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.
and he said burn baby burn
Posted on December 06, 2014 by Alekai Evero
 He had been able, for even a moment, to gleam the thoughts of the warlock before him, the striking blonde man may well have been inclined to actually laugh at the tangle of thoughts Davante was given to attempt to un-puzzle in regards to themselves and the woman whom seemed to have, as women so often do, place herself at the centre of their own disagreement. Had he captured Davante's thoughts in regards to that fractured and age old saying 'let the better man win' Azrael was entirely sure he would have broken into a torrent of chuckles. It would be a relief really, it's been far to long since he actually found something funny. Maybe he never was really cut out for this life, some people simply are not, maybe he had simply made a batter show of it over the years- pretending as he so often did that everything was fine, that he could handle this sort of existence, so oblivious to toll it had taken on him year after year after year. Maybe some survived, hell, he had met Hunters hundreds of years old and yet so many of them were simply...shells, nothing, whatever emotions they had once had simply drained and gone by a life spent killing over and over for a purpose even Azrael isn't entirely assured he understands. Let the better man win- well, there was very little of himself he felt was even remotely salvageable in regards to that, not a single part of him truly capable of being defined as better then the creature before him save for perhaps his more appealing physical looks, looks that simply will never change, caught entirely in this single period of time. At least Davante would have the pleasure of growing older, then again, perhaps the warlock would hardly live much longer then the next few hours, Azrael truly hasn't decided yet. There is something oddly satisfying about finding this other mans single weak point, exposing this evident topic of conversation that so seemed to enrage him suitably enough to satisfy the blonde Hunters own perhaps sadistic nature, one he rarely allows to be seen, one he has fought against so vehemently in some effort to retain his own humanity and yet one he is rapidly seeing less and less a reason to cling to. Maybe the veritable dark side was better, maybe it was easier, maybe those other Hunters lived so very long simply because they turned off those emotions and merely existed as some pathetic shadow of their former selves. Eighty years and he was already falling apart- how long would he truly survive for, without shutting that away? For now however, he is content to revel in this new found torture, merely letting Davante seethe a few moments with the careful placement of his own words, lobbing painful memory after memory at the man simply because he could- before the warlock seemed to have found and seized upon his own veritable loophole. Any hope the Hunter maintained in regards to his own slip of the tongue is rather suddenly dashed by the next pointed question the magician seems content to throw at him, those golden eyes narrowing darkly once more in the weak of the light spear that seers into the warlocks flesh- as if he has yet again failed to understand the lesson Azrael is content enough to teach. Shut up. For a moment there is yet another pregnant pause that seems to exist between the duelling me, Azrael weakness dictating a...level of guilt of sorts, one he simply cannot explain, one that commands truth in answer to question and yet that hardly means he is obligated to offer any answer at all, lips remaining firmly sealed now as if he has no true desire to actually respond- nor does he have to, the words that come perhaps...surprising that they are offered at all and yet for half a moment they are very near a relief to pass his lips at last. "Propriety has nothing to do with it. Nor have I ever said anything about adoring her." The barest hint of a smirk somehow manages to find his lips, Davante's question answered and entirely with truth- or a shaded version of it. Truth, after all, has far more then one side, so many years with such a deformity having resulted in the Hunters rather masterful manipulation of it, offering only the parts of the truth he felt remained entirely useless to the Warlock to receive. Angels, after all, are infamous for their 'half-truths' yet another of the reasons behind the moniker he has adorned for so long. It is the break in the floor and his subsequent return to the landing some moments later, his left foot fractured and rather more painful then he cares to admit, that sees that smirk disappear, the sudden launch of steel bed posts yet another problem to be faced- his speed reduced in those moments as he merely calls upon his secondary power, a sudden blast of light twisting about his own form as a shield of sorts, deflecting several of the spears and yet this is a newer power, one he has not yet mastered entirely, a power as fickle and bad tempered as it's wielder that sees the man unable to deflect nor effectively dodge that final steel spear- Davante's efforts rewarded by the blood the rushes to the surface from the laceration to his side, a hissing curse spat somewhere into the darkness before those golden eyes find his injured assailant once more, the warlock attempting a rather impressive display in an attempt to exaggerate his own health- one Azrael merely remains content to ignore now- feeling for those fingers of electricity again. His own wounds would heal, a lacerated side, some splinters and a fractured foot were hardly the worst he has ever endured the adrenaline within his frame and frustration with the man before him content to blur much of this pain for now- injures he would feel in the coming days to be sure. It is the next barrage of questions however that see what remains of the lighting in the room begin to flicker with this new spike in his agitation. He loathes being questioned, especially by some vile little creature like the one before him. Azzy. Sera was the only one who ever used that same, an almost playful calling that saw golden eyes slice towards him once more. "Fate gave me the right to judge the day it took my helpless little human life from me, a life I adored. You were born what you are, as you say, I was made and not with my permission- so I figure I have as much right to judge as the person who made me had as much right not to let me die when I should have. Just like the creature that was responsible for what happened to me that day. Your wretched kind ruined my life- I have every right to judge for that." There is something so entirely bitter in those words, a venom not aimed at Davante at all, one so very deep seated and age old, a battle within himself the blonde man has fought for years in some effort to come to terms with his near death that day- and his subsequent survival, if only to be handed this....curse. "Your right, your ego isn't the least of my problems- you are." One hand simply lifts, slowly now, the orb of light within it starkly different to any he has used thus fur. It is deeper, heavier, a white gold that radiates a level of power entirely unnatural now- a potent creation far more dangerous than anything else within the room despite its small size, energy radiating thickly from it. It simply moves to hover within his hand, a delicate wave, almost like a dismissal of sorts sending that orb flicking across the room and straight towards the warlock- moved in that last possible moment to collide with the sidetable and lamp beside the bed, a mere flicker, a spark erupting from it- before a near blinding explosion of light ensares much of the room, the Hunters gaze loosely averted to prevent damage from the blinding white light that erupts, the darkness of the room hurriedly returning to reveal the entirely incinerated table and lamp, nothing by ash raining down about the fallen warlock. "If I wanted you dead, Davante- you would be dead." He simply nods towards the raining ash, this mere fraction of his power frightening....even to him and one he has never yet used on another, this merely a display, a promise of what is to come as the man shifts slightly to lean against what remains of the wall of Davantes room. "You and your ego have missed the point entirely of why I am here. Consider this your only warning, Davante, show off your abilities to much and the Council will notice you, they will send far worse than me to come for you. You need to stay quiet, your display at that party wasn't unnoticed and for some fucking reason I cannot possibly imagine.......Sera.....likes you and I don't want to deal with some inconsolable women when you die, alright? Just lay low for a little while and do us all a favour, do you understand what I am telling you? Stop- just...don't say anything until you've actually given your little mind thirty seconds to process it before you go rabbiting on, so help me god if what passes your lips next is sarcastic I will electrocute you again. I won't kill you tonight but I didn't say I won't hurt you. I attacked you because I don't like you, I am letting you live and I am warning you- because.....Sera seems to like you and I don't like crying women." His own healing capabilities were already beginning to work, moving to heal his injured side and broken foot, the man continuing to lean against the wall seemingly no longer content to continue attempting to bloody the other man- at least for now, the warning he came to deliver having been done, shoulders rolling in a shrug of sorts. Why he even bothered he hardly knows, he hardly wanted Sera's thanks for attempting to extend the life of her...companion and yet maybe in some near miniscule fashion....her determination had paid off, in some regard, the life of one warlock potentially saved because a raven-haired women had bothered and harassed a blonde Hunter into...caring about something, even if he had beaten it up a little first. |
Replies
- 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