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

welcome to the end; open


Posted on January 12, 2015 by KINGSLAY
West
KINGSLAY


There are too many memories.

He remembers the first time he felt blood, warm and wet against his cheek. He remembers death, and how, for him it had meant life. He remembers the way her organs felt against his skin, and the moment he knew it was wrong. He remembers even though he shouldn't, even though he was too young.

Now, he cannot stop remembering.
Now, the thrum of hearts beating is all he can hear.

There are lyrics that are scribed into his heart; over and over, the words are italics and carved in through the muscle and the membrane. The songs that they recite are always morbid. The melodies always sound like blood and bones and grenades.

On the outside he is unwavering, with his lips pulled tight (an underscore drawn beneath the word 'stoic') and his eyes dark and glass and empty. Inside, he is rattling. There are things that grow and evolve in the pit of his belly, that forge holes through his flesh and around his organs for the roots that grow out of them. There are things that are dark, and cruel, and as empty as his eyes, and he is their vessel.

Inside, he is rattling.
Inside, he is wrong.

He is veiled in death; the smells of it are sick and sweet, and they curl around the contours of his body like fog across mountains.

He is so wrong.

And so, he made the Gods themselves bend at the knee.

KINGSLAY BY NEVAEH | HTML BY MAAT | IMAGE (C) ILYA KISARADOV

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