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

still not too old to die young


Posted on January 11, 2015 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
She had been misled. Lead astray from the proper path by the familiar and phantom warmth of her own hand. She had, somehow, allowed whimsy to guide her, to dictate action where further consideration for consequence would have surely served her better. She had knowingly jeopardized her own welfare out of some misguided prayer that Harley's old haunts might somehow, in some small way, comfort an ailing and mournful heart. It is only as she stands here, so very far removed from anything that could be deemed even remotely comforting, that Isolt realizes the true measure of her folly. Harley may well have been a soul suited to the calloused nuances of this particular section of town, the devious nature she had possessed since childhood having evolved the raven-haired woman into an individual made for this. And yet Isolt, hopelessly sweet and demure down to the very marrow of her bones, could find no footing here. Her soul was without purchase upon this particular slippery and perilous slope.

But, it would seem, her decision to make a hasty retreat is regrettably tardy, stymied by the impressively powerful arm as it coils about her midsection. The response of the redhead's frame comes instinctually, every cord of immortal muscle contained therein gliding taut against the slender frame of her skeleton in response to the entrapment. Panic filters swiftly through every deadened nerve ending, firing ethereally from every numbed synapse. The fire-crowned vampire has found the sensation of another's touch nearly unbearable ever since her time spent within the macabre labyrinth of Risque's meticulously crafted hell, a place in which physical caress almost always culminated in agony that was despicable even to behold. It had succeeded in crippling both her mind and her body; and it would seem that the gnarled and toxic roots of this vengeful sapling ran far too deep to be dislodged.

Just as swift, perhaps, is Isolt's response, her reflexes having been whittled into something almost impressive by the expert hands of immortality and circumstance. A swiftly flung elbow and the offhandedly graceful maneuvering of her lithe frame see Isolt twisted from the worrisome grasp of her would-be captor, the fledgling vampire turning to face what is, by the aroma oozing from every lifeless pore, a vampire that has progressed further into this afterlife than she. The realization brings the treacherous spears of Isolt's fangs descending unbidden, the point of each spire tinting the plump flesh of her trembling lower lip as crystalline eyes sweep anxiously over the predator that now faces her. "I-I don't have any money if that's what you're wanting so just... leave me alone... please." It is, perhaps, the pathetic plea of a child faced with the curved fangs and grasping claws of a monster. And yet in this moment, these words are but the only ones that arise from the darkened chasm of Isolt's whirring thoughts. How well they might come to serve her, though, remains to be seen...


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