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

Edge of the Circle

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

ice, ice baby (Regan)


Posted on November 08, 2014 by Rixon Leifsson
West
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It reeked.

Every line, every post and rail and rotted cardboard box or barrel of fish- right down to the aged boardwalk itself, utterly reeked of vile cat. If the scent was anything to be judged by it was hardly a house cat either, more so it seemed to hold the odour of at least two males, potent and overpowering along with the fainter scent of a female or perhaps females, the exact number of which he could not be entirely sure. Even within his human guise the snowy-haired man was inclined to feel his nostrils wrinkle slightly in sheer disdain for this overpowering scent that so clearly marked the borders of this side of town. He has, he is sure, managed to find the territory of this so called Pack that existed and yet for now he is content to linger entirely upon the outskirts of it. There is little of amusement for him within the west. Warehouses and shipyards holding little intrigue for the equine, at least for now, his attention given more to wander in the direction of this ever fabled Ark- the silhouette of which, rose against the slowly fading skyline within the distance as daylight steadily begin to flee in the wake of nights embrace. Night always was- hunting time. It is with something of a characteristic snort that the man returns his hands to his pockets, moving to stride back along the very border line itself, uninterested, for now, in crossing into the territory of a group unknown to himself. Perhaps it is merely the internal instinct of a prey species that derives such caution and yet, despite the arrogance and cruelty of his nature- Frost is a careful man. Without further knowledge he has no desire to waltz in unannounced. No. He had simply come to...observe for tonight.

The jostling of sailors returned and the shouts of fisherman unloading offer little more than a dull roar to fill the backdrop of this otherwise unsatisfying area, the lithe young man moving easily amongst them and towards the end of one particular pier, frame moving to lean up against it, arms folded across his chest as one foot lifts to fold behind the other in the picture of laconic ease. His newfound location provides a ready view of much of the Westside as it sprawls out beside him, what little of his gaze can be seen beneath that tousled forelock of white hair peering out at his surroundings with an interest his posture seems to lack. Predators are such...disagreeable creatures at times and a sizeable pack of them presents a.....problem- one the conflicts directly with his own interests, a problem that undeniably needs to be solved and yet one he is merely willing to observe upon for now.

The flickering, sputtering flash of a street light heralds the final light of day withdrawing itself entirely, the twilight readily making itself known as the ever-calm young man continues to maintain his position, silent and unassuming upon the edge of the packs territory, the water behind him and the beach either side, flat and open assuring he has taken some measure to prevent some vile little meat eater from attempting to pursue the scent of prey that runs thickly within his blood- it would hardly be the first time and yet- underestimation is perhaps the greatest weapon to which he has been afforded time and again, so very few offering his animal form the respect it is deserved. The barest hint of a simper managed to work it's way onto his features, eyes drifting to the grey water before moving to wander back across the harbor with a lackadaisical ease, watching each and every being that moved before him with care, searching amongst them for anyone of...intrigue.




Frostbite
HTML by Apollymi

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