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

The Wretched and Devine [Serafina]


Posted on March 22, 2019 by Atticus Trevigne
West


He still loved the scent of the moonlight. And there was a scent wasn't there? A delirious floral perfume that ebbed and flowed through incandescent curtains of ghostly rondure. He still loved the taste of the midnight sky, abysmal and everlasting. A flavor akin to a seductive aged red wine as it lingered upon the precipice of a puckered lip. The darkness was a sultry melting pot of flavor and desire... a song whose notes were so decadently sweet he could not keep himself from it... could not deny giving himself over to it so completely he would lose his sanity to it, and anything else it desired of him. He was a slave to the evanescent grandeur of it all, a willing acolyte to such madness, to such hunger. And oh, how he loved to dance to that psychotic song that rung so loudly in his corrupted mind. He was helpless to it, and so naturally he did not fight this allure of insanity and delicious madness.


So yes, he still loved this life that had become him, transformed him. And so why then had he pulled that anchor up from the depths of the Gulf whose briny waters were as warm and inviting as any southern gentleman? Only to drift here in these foreign black currents whose midnight tides were a bitter stranger to his senses. No scent of gumbo on the breeze, no fishing boats whose bellies were laden with the spoils of a long day of shrimping. New Orleans had given birth to both of his lives, and she would always be the mother he called home. But something had begun spinning and twisting and lulling him from his comforts. He was a young vampire, a childe of blood for a mere thirty-six years, but a drop in the bucket for their kind. So, the itch which began as mere curiosity had become an obsession. For once he did not crave delicious flavor of a voluptuous creole woman. Nor the exquisite essence of a Cajun boy from one of the local parishes. The allure of the new, the unconquered, the exotic... it played upon his mind like so many piano notes. And so, his boat now anchored just off the coast waited on bated breath for him as he lurked through the umbra, cloaked in inky danger and frenzied psychosis.


There was something eminently modern about this strange city, and yet in its bosom, there were the memoirs of ancient relics. And that was only what he had assessed upon the surface. An outstretched hand of soft porcelain, cold as death, reached out before him, tracing the skyline that unfolded before him, as though he would sketch it. But lead and wood upon simple parchment could not accurately depict what he felt from those silhouettes. And as his balance steadied against the old weather-worn post along the seaside port, he could not deny the chill of excitement that exploded like fireworks down his spine. Fangs that shown like daggers against his pale lips yearned to be stained with a symphony of vermillion and yet this creature of sordid midnight held himself back. The refracted light of a flickering lamppost cast shifting spectrums across the oiled black leather of his coat as he rolled his shoulders... nearly shivering with anticipation. He was starving, and the echoes of madness where beginning to dance around his head again. Whispering... always whispering of unearthly delights... And all he could do was smirk and run those long boney fingers through his jet-black hair as his tongue drew moisture across his lips. Damn if it wasn't a good night to be alive... or better yet, undead.










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