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 December 07, 2014 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
The beginnings of a moral battle shift within the young vampire, a fight against the hypocrisy of the assumptions that beg acceptance and validation, simmering in salacious whispers behind both of her ears. The temptation to pass judgment upon this man she knows so little of curls a tantalizing finger at her, despite her decided sorrow upon every occasion that the same has been done to her. That individuals should be defined and treated as the stereotypes of their species was a horrifically immoral proposition and yet, given his unabashed sarcasm and the mischievous glint flickering in his eyes, Isolt finds herself perched only further upon the edges of these pins and needles. Blue eyes shift to the door, not requiring his statement to know that no good would come of venturing back out onto the streets at present. It is not this consideration that brings her pause, but rather the debate regarding against whom she might stand the better chance.

Thankfully, the crimson-haired girl is soon offered the distraction of his words yet again, though they offer her no solace from the tide of panic frothing against the shore of her wavering calm. Though the rather dominant and large portion of Isolt that clutches desperately to humanity pleads to believe him, death had not been kind to the once so trusting redhead. She had been hollowed of nearly every shard of trust that she had once laid claim to and made a husk of her former self, now seeming to only confess any measure of faith in Damon. And it is for him that she yearns now, his easy confidence and finesse for vampiric life the likes of which Isolt could only begin to imagine and never could she duplicate. He had acclimated to life beyond the shroud of death in a beautifully charismatic way that would forever linger hopelessly outside of the reach of her grasping fingers.

Lithe frame gliding gracefully to the side in quiet response to his request, Isolt's eyes do not further stray from the warlock whose magic she cannot and does not begin to fathom. Finely-muscled arms wrapping around her own body in response to the mounting tension she feels with the subtle clicking of the lock into its cradle. Her eyes narrow, if only slightly, with his proposition, before the deep furrows of a frown dig their way into the supple canvas of her brow. "I... I don't mean to be rude but... I really don't think you do. Please just show me the back door and I'll leave, I promise," she pleads, internally sickened by the helplessness reflected in her voice and the shy defensiveness of her posture. Despite his measures to aide her further disappearance from the dangers that surely await beyond his shop, Isolt will place no further reliance in this proprietor. She cannot, for experience has taught her that to give trust so freely is the greatest of follies.


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