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 28, 2014 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
It is as much the stench of silver as it surfs the blood in his veins as it is his mocking chuckle that draws Isolt's attention from the macabre arrangement of wooden spears hanging in faux-innocence upon the wall. That had proven an aroma the young vampire remembered with all too much clarity, her Maker having taught her of the damage witches' blood could bring in a purposefully first-hand manner... a phantom burn searing away at her throat with the onslaught of the memory. Her lithe frame shifts in a slight degree towards him, the young damsel for whatever reason decidedly unwilling to give her back fully to the display of wooden weaponry or the man whom she suspected to be the purveyor of such things.

Unease is but the only response Isolt has to his offhanded scathing comment, though it is but a variation of many that had come before it. A quick lesson hard learned was the manner in which nearly all supernatural creatures looked upon her species, deriding comments belched of mouths unseen having filtered to her ears through the anonymity of dark on more occasions than she cared to recall. They were naught but undead savages whose compassion had long since been pushed from their bodies by their pervading and assumedly insatiable blood-lust. Only this and nothing more. It was something that had proven impossible to grapple with, this seemingly constant onslaught of verbal shards cast at her by individuals who would no sooner look beyond the grim of the stereotype fed to them than they would bend their necks to feed her. And so, it would appear, this man would prove only one in a series.

Recognition flickers as a weak and wind-blown flame in the very distant recesses of her mind as Isolt takes him in. She had seen him once before, at the masquerade, though his name is all-together sacrificed to the myriad instances of that particular eve. An acquaintance of Damon's, if memory served her properly, though even this affords him no trust, no words of recognition does she spare for him. "Nothing," she whispers softly, raising a hand to gently tuck a stray crimson lock back behind her ear. A nervous habit that had not lessened beyond the veil of death. "It was an accident. I'll just... be going," she offers, little hesitation interrupting the young woman's movements towards the door.


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