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
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
A mosquito can make a lion's eye bleedRisque
Posted on May 25, 2014 by Hanan Asstari
He was a patient man. Hanan had spent his early evening focused on honing his ability to appear in the dreams of potential victims, coaxing them to sleep walk to his location where he might be able to feed from them. Generally, Hanan chose non-human victims. Although you could call it a bit of a God-complex, Hanan chose victims who would either not believe their dreams when they awoke, or victims who might deserve a set of sharp fangs to the jugular. It was a kind of dark magic, the kind that people dreamed up during a rem cycle gone bad. How fittingly ironic. Due to his age, Hanan didn't find a compelling urge to feed off human blood often. However, he didn't like a substitute, so when the urge was strong he generally drained the victim within an inch of their life. Sometimes the victims wanted to die, but being an oddly religious man, Hanan found he couldn't often comply. Killing another, even in the name of good, didn't sit well with him. He always found a way to come to grips with it, but even as a human Hanan hadn't liked to kill. He was a warrior, yes, but torture was more his forte. Living in D.C. had exposed him to a vast variety of killers, sick fucks, and any other multitude of crazy you could find. Witches who enjoyed watching victims sizzle and burn, vampires who liked violence more than blood, were-creatures who killed by the light of the moon, and the dark hunters who took pleasure in watching the last drop of blood fall from their victims. Hanan didn't really want a part in the middle of the fray, but he liked to watch from the outside, definitely. The woman he had coaxed out of sleep tonight was older, and willing. He had fed from her before, but she was a willing donor. Her name was Miriam, and she was from Egypt, understanding much of his culture and his history. He had shared with her a lot, from the tales of animal hide clothing and Jihad to Muslim discrimination in the United States herself. Miriam liked to hear tales of her small corner of the world, and was getting on in her years. Tonight was her last willing meal, and Hanan had spent the time with his fingers gently running through her silver hair, hoping that her soul would rest with a merciful God in the everlasting life after ours. Tonight, he needed a drink. The real, alcoholic kind â€" not the crimson plasma that was typically necessary for his survival. Hanan slipped quietly, his shoulders drooping, into the bar. There was a center seat he typically preferred, but tonight was different. He slipped into a booth in the farthest corner from the door. Waiting for service, he slid a pendant from his pocket, his smooth fingers running over the silver of the Ankh that Miriam had given him with the words, "انا Ù"يست Ù"ÙŠ" I am not mine running along the straight bar of the cross of the Egyptians. Yeah, a drink was definitely in order. |