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    The North

    Within the Northern vicinity of the city the wealthy gather behind meticulously trimmed hedges and high class victorian architecture. The streets are paved with stone, the buildings are made of brick, and the storefronts are brightly lit and inviting. In the North every establishment is made to cater to the rich and the wealthy. Many such places are used to the sometimes peculiar requests of the otherworldly but here there is little that money cannot buy - weather it be illegal or merely looking the other way. Vampires and Dark Hunters are often found upon these Northern streets, their long lives often contributing to their sizable wealth which allow them the luxuries that the North provides.

    What's You'll Find Here

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    St. Pancras Station

    owned by Eve Thorn
    0 employees

    St. Pancras Station

    A historical train station renovated in to a luxury resort-style country club that unites Victorian elegance with contemporary style. Relax in the full-service spa featuring spa treatments, saunas, spa pools with hydro therapy & aqua bar, and relaxation lounges. The club offers many dining and entertainment options including Seven Sisters Lounge, Victoria Bistro, Barlow Gastropub and the formal St. Pancras restaurant as well as boutique shopping and event halls. Join The Chambers Club for a more exclusive entertainment experience.

    Owner Eve Thorn

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    The VooDoo Room

    owned by Ceara Hade
    0 employees

    The VooDoo Room

    The Voodoo Room is an award winning bar that aims to provide an eclectic and exotic atmosphere. The bar is filled with intoxicating liquors and a voodoo vibe to keep you coming back. Their mixologists meet the highest standards with our fantastical themed selections of cocktails and specials.

    Owner Ceara Hade

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    The Witchery

    owned by Rowena Metcalf
    1 employees

    The Witchery

    Dark, gothic, and throughly theatrical, the Witchery is a place to indulge yourself with it's fabulously lavish suites. Whatever room you choose, you'll find glamor, indulgence and luxury. The suites you have to choose from are: the Vestry, Sempill, the Old Rectory, the Library, the Turret, Heriot, Guardsroom, Armory.

    Owner Rowena Metcalf

    Sous Chef Elenore Dorian

THEY SAY IM A GOD On April 13, 2017 at 9:24 PM by IÓRKÆLL DVÆRG


This is a rare sight

The sun attempts to shine down upon the brooding brute and fails. There is a dark aura about him, an invisible haze of despair that lingers upon him and blocks out the rays that offer their delicious touch. The battle of ice and cold before his flesh causes goosebumps to rise on painted skin. This is not the only issue, for a battle within rages as well. The humans that pass by him in his territory irk him, their weak bodies pleasing to his eye. They are so unaware and yet something tells them deep within to avoid the bearded man, an unknown sixth instinct telling them that a predator is nearby.

Avoid him for you are not the one he seeks.

The boy has made enough commotion to meet the ears of the viking king. A fearless little runt who has a quick hand a fast feet, enough so that he has become a nuisance to the supernaturals in the area and a prize in the eyes of iorkaell.

However, the boy was off to a poor start.

Crystal eyes flick casually to the sun, far too old fashioned to carry a watch, and takes note of the time. A slow rumble falls from him, hand rising to stroke his beard casually. His elbows rest on his knees, body slumped as if weak though power and pride radiate off him. He looks casual, like a lost man just relaxing in the park. But looks can always be deceiving and lets pray that this is the case as the boy draws into view. That gaze that had left the sun to find the boy is striking, his blue eyes practically clear as they fixate on his approach. His massive hands rub together slowly before he leans back, those hands intertwining behind his head as he sprawls. The other joins him and as he crosses a leg over a knee dvaerg cannot help but smirk. He smells of weakness, of limitations and risks. His mere posture is undesirable to one trying to maintain upkeep of the roughest and toughest?

Would he even survive one night with the horde?
Honestly that wasn’t the viking’s problem.

The other’s greeting is simple and he turns to him, eyes stern, “you’re late.” he says simply, his low rough baritones sliding out. He glances at the boy’s hands, the use of them vital to him. “bring me something, then we will talk.” he demands, curious to see him in action. This should be easy, there isnt a supernatural in sight.

Impress him.



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