South
The southern part of the city has a chic family-oriented sort of charm to it. Here, small locally owned shops run rampant, neighbors often know each other by name, and the monthly socials are an event not to be missed. In the South, children can often be seen safely playing in the park or on sidewalks and in the weekends, families often take to the beach to enjoy the warm waters surrounding the city.
What You'll Find Here
Ascension Center of Equitation
Hyde Park
Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium
The Outskirts
The University of Sacrosanct
Here kitty, kitty, kitty...
Posted on February 20, 2022 by Bjorn Larsen
Bjørn walks slowly toward the thick grove of trees that lays just beyond the bridge to the city. The man had spent the night out in the woods, tracking a killer were-creature. When word had reached the hunter's ears of a were-beast ripping apart humans that had wandered too far away from the city, Bjørn had quickly left behind the warmth of his townhouse to track and put down the beast. It has been sunset when he had thrown on his gray hoodie, opting to add his favorite faux leather jacket over it. Pulling on his fleece lined, black pants and lacing up the well-worn, scuffed work boots, Bjørn had slung the scabbard with his silver sword over his shoulder and set out to hunt.
As the stars shone bright and the moon watched overhead, the hunter worked his way over the bridge into were-territory. The forest had a life of its own, eyes watched him from the shadows and Bjørn stayed on high alert the whole time. Danger was a constant out here, especially for a hunter. Still he did not give up his task. He found the trail. A dismembered, recently killed woman lead him to the were-dog. A large black mastiff had squared off with him and, when Bjørn had slid his silver sword out of its home, the fight began. The dog was not as well trained as the hunter, the disparity in skill levels quickly became evident. It only took five minutes to put down the rabid were and the hunter puffed out a relieved sigh.
Wiping his sword clean of the blood, Bjørn returned the instrument of death to its home, the scabbard tied tightly across his back. The trek to the city was longer then he had realized and it isn't until late afternoon that the bridge comes into view. Letting out a long sigh of relief, the cold man walks over to a nearby tree and sinks down to the ground. The intermittent sunlight that had broken through the cloud cover was not enough to offer him true warmth and his muscles ache from the chill that has settled in his bones. Leaning his back against the tree's trunk, Bjørn rests and tries to warm up... even if only for a moment.
Cheeks red from the stinging wind, Bjørn pulls his ungloved hands up to his mouth and puffs out his warm breath into them. The skin stings and tingles as his breath hits it and he puffs out a few more breathes before vigorously rubbing his hands together. As the nerves in his fingertips start to awaken, Bjørn stretches the frozen digits, going through simple dexterity exercise with them. Once done, he unzips his jacket and shoves his hands into the front pouch of his hoodie. Leaning his head back against the trunk, Bjørn closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh into the cold afternoon air.