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 are sinking through the night; any


Posted on March 23, 2017 by Karou
West Reopen Thread
karou

Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder and then quieter as the car speeds through the metal jungle. Karou's head tilts slightly towards the noise. Her eyes, dark as the star-strewn sky, peer out from beneath her wave of dark, dark hair. The night shadow bathes it almost to black, but for the orange glow of the streetlamps that set it to burn like embers upon coal.

The bright red and blue of fleeing lights reflect upon dark of her eyes. She tracks the police car from her crouch upon the shipping container and only returns her gaze to her quarry when the lights are gone and the sirens are faded.

Slowly, silently, tiger-sly and gazelle-light, Karou creeps forward upon the container. The tinkle of laughter, young and naïve, pierces her heart and the hunter breathes â€" in, out, slowly, slowly â€" she would end this now, tonight. Footsteps hurry, the click of heels chiming with the heavy fall of trainers. Tangled together, the creature and his lover tumble into the open.

The shadows cast from the lofty towers of contains swallow Karou's small frame and into them she sinks. Her light begs to play across her skin, hungry to pulse out, to dash the darkness and bathe the vampire in white, white light. The gazelle-girl coos to her power softly, her fingers clenched as if upon reins; her power is a flighty, wayward beast. Karou placates it gently, setting it to drink all light about her, to plunge her more and more into the welcoming black.

Oh she is a shadow he will not see coming. She will be his arrow in the dark.

Her preparing breath steams out across the cold metal beneath her. As nimble as a cat, Karou is suddenly standing, her bow released and an arrow lying upon her fingers, drawn and ready. With little more than a whisper, the arrow is loosed, finding its target with an ominously soft, wet thunk.

Slowly, her bow lowers, dark eyes watching, grimly, as the creature falls. Tentatively Karou waits â€" oh how she waits! - with her stomach fluttering, hoping to feel anything from her soul but that vacant, gaping numbness. It has become her unwelcome bed fellow - a faceless partner that is so slowly swallowing her as readily as a black hole would a sun.

Alas, there is but nothing.

Her lips tighten, the dread of her impassivity tearing at her heart. Karou's breath when it comes now is fluttery and light, filled with sadness and remorse â€" not for the vampire, even as she lets her power pour out, light flooding upon him and his girl until, with a terrible cry he passes into the ether as little more than dust and ash. No, her sadness, her remorse is for herself. Her heart is a wound she cannot fix and until her soul feels the pain of death again Karou is doomed to bleed and bleed.

Away from the girl's cries, the hunter turns, her strides still silent and gazelle-light. Upon the ground, she is but a stride away from the crate, when a shadow looms. Light rushes forward, hungry, keen, desperate to bathe her adversary in righteous sunlight but back, back, Karou pushes it, slipping further into shadow until she is upon the figure. Her knife lies snug across their throat, her chest to their back as the black of her hair caresses their cheek. "Do not follow me. It is polite to ask." She murmurs, each breath as hot as coals across their skin.


Replies