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 May 03, 2015 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
Swift are the blows she deals... and swifter still the pathetically sparse reward as it slithers through her fingers. It is but wasted energy, a handful of sand cast into the yawning maw of the void that threatens just beyond the proverbial corner. There are no even matches here, no heroic strength hidden beneath some interal veil that, once unleashed, would see the redheaded vampire emerge from this unscathed... victorious. It was a pipe dream, the notion of any manner of victory on her behalf naught more than a salacious lie whispered of venom-coated lips into her wanting ears. There is, as there always had been, merely fear rattling about within the confines of her body as what little strength, what little will, she had possessed fled her as easily as it had come.

At least, this is what Isolt feels as the icy eyes of her captor meet hers, this is what she knows to be true. Perhaps she had been broken far too irrevocably, perhaps she had been shattered by Risque's hand in a manner that was far too brutal, bore far too much finality for the idea of any worthwhile strength to be truly entertained. Her Maker would have laughed at this, would have found the sadistic glee she always did in the redhead's suffering, and she would have lamented that it was not of her hand that it had been brought.

Isolt's fingernails once again press crimson crescents into the pallor of her captor's flesh as the other woman lifts her so easily, cerulean eyes finding hers too quickly, too easily. Insistent is the sensation of the magic as it presses at the slope of her skull, weary is the soul that she shields with whatever bit of dwindling fortitude she is privvy to... and quick is the surrender when it does finally come. Splintered is this proverbial door that the blonde had sought so single-mindedly, twisted from its frame as its shards plummet into a free-fall, crimson tears flooding the eyes of her victim as two delicate hands grow lax and begin to fall away...


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