Sacrosanct contains four distinct neighborhoods, each with their own specific kind of houses and residents. Explore our districts, view lists of our citizens and enjoy our block parties!
What You'll Find Here
Anacosta Heights
Dupont Circle
Hawethorn Village
River Dale
Anacosta Heights
Situated above the daily life of the city, Anacosta Heights is a tucked away suburb featuring extravagant neo-gothic inspired mansions. The inhabitants of this neighborhood often show their overwhelming wealth with sports cars lining their long, circular driveways, large pools, and manicured gardens. The homeowners of Anacosta Heights treasure their privacy as seen by the high iron gates to the security personnel present at every entrance.
Dupont Circle
Dupont Circle is a small suburban neighborhood settled within the serene portion of the southern portion of town. These four-bedroom, single-family homes feature back yards, porches, garages, and far more breathing space then the Village offers. This neighborhood often is more family orientated and even has organized events for children and the neighborhood as a whole.
Hawethorn Village
Settled in the middle of downtown, Hawthorn Village consists of several victorian inspired row houses just off the main street. Due to it's convenience to just about everything, the village can be a tad expensive to live within. However, the residents of this neighborhood often have two to three-story townhouses, often with a one to two-car garage. Many of the houses feature bay windows and/or rooftop terraces with a small fenced-in 'yard'.
River Dale
River Dale primarily consists of apartments that, despite their age and industrial appearing interior, still hold to the Victorian history that permeates the town. These apartments are often the cheapest option and sport scuffed, older wooden floors, open floor plans, visible beams, and the occasional brick wall.
save your breath it's far from over
Posted on November 22, 2014 by Alekai Evero
 It is his own kind, Hunters, he thinks, that are perhaps the most mysterious of the species that litter this world. Perhaps his own kind rarely holds abilities of illusion such as the man before him or any manner of mysterious creation and yet there is a....mentality of sorts that seems permeate within his own breed, one shared on occasion by the vampire race and yet it seemed rarer still in the leeches of the night. There was a unique...apathy to the Hunter race, something deeper and more potent than a mere depression or momentary bad day. Azrael has lost count of the times he has seen it in those around him, in the occasional Council member or older Hunter he passes upon the street. It is stronger, deeper, more violent than any mere swing of mood and it is this mentality that the young man both fear and prays for all at once. Detachment. It is far more common in the older Hunters then the young, the ones who have been around for hundreds, if not even thousands of years, somehow having managed to survive, driven over and over by that need for self-preservation and a desire to do as instinct commands and yet one by one it eventually seems to finally falter. They stop caring. As if they simply...become exhausted of living, as if they just cannot be bothered to fight anymore. So many times he has felt like this himself, wondered if it would not just be far easier to let an agitated Were of violent Witch merely end this existence for him and yet time and time again some part of him simply will not allow it, that...drive refusing to falter or bow, that need to live rallying over and over and yet time and again the blonde man wonders when the day will come in which it doesn't, when he simply stands and lets someone or something run a blade through him. After all, what did he have left to care for? Who did he have left? Such thoughts so often plague his own mind, images of so many he had once called friend flickering behind the beauteous gold of his gaze- along with the images of their deaths, one after the other, either by accident or simply because, in the case of two of those he had been closest to- they had simply stopped caring. They wanted to die and it is a fear of this detachment and yet eventually hope for such a thing that often sees the blondes thoughts cast askew. This life was a death sentence, a prolonged and eternal walk to an eventual guillotine. Perhaps it would be easier to simply just...stop and yet...maybe it is senseless pride or ego or simply a drive to be just as he was in his human life- hard working, determined and so ridiculously sttuborn a mule would be well challenged against him- that sees the man wishing for apathy, wishing not to care and yet finding himself doomed to do so regardless- destined to kill over and over again and then forced to feel something about it. It is perhaps this sense of indecision that exists somewhere within him that is Davante's saviour tonight, the irritable Hunter not totally devoid of every emotion, assuring that while his assaults are violent, capable entirely of killing, some tiny part of himself is....restrained, holding back, if only because that infuriating black-haired woman seems to...value this pathetic excuse of a living being with a name better suited to a homosexual hairdresser. Seriously, Davante? What was that? His barrage of assaults finds pause only as movement to his side sees the hunter shift in place, amber eyes flicking towards the suddenly possessed set of dresser drawers that lunge towards him, a hiss of sorts running between his teeth as another beam of light is summoned, twisted, flicked and shaped into a sword that he wields with the easy grace of someone whom has given to hold a blade before, neatly slicing the left side draws into two, letting them shatter to the floor- the right side however has come faster than he had anticipated- his hand crafted light saber of sorts managing to shatter only part of the solid wood before the rest was given to collide against him, something akin to a grunt forced from his lips as the taste of his own blood was spat free, a rush of speed seeing him lunge sideways. Wound and injury are hardly unfamiliar, one hand sweeping absentmindedly as his splinter-ridden left arm, wiping away the specks of blood that dance to the surface, his race equipped with a natural healing, one far faster than any humans that has already begun to see the damage rapidly begin to repair. That is not to say however, that the blossoming of pain from the impact does not effect him, mind momentarily distracted by this as the warlock seemed to manage to find an answer to his earlier words meant to goad him, the other man posing his own question- on the metaphorical Angel answer without thought. I would never willingly hurt or extort a woman, Azrael. Can you say the same? "No." The suddenness of his own answer is given to surprise even him, amber eyes widening ever so slightly at this realisation, the Hunter given to possesses a...weakness of sorts when forced into the wake of direct questions, even more so when his min is preoccupied and allowed to move his lips unchecked, this momentary slip easily shrugged aside. It was true enough, he supposed and whether Davante knew such a thing hardly mattered. He has killed hundreds of women of all species- willingly harmed them and that alone renders such a question incapable of being answered dishonestly. He never was a very good liar and yet, he rarely needed to be- the truth was often a far more painful tool of extraction, his desire to allow the warlock to speak again rapidly diminishing as that second spear of light seemed to slam into the other mans side in a manner Azrael found almost satisfying. It is the mention of the woman and child that had been revealed in Davante's past that so seemed to infuriate the warlock- this an evident nerve exposed to the surface that for now, Azrael is content to tug at. He is hardly above such things, there is little honour in this life, he buried his dead, r burned them and that alone is the sole rite the man is willing to offer his victims. They would not spear him, given the chance, so he will not spare them the hurt- physical or otherwise he is capable of throwing against them. Maybe this is enough to finally convince the damn warlock to just stay down, these tortured memories of the past- evidently not and yet, perhaps tonight Azrael hardly cares, perhaps he is glad for a reason to continue to throw his energy at the man he has decided is to blame for all society's ills tonight. The sudden, sickening crack of wood sees the Hunter's gaze lifted sharply upward, one hanging beam above seeming to hover momentarily. "Don't you fucking dare-." The words had barely parted his lips before the beam fell, the ground beneath him giving way within the same moment, the warlocks rage at having this tender memory brought to the forefront of his brain evidently having unlocked another level of the mans power, Azrael barely having a moment to curse once more before he was scent plunging into the darkness of the basement below, loosening his own frame as much as possible to brace against the impact of the concrete floor- reaching for that outlet within the same moment, his own power exploding outward to ensnare the warlock in a violent electrocution in the same moments he was given to collide with the floor, attempting to land and roll as much as possible and yet the sickening crack of something else, followed by the momentary pain that follows indicates that something is broken. For half a moment the man is left very near winded upon the floor, the vast majority of pain seeming to echo from his right foot, that the most likely sight of the break he has endured and yet the crash of the following beam seems to wake the Hunter from his fall-induced stupor mere second later, both hands thrust before him to admit a dazzling beam of light that fires like a laser, incinerating the beam as it comes, nothing but ashes left to rain down upon him as Azrael momentarily seems to struggle to come to terms with the extent of his own power, never before having emitted anything so....potent. It was merely unfortunate he hardly had the time to enjoy it, lifting to his feet once more, ignoring the pain of his right foot to leap upward and catch part of the hanging rope from before, hoisting himself back up and onto Davante's bedroom floor just in time to witness just how much the other man appreciated electricity. Weaknesses were so often far easier to find then strengths, this relatively simple one bringing a simper to the blondes lips as he considers the man collapsed at his feet once more, his own weight held decidedly more upon his left side- for now. How did it feel? "Satisfying." It was, once more, hardly a lie, his own power extending to reach for those electric light waves once more, capable of abusing them only as long as the power to the building remained. "I don't need to know you to punish you- your one of them, that alone is enough to condemn you are far as I'm concerned." It was an offhanded comment, a dismissive flick of his wrist offered in time with the proffered words to display the callousness with which they were spoken. Davante was a warlock, an...unholy species and that alone placed a target upon him. "You have too much power for your own good, you need to stay quiet, shut up and keep your abilities and your ridiculous fucking ego to yourself. Now- can you manage that, Davante?" He simply let that power flow once more, releasing it, sending another wave through the mans body, letting him writhe once more upon the floor before cutting it off, letting him breath...barely. "This is your only warning, keep your abilities within that little shop of yours. We don't like your kind getting...showy. Alright? Is that a yes or am I going to have to keep doing this? I'm sure all the people you killed back in your own country don't think you paid for what you did, it's not nearly so fun being on the other end now is it?" Necessary interrogation? No. But the bastard broke his damn foot. Maybe he'd have the sense to stay down this time.... |
Replies
- Count the bodies like sheep - By Davante Dorian on December 03, 2014 at 12:28 PM
- and he said burn baby burn - By Alekai Evero on December 06, 2014 at 5:07 PM
- It must be that old evil spirit - By Davante Dorian on December 08, 2014 at 8:33 AM
- show me where forever dies - By Alekai Evero on December 11, 2014 at 5:12 PM
- Don't fret precious, I'm here - By Davante Dorian on December 12, 2014 at 5:58 PM