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
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
burning down the house
Posted on August 13, 2015 by Rixon Leifsson
 It is was something of a final- irritated snort that Frost proceeds to simply turn away from the store- finding he holds no further interest in some juvenile warlock and his curious shadow, heavy, feathered hooves carrying him smoothly away and back out towards the dock- quite content to ignore the man and his petulant words, leaving him to fix his broken door else lay in his hovel of a store or whatever it was warlocks did that so seemed to see them feel as if they were entitled to so much in this world- before the fractured pieces of wood and steel suddenly seemed to shift around him. Wide violet eyes narrow warily, hooves halted upon the fractured concrete and boardwalk of the dock yard at the rather obscure looking...corral at had formed about him, ears sliding briefly back into the thickness of his mane in some display of irritation. Clearly someone thought they were amusing, clearly someone felt as if they had a sense of humour. The towering stallion has barely been given a moment to turn before something seizes his right foreleg, head jerked downward to eye the blackened shadow like creature this warlock seemed to wield so well- a multitude of shadows seeming to swarm around him before proceeding to half carry, half drag the disgruntled animal several feet and into the store itself- the battle axes and spears he very near collides with only seeming to further darken his mood, the stallion quickly beginning to tire of this little warlocks game. My Little What? Pony? Is that truly the worst you are capable of mustering?" He has been called things far worse then pony within his time, violet gaze searching for the warlock once more beneath those lashings of white mane and forelock as he seeks to haul himself upward from the position in which he has been very near thrown, oblivious in that moment to the approaching shadow once more until he feels fingers of sorts- tangle with the thickness of his mane and limbs brushing against his sides. There are few things in this life the equine finds so wholly disagreeable and yet this- riding, is surely one of them, ears lacing back against his skull once more, the warlock momentarily forgotten as instinct itself seems to further spur the creature into action, form launching forward and onto forelimbs alone- hind legs lift to throw his back forward and up in a rather terrific buck that would dislodge even some of the better riders among the shadow world before his hind limbs simply gathered beneath him once more, launching the animal upward again and again, hooves pivoting and twisting upon the earth in a violent explosion aimed entirely at dislodging the shadow from its place. If he can throw Hunter after Hunter there was no true reason this shadow should be any different, a final roar of outrage erupting from within the pale horse before a final- savage buck is delivered- catapulting the shadow from its place (a shadow is a lot lighter than a man after all and fairly easily dislodged it would seem) as the stallion brings all four limbs back to earth, heavy form lunging forward barely a moment later, having managed to locate the damn warlock whom seemed to be enjoying such a show, teeth lunged entirely towards the man's left arm- more than capable of tearing a rather large chunk from it should he have been entirely too slow to move it- the stallion hell bent, it would seem, on punishing his aggressor, one foreleg lifted forward to strike with equal violence at him now. If he cannot maul Davante, he will simply bludgeon him to death. He detests attempts to be ridden like a schoolyard hack or plodding playground pony, the war horse pulling back abruptly and onto his hind limbs now in rear- both hooves aimed to plunge down entirely upon the unfortunate warlock and rid himself of the little gnat- else crush anything else in his way. |