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
isolt griffin
To presume that there was a mere seed of doubt tucked somewhere deep within would have been abhorrently disingenuous. It writhed and billowed within the dead mass of her stomach as some sickly typhoon, battling harshly with a curiosity that was perhaps equally tumultuous in its vigor. She had heard tell of the seedy goings-on within this supposed Ark, of the grisly fights bred from some deep-seated need for Sacrosanct's Weres to give sway to their primitive animal halves. It was a terrifying consideration, Isolt having never been one for conflicts of any nature, as was the only statement that the emerald-eyed man had seen fit to afford her... that the Ark was eerily similar to Syn.
And yet some ethereal force coaxes her forward, her lithe frame nearly consumed by the looming shadow of the Ark before the pungent aroma of Were stings her nostrils, heralding the arrival of the figure that alights seemingly from the ether. Had she the breath to gasp she would have certainly done so; however, the surprise intrusion merely sees the fledgling vampire recoil, retreating a few stumbling steps before righting herself once more. Panic flares as ice crystals at the base of her spine, the young woman capable of doing little else but staring for a time. "Wait, I..," is all Isolt is capable of offering to this creature who, for whatever reason, has chosen her demise as the activity with which it might fill these next few hours.
"HEY!" The exclamation is clear, carrying and faultlessly masculine, the source no longer difficult to discern as the heavily-muscled gentleman who had earlier been attempting to wrangle the crowd marches towards the pair. Muddied brown eyes rove over the figures of the ebony tiger and the vampire, lingering upon Isolt in a moment of unabashed loathing before returning once more to the feline. The words that leave his lips ooze venom, each syllable accented with the jabbing of a thick and calloused finger. "If you want to fight go inside, otherwise take your fucking leech and get out of here."