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

REGAN; feeling my way through the darkness


Posted on October 19, 2014 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
Her chosen garb for the eve was significantly more downplayed than her usual touch of understated elegance; nowhere tonight was the delicate and gossamer fabric of one of the myriad dresses that colored her closet... instead dark and alluring denim stretched about lean and muscled legs. A hoodie, simplistic and dark, hung from her torso, a handful of wayward crimson strands escaping its confines in what might have been a revolt against this unusual subversion. And yet, for her activities this night, the uncharacteristic obscurity of her attire is warranted... needed for what she plans.

Isolt slips from the confines of her would-be sanctuary with the dancer's grace she had possessed in life; death having only served to further accentuate this and so many other qualities that might have once been only suggestions of her overall demeanor. Curiosity amongst them, for though the crimson-haired girl had always admitted some measure of weakness for the siren's songs that were her senses of curiosity and inquisitiveness, immortality had been veritable arsenic to this already-tindered flame. And so it was only rational that each new intellectual quandary was a whet stone to the blade of her officiousness. A blade that, tonight, pierced the equally-as-prominent miasma of her own self-doubt, the number of second guesses for once palling in comparison to the sensational itch that was Isolt's curiosity.

She had been cautioned, in some vague and wholly presumptuous way, that she should not traverse this particular boundary. That she, for whatever reason existed within the mind of its emerald-eyed proprietor, did not belong here. There was no place to be found for her here, no ethereal reward with which her venture might be endowed. But nonetheless Isolt finds herself drawing ever nigh to the once-abandoned cargo ship that sits as an archaic beacon against the creaking wooden dock. The Ark, it was called. Perilous and daunting it jutted towards the skyline, its exterior perhaps an homage to what lay within. A visual exhortation of what Tet had not desired that she experience. What he had not wanted her to see.

But crystalline eyes were, in fact, roving wearily over the steel monolith, an amalgamation of intrigue and anxiety swirling about within their depths. A writhing mass of a crowd pulsed about the ship's entrance, a single brooding gentleman bustling about near the only opening in some attempt to quail the chaos. Indecision marred the fabric of Isolt's shaded façade before the fledgling vampire ventured forward determinedly...


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