North

Within the Northern vicinity of the city, the wealthy gather behind meticulously trimmed hedges and high-class architecture. The pristine streets are paved with stone and the storefronts are brightly lit and inviting - for the right clientele. In the North, every establishment is eager 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 - whether it happens to be illegal or merely involves 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 allows them the luxuries that the North provides.

What You'll Find Here

Eternity
The VooDoo Room
The Witchery

ice, ice baby


Posted on April 13, 2015 by Rixon Leifsson
North
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It is hardly the first time it has happened- nor will it be the last. Hunters, like humans, were a vapid species. For all the years they claimed to live there methods ceased to change, ceased to evolve, as if their mentality became frozen at the age upon which they had been changed or made or born- however it was Hunters were created, Frost hardly bothering to discover the intricate details of such a thing. They did not matter to him, they never had. Perhaps his family had been bred, created really, to serve the Hunter Council and its members, in exchange for amnesty for their race alone and yet he had been content to object the servitude of a birthright placed upon him. His services had been offered to Alexander only because he needed the other man, much as it pained him to admit it, as for the others he possessed no inclination to assist them nor spend any time with them and yet their methods of 'persuasion' never failed to disappoint him. It was...begrudging he supposed, to admit that a rope was perhaps still the most efficient method of stopping a horse and yet even despite the strength of his particular attacker tonight he had proven stronger once more, the lasso trailing behind him in the dark as large, feathered hooves beat a steady rhythm upon the pavement as the heavy stallion proceeded to trot in the direction of his home having finally shaken his persuaders for the evening.

His pale form however remains lathered in sweat, darker patches clear upon his neck and flanks and about his ears, nostrils flaring with each step from the sheer effort he had been forced to display as his pace finally slows, the echo of unshod hooves falling silent as the towering war horse pauses beneath the nearest street lamp in an effort to gather his bearings. He rarely comes to this side of town, his animal form....significantly more noticeable here then within the parks of the South or empty warehouses of the west and yet he had been limited for choice this evening in his escape, forced into more unfamiliar parts of town. A snort echoes from the giant creature, head tossed, sending that thick white mane askew as that ever-present forelock tumbles back upon his features to shield the violet of his gaze from view, equally thick tail lashing at his sides as he steps down and onto the street once more. One heavy hoof lands against the rope still trailing from his neck, momentarily jerking the stallion to a halt- the ever obstinate man refusing to move for several moments, despite the pressure the tightens about his neck before he is forced to step sideways in an effort to detangle himself and begin to walk once more.

He will return to his human form soon enough, the change from a creature so large, a draft breed no less- back to a relatively small human is no easy feat and perhaps a single weakness for the man aside from his loathing for cramped spaces. He is vulnerable in a change and sees no need to attempt such a thing until he returns to his own territory. If he must walk home avoiding well-meaning humans attempting to return him to a stable then so be it. The sudden pounding of feet however sees the stallion pivot almost wildly in place, ears lacing back against his skull, neck arching as hooves strike again at the earth- prepared entirely to take on the Hunter he believes may well still be following. His night has been less than impressive so far, his patience worn thin, a flicker of movement caught within the periphery of his vision all the stallion requires as each muscle coils and releases with explosive force, both hind legs launched suddenly and violently backwards in a kick at the jogging vampire rounding the corner, an unfortunate case of mistaken identity. Dareios attempts to appear 'alive' evidently efficient enough to convince the Werehorse his pursuers still followed......





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