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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.

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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
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    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

there are three things men never forget (Alex)101.191.241.87Posted On April 04, 2016 at 6:06 AM by Rixon Leifsson

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“Alex- the television cannot hear you.”

It is the first time in nearly fourteen hours of flight time the stallion has uttered even a single word, Frost having spent the better part of the last thirteen and half hours asleep- the hood of his jacket pulled up and over his shock of white hair, arms folded across his chest, ignoring even the meals the air hostesses continued to supply. Indeed, had it not been for Alex’s continued mutterings about the historical inaccuracies in Kingdom of Heaven the man may well have continued to sleep throughout the rest of their journey and the layover in Moscow. He hardly disliked flying, the first class seats Alex had provided assuring this journey was far more pleasant than the last he had taken and yet the stallion simply remains wary of those around him- his mood decidedly cold, so much so that the staff had finally relented to leaving him alone despite continuing to ask Alex on the hour, every hour, if he required anything more. In truth Frost had hardly anticipated being within this situation to begin with. His desire to get closer to the Mounted Unit in an effort to recover what had been taken from him had so far involved little more than becoming entirely used to the idea of Alexander, in allowing himself to form some partnership with the Hunter, to train with him and show up to the occasional meeting of the Mounted Division to assure himself on Xerxes location- he had not anticipated any true test of their loyalty. Especially not one that involved taking up a mission upon an entirely different continent in a place that stallion possessed no desire to visit again.

Xerxes had not believed the pair to be sincere in their efforts to assist the Mounted Unit, he had demanded a test of sorts, a mission ideally suited to someone of Frosts talents- after all, several other Hunters and their mounts had frozen to death without even reaching the destination and surely Frost would be the ideal choice to counteract that- as his rider Alexander was also expected to go, Xerxes hardly foolish in the manner in which had very near entrapped the pair within their own game. It had been necessary, to an extent, to show at least some falsified support for the organisation they were attempting to infiltrate and yet truly Frost had anticipated Alex drawing the line at flying to Siberia. If anything however- this entire ordeal had displayed one rather potent weakness in the age-old Hunter. Being told he could not, or would not succeed seemed to result in Alexander attempting to do so merely in an effort to defy both history and whomever it was who dared to believe otherwise. Xerxes had hardly been silent in his assurance that both Alexander and his horse would get themselves killed, a number of other Hunters assured the mission simply could not be completed- they had already tried. This alone seeming to have driven Alexander to accept it- if only to prove them wrong, Frost’s own acceptance an attempt to merely appease the Council though on the opinions of a horse they cared very little. Frost was entirely content to go back to sleep, leaving the Hunter beside him to continue to find fault with every historical movie he chose to watch.

It is only many hours, a layover, and a much smaller plane later that Frost moves to step out and onto the frozen ground and bitter cold of the poor excuse for an airstrip this non-existent town seemed to possess. For a moment the violet eyed man simply pauses, the town seeming to possess little more than a handful of houses braced against the falling snow and chilling wind, the rest of the landscape an unappealing collection of rock, snow, dead trees and brown earth. How inspiring. Little more then a mutter of discontent passes his lips as he moves to wander towards the woman clearly waiting for them beside what was best described as a shack a short distance away, Frosts own power readily engaged now, cutting away the cold and chill- though he makes no move to offer Alexander the same just yet, leaving the man to struggle with as many layers of clothing as he could find to pull on- the vaguest touch of a simper ghosting across his features before seeming to disappear entirely.

It is only on approaching the waiting red-haired woman that Frost sees fit to shift from his human form, the man replaced smoothly with the rather sizeable white stallion, heavy hooves far more easily cutting through the deep snow now- though the woman pays near no attention all the same as he halts before her, moving instead to rather joyously embrace Alexander as if the snow storm they stood within hardly existed.

“You must be Alexander! The Council told me you were coming, I’m Cassandra, I’m the Council and Mounted Unit Representative for the Northern end of Siberia and I’m here to get you on your way. Jacob! Jacob!”

The woman’s shouting seemed to rouse a rather young looking and decidedly human boy from within the hut, the boy dragging a rather large, heavy looking pack saddle with him, balancing it upon a wooden fence beside Frost himself before beginning to fiddle with a number of the buckles- Frost eyeing him warily amount before returning his attention back to Cassandra.

“You’ve already been debriefed I’m sure. Your heading to Oymyakon, it will take you about a day to ride that far from here depending on how fit the horse is, once your there it’s at least another days ride before you’ll reach the mountain pass- you’ll find what your looking for on the other side. It’s a vampire coven, not overly large but they’ve started taking enough humans to be considered agitating to the Council. The terrain is far too hostile for cars or choppers or a lone hiker, horses are all we have left and most of them keep dying from the cold. I’m told that shouldn’t be a problem this time. You’ll find everything you need including camping supplies, food and water in your saddle bags provided Jacob can actually do his job and get the horse saddled!”

The young boy, standing atop the fence, was trying for near the fifth time to lift the heavy pack saddle up and over the stallion’s back, Frost merely sidestepping once more just out of reach, leaving Jacob flustered all over again as he struggled to keep his balance. The saddle, in this instance, was surely a necessary item and yet Frost remains content to merely allow the small and irritating boy to struggle.

“I’m trying! He keeps moving! He isn’t trained like the others, I can’t get a rope on him to tie him either and he bit me when I tried.”

One violet eye of the towering stallion slides briefly sideways, meeting Alexander’s own a moment from beneath that white forelock.

I didn’t bite him, my teeth slipped. Cassandra is also wrong, we can reach Oymyakon in less than a day from here. I’ve done it before.








Frostbite
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