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 voice was a gruff mumble of a singular syllable, the stoic Alpha unwilling to provide his mistress with any further hint of satisfaction then she might already derive from putting him in such a vulnerable state. Those silken ropes felt oppressive as they cut into his caramel flesh and snaked suffocatingly around his neck. Behind him, his fingers wiggled against the satin material, testing its grip in some feeble attempt to find any sort of give, only for the ribbon to grasp his wrists with an even stronger hold. A frown tugged at the corners of the Were-King's lips as he regarded the vampiric woman in front of him, his brows furrowed with notable disdain though he remained utterly mute as Risque voiced her own awe-filled pleasure at her own work. His gaze followed her airy gesture towards the crimson ottoman beside the door - the seat itself hardly new to the Alpha in any sense. He had seen countless men, women, and children chained to that very position - simply waiting anxiously till the monsters within the room were ready to feast upon their flesh and blood. Somehow, Tetradore doubted that simply feeding his Mistress would be in his future. Not with the lengths she had gone through to ensure he was incapable of moving.
Tetradore was hesitant to comply, particularly without knowing his immediate future given his current situation. Still, he knew that any attempt at escape was a useless endeavor. Her control was absolute - honed from the hundreds of years she had been 'alive'. A soft breath left his lips as the Hispanic turned, his gait was particularly slow, each footstep almost heavy as he made his way back towards the door and the ottoman that would surely prove to be his downfall. He turned, only to settle on the low seated chair, his legs stretched out before him in some vague attempt to find a position that was even remotely comfortable. Immediately, his gaze sought the petite figure of his Mistress, watching intently every move she made as she reached for a silver bladed dagger. The knife's tang was etched with intricate designs, making the dagger seem all the more imposingly ritualistic. That very scene might have been hauntingly beautiful, if the blade in his Mistress' hand didn't bode so ill for the Alpha.
Her heels clicked against the floors beneath her as she approached him with blade in hand. The bright emerald of his gaze shifted towards the silver tip and sharpened edges, his jaw tensing in anticipation of the pain her command was sure to bring. He could feel her power within those words, making his limbs rigid and taunt and wholly unwilling to yield to any request he might have made of them. Her hand pressed onto hard plains of his chest, her touch a stark, frigid contrast to the heat of Tetradore's skin as she pushed him back against the wall, his hands pinned between him and the wallpaper behind him. The emerald of his gaze flickered upward towards her as Risque leaned over him, her gaze steadfast upon him. The very position was...uncomfortable, with the way his back was arched to accommodate his bound arms, though he knew better than to admit such a thing. Rather, Tetradore watched as she gazed down at him, only to comment curiously on his heart. Her words caused his brows to furrow, the meaning of them wholly lost upon the man, though he hardly dwelled upon them long as she abruptly removed her hand from his chest.
A hiss left his lips at the burning sensation of silver as the tip of the dagger touched his caramel flesh. A soft grunt of pain echoed in the back of his throat as the blade moved slowly down his chest, creating a rivet of blood beading to the surface. The wound was little more than a passing pain, the touch of silver far more uncomfortable then the scratch itself and yet, the Alpha was hardly oblivious to the scent of his own blood that begun to waft through the room, nor the very effect that it had upon his mistress as her pale irises became almost fixated upon those tiny drops of crimson. The tip of her dagger again found the very beginning of that wound she'd created, the silver sizzling at his flesh as it began to dig deeper into him. Tetradore tried to swallow that sound of pain that echoed within the back of his throat, though his efforts entirely failed him the moment she plunged that blade deeper within his chest - the force of which nearly pressed the breath from his very lungs. Blood began to flow freely down his chest, tracing the valleys and rises of his refined abdomen with its heated flow that the Alpha was almost entirely inattentive to. He hardly heard the delicate whisper upon her lips over the ragged breaths that saw his chest rapidly rise and fall, the man clenching his jaw in some effort to merely cope with that pain of the hole being gouged into his chest.
The dagger was pulled from its place in his chest, breaking that veritable dam of blood that now flowed freely. An audible groan of pain reverberated upon Tetradore's lips, as his head leaned back heavily upon the wall behind him. He could feel his body struggling to heal the wound, working to stitch together the edges of that incision. He didn't notice the soft jangling of the phoenix charm as Risque separated it from the chain that had once dangled around his neck. Nor did he notice the way her lips pressed sweetly against its cool metal surface. HIs own gaze had drawn downward towards the blood that now coated his abdomen - the very sight of it somehow intensifying the anxiety that had begun to flutter in his chest, causing his heart to beat all the faster. Tetradore was wholly unprepared for the sudden colliding of her hand into his chest - the force of it shattering the ribs she came in contact with. Instantly, a scream was pulled from his throat, his world awash with an agony that Tetradore could feel within his very bones, the sensation of it unlike anything he had ever felt before. That pain was hardly over, though, as her fingers curled around his heart, pressing into the frantically beating muscle.
An almost pathetic whimper left the Alpha's lips, his head once again rolling back against the wall as he stared unseeingly up at the popcorn ceiling above them. His very vision was feathered with an ever creeping blackness and yet, Tetradore was almost certain the room was spinning around him. Time almost seemed to stand still as he strove to pull himself away from her hand - an action that was useless when her power held him so fastidiously in place. A choked sound echoed from the man as that charm slid into place, only for her hand to slowly slide from that hole she had made. His chest rose and fell rapidly as an almost eerie silence fell in the room - punctured only by his labored breathing. Somewhere, in a far distant part of his mind, he knew what was happening. His body was going into shock. It was hardly the first time he had experienced that. He knew the creeping chill that came across his once warm skin, he knew that feeling of nausea and fatigue, that inability to catch his own breath...his lashes fluttered over those bright emerald irises as Tetradore struggled to remain conscious in that world wrought with an anguish his mind could hardly even began to comprehend.
The sweet embrace of black nothingness won out in the end as the Alpha faded into unconsciousness, his body slowly beginning to still from the once frantic rise and fall of his chest. That blood still continued to flow profusely, its color darkening as it stained his jeans and dripped onto the velveteen material of the ottoman. That death was almost more...peaceful then the others before it, if only because that shock to his body had been so great that he found himself unable to fight it. His entire figure fell slack, those seconds ticking onto minutes of utter stillness as that magic worked to take hold. Heat was the first indication of his affinity - though it could hardly be felt unless one was touching him. It started within his chest, slowly radiating outward with each passing minute, increasing degree by degree till, abruptly his chest burst into raging flames. They spread quickly down the entire length of his figure, the inferno rising as it crawled up the length of the wall and enveloped the ottoman he'd sat on. The heat was near sweltering, peeling wallpaper off the wall and scorching the floors beneath before his body nearly evaporated into ash. The flames slowly subsided, as those flecks of black began to mysteriously congregate together, reshaping into the vague silhouette of a man. Slowly, those ashen pieces fluttered away, revealing pristine caramel skin beneath that ashen coma until, eventually, the naked figure of the Alpha laid upon the floor.
His eyes abruptly fluttered open as his chest raised with an audible gasp. It took the man a moment to understand what had happened - that resurrection unlike any before it and yet....it came with the hint of a power he could feel blossoming just under his skin. It was an almost friendly warmth that embraced him, sending his brows furrowing as he rapidly blinked in confusion. Slowly, his gaze turned towards the side, only to take in the scorched spot beside the door and the standing figure of his mistress. Her silken rope had been burned entirely in the inferno, leaving the man free of the binds that had once constricted him entirely and yet, as Tetradore moved to sit up, the man was almost at a loss for words. 'What the fuck did you do' somehow didn't feel adaquate enough to explain his annoyance. His hand rose towards his chest, verifying that the gaping hole was now gone and yet, a visible frown was etched on his features - expressing all of those emotions he chose not to speak.