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

me and the devil, walking side by side


Posted on April 12, 2015 by R. METCALF
West

Only a dullard would have presumed that she queried after what ailed him because she possessed some measure of genuine care for the answer. As if she were apt to indulge whatever burbling cesspool of self-pity he had seen fit to wade into by allowing him to pester her, to whiddle away her time with the details of it. In truth, the only viable reason for her inquiry was to guage his demeanor upon first arriving... a thing that did naught but disappoint her as the generally characteristic sarcasm was gone, his tongue bereft the razored edge he so oft saw fit to take to her. He was sulking, and the affirmation of it was decidedly unattractive in more aspects than just one. Despite her aversion to his wallowing, however, the evidence of such disdain does not for a moment sully the perfectly-chiseled lines of her face nor does it bleed its darkness into the pale sage of her eyes as she ventures a few paces forth to lean over the table which separates them.

Every leisurely movement is calculated, assured, as salaciously-delicate fingers move to pluck the cigarette from his mouth and bring it between her lusciously plump lips. Graciously does she recline herself into the chair opposite him, hardly bothered with the filth that he, too, seems content with, one leg draping over the other. Slow is the inhale that she takes, poised is the manner in which she extracts the tightly-rolled stick from her lips. A thick serpentine ribbon of smoke coils from her parted lips then, the barest hum of approval purring from her lips before her eyes travel to those of the man who seems all but withered beside her.

A grin befitting naught else but the devil eases unto her features at his question. Were these woes that troubled him so absolutely truly tales of personal weakness? It was all relative, she supposed, and yet regardless she finds herself still rather unwilling to entire their telling. "Atrocities, you say? Hmm, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours?" It is but a jest, a prodding finger aimed at him for no reason beyond her own need for entertainment, a whim that passes as quickly as it had arrived. The impish expression melts from her features to be replaced with the unamused and shrouded facade that is her custom. "Tell your pathetic tales to someone else, Davante. Why have you asked me here?"

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