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 August 01, 2015 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

isolt griffin
The once-sprightly young woman is still for what felt to her, clasped by the vice grip of the elder vampire's talons, akin to a small eternity. She could not run anymore than she could have forced herself from the coil of the woman's piercing digits. The stagnation upon which her body seemed to momentarily recline did not, however, extend to the proverbial maelstrom that existed just beyond that dazzling pair of baby-blue eyes. The intrusion was unpleasant to say the very least, the phantom sensation of another's presence pressing so unabashedly against the inside of her skull a deeply foreign and unnerving thing. Isolt was helpless, truly, against the perusal of the blonde's demonic fancy, a gagged audience to her own memories being riffled through like the turning of metaphorical book pages. And then, all at once, were there images of chains, of gore, pressed into the impressionable fabric of her mind... juxtaposed against something else entirely. The barest, briefest flashes of a woman so alike in physicality to the wretched urchin that held her and yet still set apart in some incontrovertible manner. These shards of memory that were not her own were there and evaporated as quickly as one might have taken a breath.

No sooner can Isolt put forth whatever effort she might have had to puzzle through the jumbled mysteries than the villianous lips of her captor are forced upon her own in an embrace that is at once startling and preposterous. And yet not so startling as the swift and expertly-perpetrated kick that succeeds in shattering what Isolt believed to be at least two of her ribs, the auburn-haired woman reactively crinkling in upon herself before she is seized yet again. The journey itself is distorted by the blur of pain as shards of bone raked themselves repeatedly over internal organs that, though deadened, were not immune to this physical trauma. The scenery dribbled and dripped before her eyes, water taken to the would-be canvas of her vision as she merely waited for the healing she knew, she prayed, would come to her.

Whatever filtered reality she lingered in is shattered by the collision and rattling of so many chains at her back, the serrated pain at her ribs aided none by the slamming of her body into the wall of crude restraints at her back. It is then, when her mind grapples for purchase against the shock of what deeply macabre insanity is unraveling around her, that Isolt remembers the young woman she had seen in the backfiring flash of her opponent's projected thoughts. There is no true way to discern why she does so, but regardless of the specifics the transformation takes hold near immediately. It was one of a few extremely peculiar gifts bestowed upon her with the passing of her mortal life, and one she had honed rightly enough so that before her enemy's eyes fall upon her again... she is no longer the pale-skinned redhead who had been beaten it the streets. No, now she is the delicate young woman with the flowing blonde locks who had flickered in the memory of this beast amongst the agony and the promise of continued brutality. She is this villian's sister, though it is impossible yet for Isolt to know the identity of the shell she has chosen to fill in this moment. Straightening slowly does she meet the nearly-identical eyes of her assailant, foreign lips curling about syllables whispered in a foreign tone. "Dealer's choice..."


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