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
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
THEY SAY IM A GOD
Posted on May 19, 2017 by IÓRKÆLL DVÆRG
Magic.
Its real and yet the viking does not believe in it. Not to say he does not think it exists but merely to say he does not find that it is true. He has had his fair share of run ins with the magical beasts of this world. He has had his fair share of curses and bewitchments, of spells and enchantments. His run ins with witches haven't been, lets just say, pleasant ones and although the Utlagi already had a witch in their midst, he found he was becoming more and more wary the longer they stayed. He would leave it to magnus to handle what sort of damage the girl would do. He on the other hand would avoid it.
Yet here he was again, face to face with the brewer.
She is moving now, hand reaching towards his wounds and eliciting a vicious growl. His own thick hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around slender wrists in one swift and rough motion. He holds her for a second, fingers hovering above his wound as his eyes narrow at her. He knows of her intentions, and it is why he does not wish for her touch. He relishes in his wounds, in the blood that oozes from cuts and stains his already stained flesh. Scars mix into his tattoos like lovers and he embraces them. He does not need a witch to take this pleasure away from him. He holds her hand there for a moment, silence breaking between them before finally he pulls her fingers to his wound, feeling his skin crawl at her touch. Goosebumps rise with the healing sensation and then he side steps from her.
That was enough of that.
He moves beside her to the crates there, coming to rest upon them and lift thick fingers to brush along his healed shoulder as a smirk forms on his bearded lips. She speaks to him, her voice mocking and eliciting a snort of sorts. The king leans back, legs outstretched and hands intertwining behind his head as he gives her a lazy sideways glance. Those blue eyes flashing dangerously. "hmm, it would seem so. he entertains her thought, her idea, though he doesn't believe it. Magic. Just a cramp, "I prefer to bear the scars of war, to remind me of my errors so I do not do them again." he responds simply, thick voice heavy with a slight ache. He was homesick, sometimes. "are you expecting a thank you, witch?" his lips quirk behind that beard, scarred face turning to face her fully now. "you should be thanking me, no one has healed me before." it was bold of her to attempt to touch him, and he doubts regan would have been okay with such a thing occurring between them.
"Tell me," he muses, leaning forward now and resting forearms on wide spread knees. "How much money do you make out here doing this," head jests to her cart, eyebrow arching as one hand comes up to stroke his beard.
He might have use for her after all.
Replies
- do not falter; the darkness approaches - By sorcha on May 24, 2017 at 6:43 PM