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
death is mine, i know
Posted on August 03, 2014 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
isolt griffin
Had Isolt been the one gifted with the ability to see what could otherwise not have been seen, to hear the innermost and desperately guarded secrets that constituted the thoughts of others, she would still have found herself wholly unsurprised by the thinly shrouded arrogance that seemed the chosen veil of the Hunter before her. More than a few wayward members of their species had meandered into Syn in the darkest hours of the eve, their confident gaits and practiced nonchalance even in the presence of those far more powerful than they speaking to the arrogance that time and blood had purchased for them. And yet even through the permeating and billowing smog of the woman's hubris there lingers not the overbearing threat of violence that is the cliché of most Hunters.
The young auburn-crowned girl's attempts at amiability are met only with sarcasm, spat back into her face as so much venom from a vengeful mouth. Her only desire had been to perpetrate the order of her "guardian" in the hopes that she might find herself bereft the barbaric caress of his hands in the earlier hours of the morn, that she might somehow earn even a modicum of quietude and sanctuary from the heinous uproar that was Syn's trademark. It should not have surprised the young vampire that even the seemingly simplistic task of proffering up adequate distraction to this singular individual would have been complicated by the barriers of ego. "Maybe if they thought you didn't require a babysitter I wouldn't have to be here. And you're welcome to sniff him out if you'd like... this isn't exactly how I wanted to spend my evening either." The words tumble from betwixt the blushed pillows of her lips before Isolt is fully aware that she has spoken them, her tone ringing with a far grander degree of assertive fervor than she had initially anticipated. And yet... she does not find herself shrinking as some lowly violet in the face of her assertion; instead she simply allows the oceanic blue of her eyes to look on to this woman who would discard her so readily.
Suspicion taints the purity of her gaze at what might have otherwise been a request marked by its simplicity. Though a great many things about this new afterlife might have remained an enigma to the newly-turned vampire, she found confidence in the axiomatic certainty that she desired nothing less than she desired to gift this Hunter her moniker in this moment. However, rather than refuse outright the demure young redhead settles for something far less abrasive. "Only if I get to know yours." The consideration is a fleeting one as the brunette reaches for her, deceptively supple fingertips coiling briefly into the gossamer strands of Isolt's crimson locks. The demure redhead shifts away from this unwelcomed caress, death and the experiences that have come thereafter having planted within her the seed of doubt for any caress. Physical touch does not proffer up the comfort, the warmth, that it had so often before; instead, she regarded even this would-be innocent action with suspicion. She would not be fooled so readily again by the soft touch of a stranger. Peeved, the young woman's brow draws into shallow furrows as she offers a soft, nearly whispered response. "Who is?"
