West

The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a grunginess 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, and often let the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

What You'll Find Here

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

Black Market

Just like any city - Sacrosanct is not without it's deep, dark underbelly. Hidden in the graffiti-ridden streets of the West, behind closed warehouse doors, lies the Black Market. Forever moving, it's nearly impossible to find without knowing someone who knows someone. Anything you desire can be brought for a hefty price within the Black Market - be it drugs, weapons, or lives.

What You'll Find Here

Edge of the Circle

Cull & Pistol

Hidden within the dark alleyways of the Western Ward, Cull & Pistol is a dim, often smoky bar. With a small variety of bottled and craft beers, Cull & Pistol is a quaint little neighborhood joint. With its no-frills moto, the dingy bar offers little more than liquor, music from an old jukebox, and a few frequently occupied pool tables.

Bartender Raylin Chike

Noah's Ark

Resting upon the harbor, Noah's Ark (known simply as The Ark) is a sleek superyacht known both for its fight rings and recent...renovations, of sorts. 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. Note: This is a Were only establishment. All other species will be swiftly escorted out.
Home of: Nightshade

Owner Aiden Tetradore

Co-owner Tobias Cain
Bar Manager Mira Ramos
Bartender Henry Tudor
Waitress Carolina Bedford

Syn

Within the turbulent industrial district lies this club. The warehouse doesn't look like much on the outside but it provides a memorable experience from the state of the art lighting, offbeat Victorian-inspired artwork, comfortable black leather lounges, and the infamous 'black light' room. There is a wide variety of alcohol that lines the shelves of both of the magical and ordinary variety. It is a common stomping ground for the supernatural who want to let loose and dance the night away to the music that floods the establishment. Humans are most welcome if they dare.

Owner Risque Voth

Manager Darcy Blackjack
Cats Aiden Tetradore
Cats Harlequin Westward

we're hell raising and we don't need saving


Posted on July 11, 2016 by ASKAREE
West

Askaree Bint Bahar


She would make it a point of marked importance to discuss with Davante the quality of his contacts and how really fucking old it was getting having to bully grown-ass "men" into not being sniveling idiots and attempting to pull the wool over her eyes. How many egos need be decimated before the gentlemen of the populace came to know that being in possession of a vagina did not automatically and irrefutably make her some sort of drooling moron? Dav was going to have to up the ante and actually provide some errand worthy of the time and... well not necessarily energy this was monopolizing. Jostling the fuck-boys from whom he was buying whatever inevitably useless crap this was was becoming rather irksome.

The brim of her impeccable and plush lips perks, owing a lopsided grin that is nonetheless stunning and, it could not be denied, darkly sensuous. So the Kitten King did have a sense of humor, nodding to the inkling that he may not be the stone-faced bore that the Beiber-boy had illustrated. It would not have been the first time the scrawny half-wit had whistled a plume of hot air from that perpetually-open spout of his. During the whopping two encounters she had suffered through, Askaree had come to the quite accurate conclusion that Frost was deeply, madly in love with his own fucking voice. That and the Egyptian wench had a nagging, burning desire to take a weed-whacker to his glorified bowl cut.

"Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn't it," she lilted in that exotically foreign tongue as she sauntered around the lounging monarch to cast her shadow upon the threshold of the makeshift infirmary. "Unless, that is, you have something more entertaining to do around here than watch your little slap-fights down in that chicken coop? You can't tell me that doesn't get terribly old night after night... hmmm?"



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