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

take a look at what you've done


Posted on November 01, 2015 by isolt griffin
West

isolt griffin


The pressure of the dagger's hilt delving into her delicate fingers as the blade met with its mark was a darkly titillating sensation, the aroma of blood that was not of her veins curling against her olfactory both disconcerting and bolstering in the same moment. Immortal though they might have been, both of them bound to the eternity that lay ahead in a single endless ribbon of night... so too were both of them flesh and blood, and though so much of Isolt's own lifeblood had been spilled at the hands of this catastrophic stranger, so too could she draw blood from this proverbial stone. So too could she inflict pain as it had been inflicted upon her.

It is hope the infant flame of which flickers, sent akimbo by the sheer force of the retribution that had come as swiftly as the fallacy of hope had entered her soul. It is eradiated from Isolt's eyes, her mind, as the carapace of her body sags against the unforgiving concrete wall. The aroma of the blonde's spilled blood is chased away by the pervading fragrance of her own as it trickles down the smooth curvature of her spine, matting the once-radiant auburn curls that crown her head. Hardly does her body resist the trajectory intended for it as she is flung to the chilled floor, cerulean eyes falling to a peculiar crack amongst a festival of others that decorates the slab beneath her. Such is the complexity of her mind's seemingly-inevitable surrender that such a miniscule detail of her otherwise quite abominable surroundings should capture her attention so completely. Even as harsh fingers coil mercilessly into her gossamer locks, forcing azure eyes from this menial observation, a quickly fragmenting mind quests for escape from the horror of its fleshy cell. Isolt looks but does not see, listens but does not hear the curses of the blonde's acidic tongue for she exists solely in the vaccuum that is her internal capitulation.

Even as her attacker's heft is lifted from her broken body the redhead does not stir, does not object to the coiling of a course hand about her wrist. It is the smallest thing that begins to cause fissures in the spell of her disillusionment, a familiar cologne penetrating the metallic stench of blood. It is as light in the darkness as recognition permeates, delicate fingers coiling into the offered shirt as a single word squeezes past the hardened nodule that has developed within her throat. "Damon..." It is a prayer, a breathless plea for salvation, and yet even as her fingers find his flesh does he pull away. Had she not doned his shirt Isolt might have convinced herself that he was but a mirage, a figment of an imagination pleading for a savior.

Tickled by ribbons of her own blood, Isolt turns away from the carnage to follow, eyes clenched against the horror that is but a mirror of her own violation. Finally, her wounds beginning to mend themselves, does the infant vampire turn to her lover, a delicate hand outstretched to find his bare flesh in a gentle caress. "Damon... let's go... please. Please...."



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