they said.

Decided, Askaree slides back into the garments from the evening prior, rubs a few moistened fingertips beneath her eyes to dissolve the shaded crescents of mascara that had collected there, and passes her fingers through her mane of ebony hair before taking her leave of... whatever the fuck their name was.

The Cull and Pistol was a sterile cousin of the type of place within which Askaree generally found herself. Too many hobby-bikers, not enough exposed flesh. And a goddman jukebox? What the actual fuck.

It was hardly a task plucking the silver-haired woman who had summoned her out of the writhing mass of bodies, the Were easing up to stand at her side as she chided the bartender. There was a fair probability that he was going to garnish one of her drinks with a healthy wad of saliva or something more... deliberate should she continue. The notion drew the barest hint of a smirk to the brims of the Egyptian woman's plumped lips as she cranes her neck towards her would-be companion.

"I hope for both our sakes that you didn't invite me here just to people watch."