West

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
Syn

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

Syn

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

there's beauty in the breakdown


Posted on November 23, 2014 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
Few and far between were the nights during which she didn't seek solace, no matter for how brief a time, from the ever-shrinking confines of her apartment. In an act of good will Isolt had invited the trio of Weres into her abode, determined that their presence might act as supportive mortar to the gaping hole bludgeoned into her heart by the realization of Harley's absence. And for a time their movement into her life had filled a miniscule portion of the emotional wound, their antics at least proffering up some manner of distraction from the otherwise commonplace discord that oft characterized her life. However, as of late there had been a new, fresh brand of agitation writhing beneath the haphazard and thin veneer of the trio's interactions with one another. That particular familial unit was, in Isolt's quite humble opinion, a veritable powder keg merely awaiting a well-landed spark.

And so to avoid the peripheral damage of what was surely an inevitable explosion, the fledgling vampire had sought reprieve in the ever-pleasing embrace of the eve's cool zephyr. Unbidden the young woman traipses towards the western portion of Sacrosanct, her trajectory undecided and largely left to chance until the resonance of quicker, heavier footfalls at her back eclipse her vastly more stealthy ones. The telltale and vaguely familiar fragrance that comes to one heralded into the afterlife betrays the being at her back as a fellow of her species, a realization that breeds far more anxiety than it ever would hope. So little does she trust her own species that they are a population to be avoided at any and all costs. Strategically, Isolt ventures around a number of random twists and turns, a sly glance at her back revealing that the hooded figure was, she suspected, intentionally trailing her. Fear blossoms as a series of phantom chills at the base of her spine, the crimson-haired girl already setting into motion the practiced shifting of her internal chemistry in order to nullify her own intrinsic aroma. Simplistic though it might have seemed, this particular skill was a rather complicated venture; however, it allows Isolt a generous helping of stealth as she quickly and easily slips about one last corner and into the first shop she comes by.

A decision that is met with instantaneous regret the magnitude of which gives her pause.

Isolt finds herself in some manner of weaponry shop, the collection of tools and devices hanging upon hooks and displayed in understated neatness upon shelves is a staggering thing to behold. Never before had she been introduced to some of the macabre objects over which her crystalline eyes rove, the flame-haired damsel drawn deeper into the bowels of the emporium purely by merit of her inherent curiosity. A personality quirk that, in this moment, is capable of overpowering the not-inconsiderable draw to simply retreat back onto the street and face whatever fate may await her there. However, as Isolt turns a last corner, what awaits her upon the shop's back shelf brings a delicate hand up seeking to cover a mouth gone wide with an amalgamation of terror and alarm. Wooden stakes of all sizes and designs hang in faux-innocence from impromptu hooks in a display that is no less daunting than it is vast. Finding her legs either entirely unable or unwilling to remove her body from this display, Isolt merely stares as if transfixed, unable to look away for a time.


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