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.
Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn
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.
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
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
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
It was rare, in every sense, that Darcy found any need to linger in this part of the West. The territory stunk of Were. That animalistic odour as thick and heady as the salt air itself and the mist that clung to the water surface like an unholy sheen. The vampiric man lingered in the shadows of that Ark. The beloved boat Tetradore called home. What a perfect fool that panther was. Hiding away in his boat as if he believed, somehow, that it might protect him from Risque or even Darcy himself. Why he retreated back to that floating fighting ring every night Darcy hardly knew and yet by that same token he was glad to see the little dolt leave. Tetradore's presence was....a distraction to his Lover. She felt and....affection for the Panther. Twisted and perverse though it surely was. One Darcy himself was unwilling to tolerate. His patience for the other man paper thin and growing weaker and weaker by the day. His respect for Risque's wishes the only thing standing between himself and his desire to ring Tetradore's very neck. What a glorious battle it would be too. That Panther was no longer a mere boy. He was something worth fighting. Worth eliminating. He was a threat even if Darcy had long since suspected he hardly aimed to be as such. That disdain between them only grew deeper and deeper over those years until the mere sight of the other man was an aggravation.
An irritable snort readily left him then. Darcy leaning away from the shadows of that boat. He had long since finished his business here. There was little to be achieved through merely sneering into the darkness and allowing that anger and irritation to boil within his veins. Especially when Risque would not permit him that release that so came from sinking his teeth into that WereKing. Tetradore in turn often inclined to rise to the challenge. The both of them, more than once, having ignited their Mistress' ire and yet by that same turn she so often fueled that very fire between them. Darcy turned smoothly away from that boat then, the vampire intending to return to the bar when the very scent of Tetradore himself seemed to all but assault his senses. Darcy pivoted neatly within the shadows just in time to see that Alpha stride from within the boat, pausing on that dock to lean on the railing in search of some air perhaps. Tetradore's back towards him. The vampire crouched easily downward then, that lump of smelling seaweed and coral easily snatched up from the sand, Darcy pausing briefly to ball that unpleasant smelling projectile. His arm was held easily back before that wet weed and coral was hurled with vampire speed and no small amount of force at the back of Tetradore's head with every intention of slamming into the Alpha. Whether or not Tetradore had caught sight of him in the shadows he hardly cared. Those flashing white fangs glinting in the dark with that grin. Those words little more than a mumble to himself all the same.
"To slow, Tetty-Bear."
We are rough men and used to rough ways.