• Edit

    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

  • Edit

    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

  • Edit

    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!

tetradore kisses & kerosene;64.229.2.127Posted On May 08, 2017 at 10:03 AM by Risque



SCREAM baby, SCREAM;


The queen of cats sits upon her self-proclaimed throne within the confines of her new office, the scent of lumber and paint still flooding her senses. Silent whispers flood the entire establishment, filled in every hollow and crevice with her magical blanket over her feline companions. A sound to them which could only be akin to the inescapable hymn of the oppressive jungle which thrums in their hearts and binds them together by her will. She gains power from each of them, each bond linked to her in a very strange and wonderful way. It pulses and nags and never once does she release her control that could only be severed by her own will; or her death. They needed her like she needed them. A mighty black jaguar rubs her majestic head against her leg in a strange display of affection. The feline’s rumbling purr could be felt deep within her chest, rattling her ribcage. The very sound and vibrations made it feel as though, even temporarily that her wicked, lifeless heart still beat.

Finding the perfect place to build her club/fortress was the easy part and they were right on schedule for the grand summer opening. Of course, she had her slew of pets in tow, her close network of dangerous predators all linked and belonging to their one and only hellish mistress, Risque. They were under her hypnotic influence, her very own personal army to protect the concrete walls of her castle. Synyster. Her neon wasteland, her source of money and endless food supply and not to mention all the entertainment her undead self could desire. Her very own throne of death and debauchery placed right under the noses of the uneducated public. To some it was the place to go for a wild night, the best night of your life if you let your inhibitions set free. The perfect sinner’s playground.

She peers out at her empty oasis, large cats lounging on peaks, tails swishing two and fro in an idle and eerie contentment. The inside looked like a neon jungle that would glow and pulsate beneath the black light. The best artificial brilliance that money could buy. Some feral snarls could be heard echoing within the underbelly of her den. It came from the sound of two leopards sparring like two house kittens tumbling upon the carpet. Some of the felidae that resided here were the poor souls trapped in their animal form until she allowed otherwise, all the while their feral instincts taking over consuming their human side until there wasn’t much left but a powerful creature. Some were simply animals she bought off the black market, exotic cats of all kinds found their way to her. One way or another it was as though there were an invisible gravitational pull drawing them here in unspoken harmony. They had full reign of her neon underground when guests were not around. Those fleeting moments when it was just her and her feral counterparts in the windowless club.

Once they entered her grasp, they never left, all expect for one. A legend among her cats, Tetradore. She released her titanium hold upon her most favoured possession of all, a creature she had groomed from the un-ripened youth of a child. He had fought her compulsion better than any other of her subjects and yet, he served her better than any. His resolve and fight unparalleled by any creature she had ever known.

A pale, idle hand caresses the luxurious coat of her feline, the female jaguar which had recently become her preferred pet, a were woman trapped in her feline form. Her eyes were the most exotic shade of vibrant green and purple, fused together like small galaxies within her cat’s majestic irises. She was the most obedient of Risque’s impressive menagerie. In truth, it was that woman who had offered her life to serve her, to leave everything behind to serve her mistress resolutely and loyally. In turn, she would offer her sanctuary. The thought amused the vampire too much to pass up. A deal with the devil was forged in blood.

With knowing, pale wicked eyes the vampire moved, catlike to her desk, rummaging through a few important documents to reveal a single worn leather strip of a collar she had saved. Her fingers traced along the scuffed edges, tilting her head in a broken way, her porcelain features expressionless but her multifaceted eyes possess a feral, possessive malice at the thought of him. A bubbling rage floods through her, but her hands moved deftly placing the collar within a box with an obsidian silk ribbon looped around it to make it easy to carry.

Her voice, nothing but a frightening command, a lingering unspoken threat weaving within the hellcat’s low and ominous voice. “Find him and bring him to me. Bring me Tetradore.” She hands the box to the cat which held it by the ribbon betwixt her ominous teeth with such obedience and not a sliver of defiance. Seeing this pleased her, letting slip a wicked gleam to appear upon her lips just to fade as quickly. She watches as her pet slinks out of her office and into the night.
--
The compliant jaguar knew to how to be discrete, how to slip through the shadows that cradled her within its welcoming, loving embrace. The only love she had ever known. However, she hated leaving, hated the dangers that lurked outside of her mistresses domain. At least she knew she was safe within Synyster’s walls and that any harm would have only come from her wicked queen’s hand and when it came she was deserving of her reprisal. Or so she was too broken to think otherwise.

The gleaming panther, slinks with ultimate precision and purpose, slipping through the back exit, the neon sign reflecting off her blue-black coat. She was rather timid for such a large cat, preferring to be ignored and hidden from prying eyes. But fear does not deter the large creature as she begins her journey to the destination where her mistress said she would find him. He was not a difficult man to find.

The jaguar possessed the power of ultimate concealment that had kept her safe on nights like this, when she had to comply with her mistresses whims. She moved remarkably invisible without a scent trail or print from those large impressive paws. She still clung to the shadows out of comfort rather than necessity; a lifeline. She did not like people, she didn’t like the way they looked at her in human and feline form. She winds gracefully through the somewhat familiar labyrinth of city with graceful and purposeful strides taking no time to take a break from her travels westward.

She finds herself at the docks, the humid salty scent of the sea assaults her, she could smell him here, it was stronger here than anywhere else. He still smelt similar to the collar she held within that box. It was strong and almost tangible in the thick sea air around her while her ears flicker to and fro as they strain to hear impossible sounds. She moves with a liquid grace, as her heart beats nervously while she enters the ark still cloaked, navigating through the corridors of the ship until his scent grew the strongest. It looked like the man’s office, she decides this is where she would find the were-King whom her mistress sought for. She decided this is where she will wait. She folds herself into a ball underneath his work desk, making herself as small as possible as she bides her time. It is now that she allows herself to rest, her tongue cleaning her damp, dirty paws. After all, she had all the time in the world, but it was somehow within the moments she waits for him that she had drifted to sleep, whilst her cloaking powers drifted away. For but a moment, life was serene.






Replies

Post A Reply