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    The West

    The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a certain grunge that permeates the town from the graffiti on the once cleaned brick buildings to the broken and unmaintained architecture. Crime runs high within the western half of town, making it the home of supernatural gangs of illicit activities. Such activities are rarely reported however, and most residents are distrustful of individual's of authorities, instead letting the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

    What's You'll Find Here

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    Noah's Ark

    owned by Aiden Tetradore
    1 employees

    Noah's Ark

    Resting upon the harbor, Noah's Ark appears to be little more than an abandoned cargo ship. Accessible from an entrance hidden in the shadows, The Ark is a veritable Were-playground that specializes in fighting tournaments for all creatures great and small. With both singles and doubles tournaments to compete in, the title of Ark Champion is hotly contested amongst the Were population. If anything illegal is going on in the city it's sure to be happening within the back rooms or behind the ring-side bar.

    Owner Aiden Tetradore

    Co-owner Tobias Cain

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    Warehouse District

    Warehouse District

    The warehouse district rests just upon the harbor within the city. Many of the warehouses belong to corporate companies although some are used for less the legal means. Be careful when wandering this district at night for many groups meet within those dark, dilapidated buildings. There are also whispers of hard to obtain goods being sold behind those closed doors but you have to know who's who to get an in!

you're so far from your weapon;24.34.233.58Posted On April 30, 2017 at 5:36 PM by calliope


On, Calliope walks behind the two humans. She sways like a willow tree in a storm and electricity licks at her fingertips. The fabric smokes and burns and falls like ash until the sleeves are nothing more than a fragile web of once-fabric. There's a storm in her now, a rabidness of panic as she steps over stone and asphalt and rotten garbage.

It's easy to ignore them. Kearn and Flora are loud (almost as loud as the sea that rings and screams at her from the distant docks). Calliope is too intent to speak and her hands skim over building after building. There's black char everywhere she touches and all the lights about her head crack and flicker in rebellion of their glass cages.

The slums are alive beneath her touch, cowed before the fallen unicorn queen.

Calliope is still silent as she follows them into the warehouse they call home. Her feet, bare and slender leave barely a trace as she whispers over the dust and ruin. She's a ghost, all leg and deadly grace and black lighting scars. There is enough newness in this body to pause at the stairs.

There's enough of a memory about stairs to make her pause. Shrike was broken and battered at the end of the last set of stairs she climb. And when she takes that first step onto the staircase her lungs are frantic and her eyes glisten with tears.

On her tongue she can taste Shrike's blood and feel the whisper of her sister's soul as it slipped away.
away, away, away.

They are both lost now.

It's not until Kearn speaks again that she falls out of her memories. And when she does she's already standing at the window and tracing her fingers over the spines of the glass. Her fingers leave a trail through the grit and she wonders that she can make snakes with just the touch of her skin.

When she looks at him her eyes are full of shadows and fire and a million different legends. Calliope cannot bring herself to look at Flora when she speaks. “Am I to hunt whatever you are?” There's regret in the thin, hard line of her lips. A part of her cannot imagine slitting his throat when he looks like a lion on his clifftop. Certainly she cannot picture throwing Flora out the window to find her fate against the pavement.

But there's still that part of her that would kill everything just to find her Shrike again.

It's the denial of that part of her (she doesn't want to be so cold again so soon) that has her turning to Flora and moving away from the window. “Show me what you will.” She whispers, trailing five long snakes down the glass as she moves away from the view of a place she could never love.

Through it all her horn never leaves her right hand.



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