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
me and the devil, walking side by side
Posted on July 03, 2017 by ASKAREE
askaree
There was nothing quite so bizarrely erotic as the metallic twinge of freshly-spilt blood as it curled its wantonly suggestive finger against her nose. No overpriced designer musk, no amount of man-made pheromone, had ever succeeded in arousing her quite as vehemently as this. Surely it was a reflection, an homage, of her basal self and the deluge of sordid yearnings inherent in what she was. That... or maybe she just thoroughly enjoyed watching brawny men beat the living shit out of one other whilst simultaneously pondering whether or not they were even half as beastly in the sack. Askaree had, ever so studiously, done the leg-work on that particular hypothesis and the unfortunate truth was an absolute and resounding no. Such a pity, that. Alas, the Egyptian woman found a far more profitable and fulfilling use of her time in her forays into the ring with the barbaric lads, the falsely delicate slopes of her knuckles baring the angry blush and crimson scrapes of a recent battle.
Tonight, however, she is naught more than an onlooker, the pockets of her worn leather jacket lined generously with the night's easy winnings. Collecting yet another roll of crinkled bills from one of a series of nameless, faceless patrons does Askaree turn towards the yellowed halo of light against the far wall, a beacon for those seeking in vain to sate the unquenchable thirst. It was time, yet again, to press teasingly against the bounderies of what her liver could withstand; that and perhaps pilfer from the contemptible scum someone who might tickle her fancy for the next half hour until she was far too plastered to give a hot god damn what (or, rather, who) she would be doing for the remainder of the evening.
It is nearly serpentine, the manner in which Askaree slithers and weaves betwixt the pulsing mass of bodies to carve a place for herself at the crud-caked bartop, the curtain of dark brunette locks that flows over one shoulder glistening even beneath the dusty yellow lamps swinging precariously overhead. Swiftly and easily does she reach beyond the bar to clasp at a bottle of chilled ale, the theft itself lost in the rambunctious commotion of the swaying crowd and the barkeep who seemed far more absorbed in servicing his own carnal yearnings than the thirsts of his tempermental patrons. A shifting beside her lures Askaree's attention to the gentleman at her side, the odor of his primal self greeting her even before she catches a glimpse of him in the furthest corner of her eye. Another fucking cat. What the hell was it with this city and its infestation of felines? Was there catnip growing out of the cracks in the damn sidewalk?
Ah well, at least he was modestly decent looking, at least from the angle she was currently alotted, the distressed massaging of his temples causing the barest pitching of a single, expertly-manicured brow. Not all was as it should be in the Kitty Kingdom, it would seem. "Penny for your thoughts," she cooes, barely turning her head so that she might fix him with a sidelong glance, a tenebrific darkness skating along the helixes of her chocolate eyes as she regards him.