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Cars upon cars upon cars. Old cars used to be towed and dropped off here to be molded into square blocks some day. Located on the edge of town, many people found it easy to find and access. It turns out that everyone in Coal Creek had an old, useless car. Thus the Junkyard became successful. In fact, it was so successful that even when the town died, it stayed in business. The Junk Yard is still used today by people from near-by towns and farms. This active place, filled with cars, trucks, wood and metal parts, is the location of the Soberia allegiance.

Soberia allegiance

Crying babies with their mothers, homeless adults, and abandoned children liked to stay here when they had no where else to go. Crappy lighting, and barely enough food, the place went out of business due to a terrible cockroach and rat infestation. Long since the old building has been forgotten, and local pranks lead to the interior burning of this great place. Walls, doors, and half of the stairs are burnt down, but canines of Envirdia allegiance take advantage of it by taking the burnt stairs to the top floor, walking along the ceiling's half-fallen board to the roof top, which they spy down on the city from. The Envirdia allegiance uses this place as their home.

Envirdia allegiance

Shards of glass, old wood, and metal lay piled infront of this building. A tall, chain-link fence blocks beings from entering, but a hole in the fence, just large enough for a hell hound to fit under, allows prey, cats, and dogs in. Inside this dark, metal house are stairs, raptors, and, above all, toxic waste. Inside large barrels, leaking yellow and green liquids, are deadly and mutant acids. After a science experiment to alter the DNA of dogs turned them demonic, the canines broke loose and ate the scientists alive. This is how the canines of Coal Creek got how they are today. This is where dogs of Avaricia allegiance live.

Avaricia allegiance

Young teenagers used to come here, sneak in, and dance till morning. The loud music could be heard from miles, and kept the coyotes away. But like all great things, it had it's end many years ago. The reason: Only nights away from New Years, five killers broke in, and shot 21 people, killing all of them. The next day the club was shut down and no one dared to step foot in it again, for the reek of death still hangs in the air. Hell hounds feed their craving for devil's prey with blood here.

The reaking stench of foul liquid beings use to feed their beasts lingers in the air. Large metal stations, damaged and leaking gas, stand infront of the small building used by beings many years back. As much as the rats and mice like the liquid, it's just as poisonous as the blood of Coal Creek's canines. The sandbags piled by the shattered windows are useful steps to enter in by. There is only one way out, but only a few canines know. Some canines of Coal Creek use the store as a 'prey-trap', seeing as once others get in, they can't get out.

Mud-coated beasts near and... just near, would come here to get clean by their beings. The soapy luke-warm water flew out of hoses at high speed, cleaning away dirt and gunk. Unfortunately for the keepers, there were too little dirty cars in Coal Creek to pay the bills, thus they were shut down. The rusted down cars left here, including the old tow-truck with the large hook, still hold mud on their sides. Other canines and stray cats like to sleep inside the being beasts, so most hell hounds come out here to feast on them.

Shattered glass and layers of dust lay on the floor here. In the middle of this large room, is a round rink with a wooden floor. Next to the door is a stand of rollar skates in various sizes. Centering this rink is a small juice bar, where the families would get their refreshments. After an incident involving a wheel, juice, loose screw, and a disco ball, the rollar rink was shut down, then becoming only a distant memory for the community of Coal Creek. Canines come here to get light snacks like mice or magpies to settle their stomachs.

The roar of the crowd used to ring in the ears of child baseball players. They loved the thought of a ball heading high speed for your face. The rush of hitting wood against leather, running like your life depends on it to the next base. But the sport started to die, and the kids grew up to play pro. On the side of the baseball field are the stands, filled with old rotten food and sticky soda pop, and the dugouts where left are only old equipment and posters. Canines that take refuge here usually keep watch for trespassers or prey from the stands.