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

in our hearts without chains


Posted on June 15, 2015 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
At present Isolt might have believed that there were few moments in this afterlife harder to endure than the present, than this waiting, this... helplessness as someone else took stock of the life from which she had been so forcably removed. As someone else paced were only she had paced, crossed their fingers against the glass of photos that only she had touched. She had avoided this moment, fled from it, for more than a year's time... the moment when this spell, this fallacy of her own design, would be broken with the splicing of her human and vampiric existences. The moment when pretending that this was all some loathesome nightmare would be nullified by the congregation of past and present, when she could no longer cower in the shadow of a life whose mournful veil she continued to wear.

She lingers for a few torturously long moments before she dares allow her eyes to travel to her companion as he wanders about the room. She had proffered him a glimpse into this life when she had told him of her brother's aspirations, and yet even that paled in comparison to what lay before him. Never had she spoken of Harley, never had she told him that she was, in fact, a doctor or what her career aspirations had been. Few words had she spoken about her family, about her life's plans before they had been dashed at the hand of a mistress she would only ever know in the fear and agony that were the glacial pinpricks at the curve of her spine. Perhaps this is why she had chosen to bring him here, because the words that flittered about her brain could have never been done justice upon the fleshy curl of her tongue. She had invited him in so that he might see with his eyes what she was incapable of speaking with her lips. So that he might see her for what and who she truly was.

The crimson-haired girl does not falter at his soft caress, rather do her hands clench willing against his as if he were the anchor to her entire existence. As he speaks, she laments the truth that is absent from his proclamation, cerulean eyes falling to a close as her head forfeits a gentle shake. He couldn't know the fallacy of his own words, couldn't know the husk that this place had become. "I haven't felt welcome or whole here in a long time," she whispers, eyes flicking open to meet his in the soft glow of the lamp light. "It hasn't been a home in a long time, now it's just a... reminder of everything that I've lost. Everything that I can't be." As his fingers travel a smooth and titillating line down the supple ridge of her chin, Isolt cannot help but instinctively lean in to his caress for it is one of the few that she will accept. She is driven to absolute and momentary quietude in the wake of what words seep from his lips next. Surely to think her worthy of such devotion was a heinous travesty for one so confident, so seasoned as he. In silence does she wrap a hand around his to take it from her chin, the luscious crimson pillows of her lips brushing softly against his palm, his knuckles, the tips of his fingers before she turns her eyes to him once again. When she speaks it is merely a whisper, the soft quirk of her lip betraying the enigmatic simper that lingers there. "I wish I was half as 'mystifying' as you think I am... even if you are hopelessly drunk."


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