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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!

somebody help me tame this animal107.77.97.46Posted On December 17, 2017 at 12:12 PM by Lazarus Wolfe



Every part of him was nearly seething at this point as the white-haired woman continued to prod at him. Had it been Ellie with that gentle yet relentless teasing or scolding for getting home so late smelling like a whiskey bottle, he would have just shrugged it all off and walked up the stairs and crawled into his unmade bed to sleep it all away. She was easy to avoid. Most times. There was the occasional moment when Lazarus would find himself needing to get out and away from her, though it was mostly only on those days where his blood was already boiling from that nightmare and Ellie seemed to be unusually persistent that he wear some stupid mask of false happiness. He was never good at those fake smiles and empty I'm okay's when the plain and obvious truth was that he was so very far from being alright. He wanted to be. But he just... couldn't. It wasn't that he didn't have a temper before that night because he very much did and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been an asshole of a punk back then - especially on high school -, but it only seemed to be getting worse... Those sharp dark forest green eyes didn't miss a beat when the honey-blonde woman would give him a concerned look with those eyes of early morning frost. She would always try and do something nice for him, and like the dick he almost always had a tendency to be, he's just tell her thanks and do whatever he could to move on from that moment where she would try and help him through those darker thoughts she could see flicker across his gaze. Those were the nights when he would have leave and find a bar he could drink himself into thinking everything was fine when it wasn't. He'd play that wolfish guy in the corner looking for a pretty face to get lost in fly a night before returning home in the morning before the sun came up. Those were his nights where sleep didn't find him until the sun was up and he could just lay in that bed beneath those sheets only to get up and use the bathroom or grab some food before disappearing again. He knew that he was on the fast track to self-destruction, but he didn't care. All he managed to care about was Ellie.

Just the sheer fact that the one woman he hated most in the world also happened to be someone who seemed to have her own deeply rooted issues he'd gamble on as a result of some fucked up past reflecting on brilliat blue eyes as anger and hate both surprised and frustrated him all in the same stupid moment. Isabelle had been a troublemaker in her world right, a rebel and a girl that had been down from rough sex almost any day or night of the week when the hunter would end up in her company. She was wild and fierce and strong, everything that turned Lazarus on, everything that made his hunger all the more ravenous as they would ravage each other. Nothing about what they had was gentle or affectionate, Lazarus wasn't made for such tender relationships. And yet, here was the witch with that hand on her hip as she sneered and snapped at him like they'd been at this for much longer than was true. Hell, some might even dare to think they were a couple with how they fired back at each other and the thought was almost enough to make his stomach lurch. Not even when hell freezes over. Even if she'd tasted so.... Giving himself a forceful mental shake away from where he knew that train of thought would carry him, he buries that ten feet under before it even had a chance to grow. He refused to let this woman get any more into him than she already seemed to. She's quick to make her thoughts known on the whole "purchasing of women" bullcrap and how she would have been just fine had he not implied such a thing towards her and he can't help but scoff in a way that said "yeah, whatever, I don't believe you from a damn second" but before he has a moment to interject with his own ideas, she decides to kill that monster then and there and he was perfectly fine with that. What almost catches him offguard though was her next string of words as she suggests that they were both equally at fault. He says nothing in response, stubbornly determined to remain convinced that if she would have just been minding her own business they would have never seen each other again. That was likely just another lie though because for some reason or another he couldn't help but feel like he would have still come across her standing in that kitchen with Ellie. It was like there was no escaping this witch, and he only hated the situation more. It felt almost like he couldn't control his own damn fate anymore. Back before the murders, he'd felt like the world was his for the taking, that he could do whatever he wanted so long as he stepped into his father's place one day as the leader of the Daray Council. Since that night though, it seemed like nothing was in his control and it made things even worse for that temper than only clutched his hated heart even tighter.

Wasting no time, they're at each other, swallowed in the only dance he'd ever cared for. He felt his anger roaring in every throw that failed, heard the beast inside snarling almost rabidly as she would dart away from him with a natural-born killer's speed and grace, landing those jabs to his sides that drove that fury even harder. The end result was nothing short of dissatisfaction and if anything he felt himself only becoming more and more sloppy as that fire burned in hand veins. It took the sudden movement of the witch going behind him and practically pushing him forward and almost to his knees that had served as the breaking point, those words of hers reminding him all too well of the disapproval in his father's hardened gaze as he would show little mercy in laying not Lazarus during those brutal training sessions. It was what he'd needed to catch that ever so fleeting and surely rare opportunity of weakness in her unquestionably trained defensive stance and send him lunging towards her with force, something dark and fierce overwhelming that rage then as he felt his fist make contact with her wounded side. He continues to lunge into her and it was his forward movements and unwillingness to give her space and enough time to counter that allows for him to step behind her and sweeps that strong leg out to feel contact and watch her tumble the the ground. There is a wicked and wolfish grin of satisfaction then as he towers over her. His senses are struck with that metallic scent though and it fades from those chiseled features as those dark forest eyes look to see silver leaking through the fabric of her shirt. Right on cue, he felt that damn prick of concern in the back of his mind as he watches her slowly sit up, moving her attention to her hardly healed wound. He should be taking pleasure on that fact that he'd bested her this time at her own game. He should be grinning smugly down at her with strong arms crossed over his chest. But he couldn't and he hated that he couldn't, his face growing solemn as he refused to let that inkling or concerns to show itself. When those icy blues eyes find his dark forest greens, he is surprised to see delight dancing in them as a wheezing laugh slips past her plush lips. And that smile... It was a actual, genuine smile and he feels himself take a metaphorical step back. What was that for? What the hell was she thinking and why did she look at me that way? Quickly suffocating the surprise that flickers only faintly in his gaze despite being so much stronger than he'd ever let on to, He gives her a wolfish grin."I prefer the term 'opportunistic strategy', but I guess now we're even", he replies boldly with the surprising absence of aggression that seems to have left the man at some point. What the hell was going on? Was this sort of mind game? He found no animosity in her own smooth words as she indicates a desire to go again and he almost isn't sure he knows what to do at this point. Yet just like that, it comes rushing back."Thanks but no thanks", he answers back. He didn't need her help... Or at least that's what he told himself, even if it was a lie. He didn't want her help. For whatever reason, he bends down to reach for her wrist to help her up, strong fingers careful not to grab her too hard as he wordlessly offers her his help to stand back up. What compelled such an act of selflessness, he did not know and he almost hesitates before those strong fingers wrap around her then, but he doesn't. He should have. But he didn't.
LAZARUS WOLFE DARAY
image by Andrew robles


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