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    The East

    The east side of the city is often considered the heart of Sacrosanct. It's here were the majority of the shopping district can be found, deep in the heart of downtown. It's here that magic thrives, it hums in every stone and can be felt in every breath. Often times, new comers to the city may be come overwhelmed by such sensations but, eventually, it becomes an ever present feeling that's hardly noticed. The streets of the east side are frequented by all species as many companies are housed in the sky scrapers and hole in the wall establishments that line the streets.

    What's You'll Find Here

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    Cat's Meow

    owned by Nadya Tetradore
    0 employees

    Cat's Meow

    An older brick building tucked downtown with only a neon sign above the steel door saying Cat's Meow and the drifting of music to let you know of the burlesque within. The inner confines have a lavish feeling of comfort and style. At one end of the building is a large stage for the dancers to entertain with small round tables scattered in front for the customers to sip or dine while watching. Directly across from the stage is a fully stocked bar so you’re never without a view of the entertainment.

    Owner Nadya Tetradore

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    Downtown

    Downtown

    The city has a unique skyline, clashing between modern sky rises and small victorian storefronts. In the heart of downtown, the sleek colored glass buildings reign supreme though their old-world roots can be seen in the most peculiar places from the lamp post styled electric street light to the stone sidewalks. The old world architecture slowly returns the further from downtown you travel, however.

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    Inner Sanctum

    owned by Alexander Macedonia
    2 employees

    Inner Sanctum

    This hidden little cafe is loaded with essentricities and antiques that fill every corner of this remarkable place. The walls are lined with oddities from every corner of the world. Beyond the intriging decor, this place is known for it's delectable coffees and it's exquisite latte art.

    Owner Alexander Macedonia

    Barista Alexis Wilde
    Barista Calliel Alosi

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    Red on the Water

    owned by Isolt Griffin
    2 employees

    Red on the Water

    Nestled in a pleasant alcove that is but a stone?s throw away from the dazzling labyrinth of downtown, Red on the Water is a spectacle in its own right. Renovated in the style of a classic Irish pub with a dash of modern flare befitting the city that boasts it, this up-and-coming venue is the perfect place to snag an impeccably prepared home-cooked meal and enjoy the city?s most impressive collection of brews from Ireland and beyond. You and your guests are sure to be mesmerized and invigorated by the energetic offerings of the live Celtic band to be found here every weekend.

    Owner Isolt Griffin

    Co-Owner Damon Marcello
    Waitress Yumi Chizue

you should have a little more faith in us58.168.75.232Posted On November 04, 2017 at 3:21 PM by Rixon Leifsson


He could hardly help that fashion in which his gaze lingered upon the hunter’s own in that moment. Alexanders tone seeming to have shifted into something entirely more purposeful, darker almost, as if such words were an unspoken promise of sorts and yet Frost struggled to comprehend them all the same. Did Alexander truly intend to ‘deal’ with the Council itself over those war horses? Did he truly anticipate he might win? That was a battle Frost was near assured even Alexander- for all he was- would not see victory in. The Council was steadfast in its beliefs in that system. One man would not change them, surely, and yet it was that simple….intent within Alexander in that singular moment that seemed to strike the stallion far more potently. As if Alexander cared for the predicament of those horses when no one had before. The simple why of it lingering within the stallions mind all the same. As if the stallion could not quite believe his rider might care for the sake of caring but rather- he anticipated some ulterior motive in the man even if he had not discovered it just yet. People were not inclined to involve themselves in the affairs of others merely for the justice off it. The world was not like that. He was sure of it. Frost oblivious in that moment to the depths of Alexander’s offense at the poor treatment of any of those equine he valued so deeply, Were or otherwise. Frost simply unable to believe it. Such a concept so entirely foreign to him it hardly seemed to register. The war horse merely believing them to be simple words in that moment- offered to him with no real intention of following through. The Icelandic man quick to silence any emotion that might dare to touch him at the notion all the same. His attention returned in full to the matter at hand with no more than a nod of sorts to that previous statement he suspected would go unfulfilled.

He had only been within the loft of that café a handful of times and yet it seemed almost ever-changing. Those oddities that decorated the hunter’s more personal space seemed new almost every time. His violet gaze brushing over them with curiosity as those battle plans of sorts were discussed. Frost nothing if not straightforward in the presentation of those facts and little else, the man hardly inclined to pointless information in any sense. His thoughts momentarily distracted by Alexander’s assurance he had ridden long before those saddles and as such hardly needed one, Frost gesturing briefly to that painted portrait of the near infamous stallion that had come to represent Alexander in turn. It’s back adorned with that leopard skin riding blanket in near every image he ever saw of the beast. That query as to why perhaps one of the few true curiosities the war horse had ever been content to display in Alexanders company. Frost’s features frowning slightly in contemplation before that simple nod was offered in response to that explanation. It made sense, after all. Weeks, if not months, spent on that horses back sure to wear on them both. Even those small comforts providing some measure of relief on those marches. Frost allowing his gaze to travel away from that portrait of the other horse once more, his mind considering Darius now and that decision to remove the other stallion first and before that gift for teleportation could be to fully utilised. It was a unique plan, if nothing else and yet Alexander had hardly failed him before. Frost affording the man that trust this evening as he moved to head back down those stairs.

His fingers reached easily for the buttons of his shirt, that thin fabric tossed aside and onto that chair, his shoes stepped out of a moment later before the stallion stepped out and onto that sidewalk- his jeans discarded onto that wet pavement before that shift readily overtook him. Alexander plucking those pants from the ground to toss them back inside before seeing to locking that café. Frost content to watch as that rain seeped into his white fur, darkening it to grey and threatening to chill that skin beneath. Tonight, he hardly reached for his own affinity, at least not yet, the man content to reserve all of his power for that battle ahead rather than waste it upon unnecessary comfort. The sooner they moved, the sooner he would warm up and yet the moment Alexander reached for that man Frost was entirely content to sidestep him. That second reach seeing the horse dance sideways again. That irritable cussing that fell from the hunter’s lips all but ignored. Alexander knew what he wanted. Frost’s muzzle shoving against the man now to make that point all the more clear. That exasperated sigh assuring him the elder man understood entirely. Frost having taken a dislike, of late, to being made to wait for any of his treats. Why should he when Alexander could be coerced into giving them to him now?

That passing comment on indigestion was met with nothing more than a snort as Frost reached for that apple, plucking it from the man’s hand before at last offering him that leg to use as a step. The Hunter swinging up and onto his back a few seconds later, Frost waiting for him to settle before that touch of heels sent him forward and into that rain and dark. That cold had a way of biting at his wet pelt, Frost increasing that pace to a lope if only to keep his own muscles warm and slightly hasten that journey to the far forests- that rain holding the threat of a storm entirely- the stallion capable of near smelling that oncoming weather. The sooner this was over the better. His pace slowed only as they left those streets and found that grass that soon gave way to forest. Those thickening trees causing the path ahead to narrow as the stallion came to a halt entirely upon the precipice of the wilderness. The narrowness of that space decidedly…..disconcerting to him and yet he offered nothing of it in that moment. His ears turned backward to Alexander in the silent display of attention. Frost waiting for some sort of command then. His head turned back to the man as he slid easily from his back, Alexander surveying the forest then as Frost merely watched on. Was he looking for tracks? The rain surely having washed them all away by now. The Hunter suddenly stopping abruptly before beckoning Frost toward him. The stallion shifting forward then, those heavily feathered feet thumping dully against that sodden earth to eye that pile of leaves. The meaning of the Hunter’s words not lost upon him. Frost affording the man that near withering look (at least as best as he was able).

Fine.

That displeasure was surely clear within even the thought of that word as Frost allowed his knees to bend, the stallion lowering his front half to that wet ground before the rear half followed, the horse rolling onto his side then before kicking his legs outward to push himself onto his spine with an undignified grunt. Rolling, after all, for a creature of his size was neither an easy nor a graceful process. That ground was wet and unpleasant. That earth sticking to his fur and entangling uncomfortably within his mane. Frost making an effort to assure both sides and his back were sufficiently ‘forest-like’ before attempting to haul himself back onto his feet. The stallion shaking himself thoroughly a moment later if only to detach those loos leaves and twigs that clung to his now muddied, dirtied physique. That dirt, if anything, lessening how brightly his white figure had shone within the darkness. His head tilted back to Alexander then.

I am showering in your shower once this is over. This shit is not going down the drain at my place. Is this enough?

The dull rumble of that thunder somewhere in the distance saw his own ears prick forward once more, his head lifted to peer in the direction of that oncoming storm. Thunder, if nothing else, might at least work in their favour all the more for hiding the sound of his hooves. Frost waiting then for the Hunter to decide that next course of action, Alexanders thoughts already inclined to those deer though how they were going to find enough of them Frost hardly knew. The war horse having paid little attention to deer for most of his life, their habits largely unknown to him. Did Alexander desire for them to round them up like cattle and….stampede them? Frost eyeing those narrow trails ahead once more with that same disdain, that near age-old fear of those more enclosed spaces pressing upon him and yet he was loath to allow Alexander to know of it. The stallion determined to ignore it and attempt to cast it aside before the man might note it. Frost waiting for the Hunter to climb back onto his back once more, that leg offered again to assist him upward before that touch of heels saw him press forward again and towards the second part of that plan and location of those deer. Frost content to allow that silence between them to persist, the stallion aware of Alexander thoughts all the same before that speech of sorts suddenly found him, those words pressed to Alexander alone.

When I was born I was given a name that represented my affinity, like every Werehorse born in that place is, a name the Hunters call us by. Something to identify us to them. Frost was the name I was given but it is not my name- not the one my Mother gave me. Our real names are generally used only by family but if I get myself killed tonight, not that I believe we will, I’d rather not have Frost written on my headstone.

The stallion paused if only briefly, hardly affording Alexander that time to truly consider the significance, perhaps, of just what was about to be offered. Those ‘true’ names simply never offered to any save those they….trusted and yet Frost was not a being prone to sentiment in any real sense. The stallion content to downplay that offering all the same as if it was hardly as important as it was.

My name is Rikharður, Rixon, in English. I don’t see any need for you to use it, Frost is fine, but do me a favour and remember it- just in case.

There was, in all that world, no more than a mere handful of beings whom had ever heard the stallions real name. Few Werehorses ever offering their riders that knowledge and yet Frost hardly saw any need to elaborate on that simple significance of that singular act of trust he had afforded the Hunter tonight. That, perhaps, by far the most significant display of his faith in his companion he had ever been content to offer. Frost seemingly content to simply allow them to fall back into silence for several moments then, his wet tail flicking against his flanks.

I can smell deer near here. How many do you need for this plan of yours?

f r o s t
we built this city on broken glass




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