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
His body stood rigid where his Mistress had left him, her power entirely overwhelming his own ability to even so much as twitch under her oppressive hold. She stood in front of Tetradore, her gaze wholly calculating as she stared at him. Rebelliously, the Alpha glared at her in response where he should have respectfully averted his gaze. It was a small display of insubordination, one she apparently allowed him without crushing his subtle defiance. Risque's hand snatched up the golden phoenix that laid upon his bare chest, the chain dug into the back of his neck as his Mistress held it just beyond its comfortable length, only to abruptly yank it. The once indestructible clasp burst open, much to Tetradore's surprise as the golden chains fell lax from Risque's palm. He had thought the necklace incapable of being removed, the Alpha having tried once or twice before accepting its constant presence around his neck. It had become a sort of comfort, the warmth that radiated from it, promising he'd survive beyond whatever she put him through. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised. It was entirely like Risque to ensure any magic she 'gifted' him with could also be removed by her alone, as if she was some sort of savior from the immortal life he'd once abhorred the thought of.
He watched as her lips pulled into a masochistic grin, that very smile one that Tetradore knew promised nothing but pain in his future. His features remained the poised facade of indifference, even if his heart betrayed him. That adrenaline flooded his system, that need to fight or flee in whatever way he could. He could feel the butterflies within his chest, though Tetradore did his best to ignore them entirely as he set his jaw as much as he could beneath her restrictive affinity. The sudden choice she offered him was entirely unexpected, though one his mind was quick to seize upon. Laying down was automatically cut out from the list, leaving the man with two options. He knew, from first hand experience, just how exhausting it could be to stand at his mistress' mercy for days at a time, the memories of evenings such as those quickly prompted the Alpha to make his choice. That singular word fell from his lips, though Risque seemed far more invested in her own thoughts to even acknowledge his answer.
Rather, her voice rang out with a sharp demand, one he was incapable of denying with her tyrannical power ensuring he followed her every whim (pressuming she didn't free him of her power because it wasn't mentioned so we're just assuming from now onward). His figure moved obediently to approach the wall, her powers so clearly dictating which one as she placed him in front of it, his nose only just barely brushing against the wall. His arms contorted uncomfortably behind his back, the very movement stretching his shoulders as his hands embraced his forearms from behind. Tetradore tried to flex his muscles, though his body hardly allowed it as her power kept him deathly immobile. He could hear her moving somewhere behind him, though Tetradore was robbed of the ability to look at whatever she was busing herself with. He could hear the clink of her metal talons, followed only by the click of her shoes upon the floor before the sound of them neared him.
He could hear the soft clinking of his necklace as sthe placed it to the side, along with another object that he was only able to catch the metallic gleam of from the periphery of his vision. He could feel her close beside him, the very hair upon his neck standing on end as she leaned closer towards him. The sickening sweetness of her voice was a delicate whisper with his ear, her breath hot upon his skin even - hardly matching the words she spoke as she dreamed of a day in which she'd successfully managed to 'break' his spirit, a day in which she achieved absolute obedience. She had gotten close before, many, many times without ever quite twisting the dagger all the way to achieve that final stroke of docility from the man. If only she knew how many times her efforts had been thwarted by a single fae. Tetradore said nothing, however, the man knowing well that goading her now would be a useless endeavor. There were no words that would free him from her grasp - at least none that did not grate against his own pride.
The Alpha could feel the soft silkiness of something around his neck, slithering like a snake as she tugged at some...satin object that draped down his back. He had hardly been prepared for her bindings, though this was not the first time she had exercised her fun in the craft she so enjoyed. At the very least, this time it was not with the silver chains that burned his flesh with each touch - Tetradore more than willing to count his blessings even as he stood perfectly still beneath her command as she wove the rope around his shoulders, arms, wrists, and fingers - binding him in place till movement was impossible even without the pressing of her power. The material dug into his flesh, pulling at his muscles in his arms and shoulders in a way that was distinctly...uncomfortable. He could feel her stepping away from him, eying her handiwork before her fingers reached out to run against his skin and ropes, as if marveling within her own work. Her command was simple and without hesitation, the Alpha turned to face her. Her handiwork was hardly visible from the front - with the exception of three knots wrapping around each arm and the far more oppressive rope around his neck. Tetradore swallowed, the very tautness of the rope felt somehow...strangulating, even if it was not applying enough pressure to his jugular to cut off his air supply. Her request on how it felt, however, was one Tetradore knew better than to give into, lest she derived enough pleasure to repeat the experience. Rather, it was her second request that he saw fit to answer, albeit almost begrudgingly as he stood in front of her, "No."