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 27, 2014 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
Isolt puzzles over the finer details of her feelings towards this peculiar man in much the same hapless fashion that he, no doubt, ponders the truest depths of his hatred for the leech that experience and hearsay have seen indoctrinated into his most private heart. Distrust is her sapling, the gnarled and barbed roots of which had woven deeply into the intentionally-salted soil of her heart with anchored claws and corrosive intentions. However, unlike the brand of distrust he harbors for her so openly, Isolt does not employ the dictates of any racial stereotype as mortar to build the emotional barricade betwixt them. It is merely the reverberating sting of circumstance's lessons that arouse suspicion of even the minutest instances of kindness as this would surely appear to be. Lessons whose fresh lesions mark the spirit and soul of the crimson-haired maiden who lingers just beyond the scope of this stranger's reach.

Curiosity blazes to life anew, though, not purely by merit of the dagger lain between them as some awkwardly paradoxical "white flag". The azure of her eyes flicker with something consciously probing at his explanation, the statement itself succeeding in answering far fewer inquiries than it elicits. She cannot help the draw to quarry just what manner of descriptions he had heard of her and from whose lips they had fallen. Damon would have been the rightful suspect, his association with the warlock a guarantee of this status... and yet, to believe that Damon lingered upon thoughts of her oft enough to warrant speaking of her aloud was absurd. Laughable in its very essence.

Cherry lips clench protectively against the syllables that threaten beyond their luscious veils, rolling insistently at the tip of her waiting tongue. But it is there that they meet their silent end, the will to pry meeting solidly with a modesty that would dictate her acceptance of this particular informative morsel remaining unknown. In its place, a smile blossoms demure and tremulous upon the plush cushions of her lips, a compliment dancing where before only the evidence of her curiosity had seen fit to tread. "You're very good at it." With that, a single dainty hand reaches forth in wanting, the supple tips of cool fingers seeking to caress the beautiful weapon crafted solely for her benefit. Yet no sooner does the shadow of the impeding touch cast itself upon the pristine ivory of the hilt than a thunderous pounding echoes through the tightly-packed store, the door in question shuddering with a threatening rattle upon its hinges. Isolt spins, copper curls swinging as gossamer pendulums against her back with the swiftness of the movement, keen ears and olfactory seeking what her eyes cannot. Quietude, punctuated only by the supposed scraping of fingernails against the slab of the door, pulsates before yet another, more demanding, blow lands the same mark. And, Isolt would swear to it later, she felt its vibrations in the very marrow of her bones...


Replies