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

RAVEN; find your rest and be made whole


Posted on August 25, 2015 by isolt griffin
West

isolt griffin


Compassion had always been a paradoxically-bolstering crutch for Isolt, both virtue and vice in the splendor and grief it had wrought for her over the years. It seemed the healing elixir to its own viciously acidic burns. And yet no sooner could she shy from its calling as she could any other part of her entire self. She was, and would be forevermore, somewhat of a bleeding heart for those she held in such high esteem... regardless of the time and space that had separated her from these particular individuals over the past while. And so it was compassion that drew her from the concerns and trappings of her own life this night, and beyond the unseen yet no less established border of anothers territory. This journey bore with it inherent risks despite the axiomatic truth that she had cultivated some manner of relationship with the majority of the Nightshade Pack. It was a similar axiom that, despite this, she was not as they were. A vampire would hardly be considered welcome within the realm of Weres.

But still does she go.

News of the recent tumult within the Were community had traveled quite fluidly through the appropriate supernatural channels, reaching Isolt's ears via the ramblings of a posse of drunken individuals who had holed themselves up within Red's four walls. Had it been any other individuals, any other pack, she would have lamented their tragedy in the silence of her private self; however, this particular cord had been plucked far too close to home for her to have remained in a state of halycon quietude. These wounds were hers to heal, hers to soothe, and she could not have afforded herself a shred intrinsic forgiveness had she not at least attempted to see that all was as well as it could have been.

Isolt reminds herself of this as she walks the slow march beyond the threshold of the Ark, the domineering glances of the doorman cast to her only in the barest moment before he moves unto individuals far more important than the blonde-haired, green-eyed young woman she appears as. She is vastly more intelligent than to come here in her true form, for when last she had done so the harshness of the stares afforded to her had been jarring. This journey is different, though, the guise necessary as she slinks about the outskirts of the writhing crowd, her attentions not for the battles just commencing or the long slope of the bar set against the far wall. She is here for one individual in particular... a friend she has not seen in many a moon's passing, though this hardly diminishes the worry she feels.

Gliding into the confines of a back hallway, Isolt escapes from the myriad aromas that bombard her astute senses so that she may, finally, focus upon the singular fragrance that she seeks so boldly. Blessedly comes the realization that she is close to her intended person, the young woman allowing the guise of before to slip away in order to reveal the delicate young redhead that is her true self. A matter of staircases and a few marked turns bring the young vampire to a single bolted door, behind which she is quite confident lies the Werewolf she had not seen in so long a time. Only as she raises a hand to gently tap at the door does the parasitic seed of doubt burrow itself into the loam of her gut. "Raven... it's me, Isolt. Can I come in?"



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