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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
    1 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

    Iórkæll Dværg

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    The VooDoo Room

    owned by no one
    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 no one

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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

wake up on the wrong side of the tent did we Sasha? On July 14, 2016 at 1:42 AM by Rixon Leifsson

 photo 1638b989-d1ad-4590-8c4d-4d16fc4716cb_zps770e0cc5.jpg

For perhaps the first time in their relationship the stallion is seemingly content to simply allow Alexander to work, affording him no protest as the Hunter moves about with saddles and straps and equipment, merely resting upon three legs. It does not escape his notice, however, that the man works with a methodical precision. Each item placed back where it had been, the weight evenly balanced- almost as if the Hunter cared for his own comfort. It is a…unique thought and yet one Frost entertains for several moments before Alexander swings himself into the saddle with an ease Frost has become accustomed too. The snowy stallion steps easily forward, reacquainting himself with the weight upon his spine before breaking into a loping trot- a convenient travel speed aimed at the looming mountain the man had gestured to. The horse is content to travel several hundred feet before that subtle tensing of muscle occurs, the most minute of changes evident within his gait, the impending round of bucking he is often content to engage in, for no reason other than because Alexander simply cannot stop him, seems imminent. He feels the Hunter tense in preparation, Alexander somehow eternally seeming to know just when he intends to do such a thing and yet this time the stallion simply relaxes abruptly once more into a fluid, comfortable pace.

Tricked you.

There is no true malice in the words, indeed there is something almost…playful about them, as if, somehow, the man had decided to be slightly more agreeable today. His mood unusually good despite his earlier outburst this morning and yet perhaps it is simply his own method of….appreciation, subtle though it is, for perhaps the single Hunter within the entirety of his life whom had not forced him to sleep outside as he had been made to the last time he had been within this wretched country. He is a guarded creature, if nothing else and yet somewhere within himself he possesses the ability to be pleasant- when he tries. Today the first day in which he has not tried to unseat the man. It is a small victory and yet with such a creature as Frost it is decidedly significant all the same. The terrain is much the same as I had been the day before, cold, frosted, rough and entirely white. The man is almost thankful, for once, of the heavy feathering about his own long limbs that catches the snow and keeps it from his skin. He is, in many ways, designed entirely for this. Despite the roughness of the of the ground and the frigid conditions he is entirely large and heavy enough to act as a living ice breaker, the stallion designed to keep up such a pace all day, the uneven ground navigated with relative ease and a sureness of foot most equine simply lack.

He is, for the better part of their journey, merely content to keep to his own thoughts and leave Alex to his, merely adjusting his position each time he feels the Hunter’s heels press at his sides. Frost at least seeming to have mastered this command, seeing no need to argue with the other man. After all, he held their map. It is only when they reach these infamous Snow Fields that the stallion pauses upon the tree line. His violet gaze drifts across the vast, seemingly endless plains before him, the mountains little more than a speck within the distance, the dark clouds above promising little relief from the falling snow. It was the utter openness of the plains that surely saw the death of most before them. There were no trees, no shelter, the plains utterly exposed to the full force of the elements and yet with his own affinity he held little fear of succumbing to the cold. Besides, he had, to an extent, grown up within such conditions, Frost hardly fearful of a snowstorm. A toss of his head is all the stallion offers before waiting for Alexanders command to go forward once more, stepping down and onto those frosted and empty plains before beginning the rather long trek across them.

It is less than an hour before the snow begins to fall, Frosts head tilted upward before allowing that every thick mane to cover his gaze once more and shield those violet eyes from it. The temperature however- has rapidly begun to plummet once more, a storm impending, the air thick with it to the extent the stallion can simply sense it. It is instinct alone that sees him near prance in place, pace quickening slightly- his sense near overly alert upon such an exposed field- the equine decidedly unsettled and yet it is simply a facet of his nature he cannot prevent in this form. He does however, allow his affinity to extend for the first time, embracing Alexander, sweeping around him to cut away the cold and bathe the other man in warmth.

It would displease me if you froze.

It is all he offers, Frost aware the Hunter could hardly die from the cold and yet suffering frostbite was still entirely a possibility the stallion hardly saw a need to engage within when it was so easily preventable. The snow merely continues to increase, thicker and heavier with each passing moment until the first touch of frozen rain begins to fall, an irritable snort released from the stallion as bites at his flesh. His mane perhaps, protects his head and neck, yet he lacks Alexander’s protective clothing, his white fur not entirely capable of preventing those cutting shards from lancing at the skin beneath. His ears layer backwards, affinity only further increased in an effort to melt the frozen droplets before they can strike at him- the wind blasting now as he merely lowers his head in this frozen, utterly miserable place. The pair within a now raging blizzard. The snow grows deeper and deeper with each stride until every step is an effort.

Alex. I cannot see any longer.

The world has become utterly white in every direction until there is no true direction to be seen, Frost begrudging perhaps, to allow Alexander soul charge of himself and their direction and yet to wander aimlessly was assuredly more undesirable- ice already forming along his nostrils and eyes lashes. He simply waits now for the Hunter to tell him where to go, for the first time perhaps placing some level of trust within his companion to steer them out of this place. Their destination can surly not be far, they have been walking for hours, Frost adjusting himself to this new course, head lowered against that biting wind. The blizzard remains content to rage for another hour yet, the night very near upon them again before they finally seem to reach the base of the mountains and the supposed location of this vampire coven somewhere within them. Frost pausing to simply rest a moment in the wake of their near torturous trek, nostrils flaring to drink in the air. It is a truly subtle sound, one ear of the horse turning in response to it though he pays little attention until he hears it once more- head jerked abruptly upward and to the right.

I can hear….someone.

He is, despite his tiredness, readily alert now, ears pricked and nostrils flared to taste at the air, a figure rapidly making itself visible within the shadows of the mountain. The rather hulking man in a sweeping trench coat detaching himself from the shadows to stride towards them as Frosts gaze simply narrows. It is however, a day of firsts for the pair perhaps, Frost, for once, doing entirely as he is trained to do and merely standing his ground, one ear turned back to Alexander, the other held forward.

I think we have found their sentry.

The words have barley found their way to the Hunters mind before something is hurled with terrific force by the cloaked vampire, missing both horse and man to collide with the rock of the mountain behind. Frost remaining entirely still in a rare show of steadfastness, head merely turning to eye the axe that has been hurled at them, the vampire running towards them now with evidently violent intent and fangs exposed. His hooves merely shuffle upon the earth, waiting for some command from the man aboard him. Surely Alexander had a weapon?

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