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 January 12, 2015 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
It is not a gradual progression, this hapless journey from the initial prickling of fear to the outright tremble of agonizing terror that she must employ conscious effort in order to suppress. It collides with her, rattling her skeleton and pulling steely coils of muscle taut over the sloping ivory structure beneath, blue eyes never daring to stray from the towering figure beyond the grate. She had long ago been conditioned for this, the horror that swathes her molded and shaped into something that Risque and her cronies had found grotesquely pleasing; something perpetuated on more than one occasion by the stinging kiss of this particular gentleman's hand and the clandestine barbs of the verbal weaponry he yielded with just as much skillful gusto. It is a sword to which, even now, she possesses no viable shield.

The fallacy of his surreptitious words sees the young woman recoil, if only slightly, both creatures of full knowledge that his well wishes were false; he meant only to bring her agony in whatever manner he could rightly and presently perpetrate. Isolt, in this moment, is far more thankful for the grate which separates them than she could have ever possibly voiced aloud, mentally discarding the axiomatic truth that should he wish it he could easily rid the building of this final obstruction. No sooner is the thought cast willfully from her mind does the metal billow beneath his weight and the influence of the warlock at her back, depositing their gargantuan foe unceremoniously unto the floor of the shop. The redheaded vampire stiffens only further, hardly having the mental wherewithal to curse the warlock his reckless behavior before the monolithic vampire rises before them, twisting the spent bear trap from his body with effort that is terrifying in its simplicity. An homage, perhaps, to the true measure of Davante's folly. Hardly does she notice the shadow as it lingers beyond one muscular shoulder, a sentiment shared by her vampiric counterpart as he deems it fitting to merely swat halfheartedly at the petulant sprite at his back... his attention solely for the duo before him.

The steps he ventures forth are deceptively slow, lagging perhaps in her mind's eye as she considers what fruit of agony his approach shall bear. It is unclear, truly, whether it is woman or warlock he seeks to exact his brutality against as he glides with such precision towards the two of them. And, in truth, it matters not for somewhere impossibly deep within the cavernous gorge of Isolt's heart the fear that would see her crumble before him is eclipsed... consumed entirely by a swathing shadow far more devious than was her custom. Something primitive born of Risque's lifeblood. The illusive mystique of it is shattered in the suspended moments after she strikes him, her tightly balled first connecting solidly with his chin with surprisingly adept force. He withdraws, surprise registering flawlessly for but a moment within the cruel and harrowing pallor of his eyes before ire burns through the veritable tinder of his glances. A thickly calloused hand comes to swipe at the rivulet of blood seeping innocently from his lower lip, the perilous spires of fangs now visible beyond the fleshy dams. "Need I remind you, pet, how badly I can hurt you?" And with that, the insurmountable heft of his frame darts forth once more...


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