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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

the third is a good horse101.191.249.40Posted On June 10, 2016 at 4:18 AM by Rixon Leifsson

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It is perhaps a rare moment of peace for the pair, the ears of the stallion turned backward with evident intrigue at the Hunter’s words, curious, truly, as to the man’s slew of tales and the answer to his query in regards to perhaps the worlds single most famous assassination. If anyone held knowledge of it, after all, Frost was assured it would be Alexander. Such a moment of quiet harmony is one often illusive to the duo. Even despite the weeks they had spent together, the endless nights in the arena and Alexanders continued attempts to ‘train’, much of the stallion remained wholly unwilling to trust the man beyond the most basal of levels. There had been some progress- marginal at best, Frost steadily having become acquainted with Alexanders own habits and methods and yet every now and then the equine merely chose to argue, if only to because he could. A decidedly stubborn streak to the creature that simply refused to die. In the least however, Alexander had progressed far further than any being whom had come before him, that fraction of trust Frost afforded him far more then he had given before and for now at least- it would have to be enough.

You mean to tell me the President of the United States was a deer? Was the Irish President a Were too?

The knowledge that Kennedy had been a Were, much less a deer, was of genuine intrigue to the stallion- even if such an event had seemingly been worth little of Alex’s attention. For half a moment the equine is given to consider that there truly must be some joys to a mortal existence. After all, perhaps there would be rather a number of things he might never see, might never do, but he would rather wonder of them, he thinks, then become so very bored with the world as the man upon his back. How….dithering it must be to continue to exist in a world in which you had seen all it had to offer. He himself cared particularly little for the world, or anyone in it, the man holding little desire to be dammed to Alexander’s everlasting version of life.

Is there any event in it you have not been involved in?

That, he thinks, is a far more direct question then affording the Hunter free reign to relive his memories on each and every event within the tune. The weight of the horse shifts backward as he moves to pick his way down the side of the slope, heavy feathered feet crunching the snow beneath his hooves, the stallion moving with a distinct care before coming to a halt upon the frozen bank. A single, irritable snort, rasping into the air at the clear lack of bridge. He meets the man’s gaze only briefly, turning his head back towards the frigid water that promised little more than a stinging cold, the Hunter’s words met with little more then his ears pinning backward into the wealth of white mane.

I am incapable of nothing.

It is a decidedly blunt answer, thick tail lashing briefly at his flanks and the snapshot of thought he is afforded with a single glimpse into the Hunter’s mind, Frost hardly caring enough to correct him and his apparent belief in Frost’s lack of ingenuity. Aged though he may be, Alexander knew far less then he claimed, of that Frost is entirely certain, his gaze roving back across the river. He is hardly opposed to water, his size more than enough to assure he possessed the power to swim it and yet water had a habit of seeping beneath his fur and into his skin. Alexander too, had seemingly forgotten that his jackets would hardly keep him warm when soaked through, in this weather nothing would dry, no matter how much heat he afforded them. The idea of sodden supplies was also less than pleasing to the stallion. Even if Alexanders thoughts were inclined to time management alone.

Feathered hooves press forward once more, carrying the stallion to the edge of the river, Frost content to eye the water for several more moments- seemingly given to waver upon the decision before him. He turns once more, striding determinedly back the way they had come and towards the edge of the slope, pivoting to face the river again. A rather obvious runway placed before him now. Alexander had never asked him to jump anything before, this perhaps one area of training neither had considered engaging within, the powerful animal shifting his weight in an effort to balance himself.

I am choosing to believe you will not fall off.

It is little more than a mutter, even offered to the man’s mind as it is. Frost is rarely given to jump anything, his were-form far more inclined to feats of strength and endurance then agility and leaping, the stallion never having attempted such a thing with Hunter upon his back and the weight of a saddle along with him- each muscle decidedly taut and ridged within his form. He is…apprehensive, perhaps, wary at best, waiting for some signal from the man that he was ready before he launches himself forward. If his ingenuity is lacking, then surely his boldness is not. His run up is decidedly less then he would like it to be, the stride of his gallop a truly expansive thing and one that affords him little more than three or so strides before the bank is before him. His front hooves crest the very edge of the bank, hind legs drawn up behind him, every muscle coiling within before he seeks to propel himself forward and from the edge. He trusted Alexander enough, he supposed, not to unbalance him with poor riding skills.

The jump was perhaps wider then he had actually anticipated, for a horse of his size such a thing was no small feat. Will power, however, is another thing entirely. Frost rather determined to simply prove Alexander wrong, his hooves only just reaching the opposite bank, the ice seeing the stallion stumble as he lands, skidding along the bank as each muscle braces in an effort to keep himself upright. He is aware, dimly, of a shift in Alexanders own position, the mans added weight as he leans back allowing him to find his own balance faster as they halt at last, the breath he had been holding exhaled.

Thank you.

It is all he offers in response, the words begrudgingly muttered though spoken all the same, stepping forward now to stride into the town- pleased with his effort even if Alexander had assisted slightly in preventing him from falling over. The town is as entirely desolate as he remembered it, no sign of life truly visible, the residences not foolish enough to open their doors to the rising chill, as Frost simply makes his way behind several buildings, allowing them to cut out the wind.

We can camp anywhere in the town, I hardly think the residents are going to come outside long enough to argue with us, this is a decent enough place, no wind in the least. There is however, only one tent. When we return home I will assist you in strangling Azrael- whom I am entirely sure assisted in the packing of these supplies. Your Highness can pitch a tent can’t he?

Frost, it seemed, did not intend on helping.

I lack opposable thumbs.


Frostbite
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