Abolish Veylocke was the budding star of the Organization, a prodigy not seen in generations, truly a deserving heir of the Veylocke name. The course of his life was set. Except, life was seldom that simple.
Barely nineteen, Veylocke should have been too young for a solo mission involving infiltrating one of the Great Houses, let alone the Goldsmith House. But sent he was, on that disastrous mission that turned the course of his life on its axis. He was caught. And all knew the fate of those caught spying on the Goldsmiths.
Abolish Veylocke should not have lived past nineteen. He should have died at the hands of the Lord Goldsmith, for the crimes of infiltrating the coven, and of killing the Lord's fledglings.
Yet the hunter left with his life intact, and not a single of his numerous wounds inflicted by the Lord Goldsmith.
There were questions, of course there were questions. The Lord Goldsmith was not known for his mercy. The young Veylocke had no good answers. He claimed the Elder had interrogated him, briefly flirted with him, and, seemingly on a whim, eventually decided to let him go to the protest of the entire coven.
Over the next year, a rumor spread through the Organization. Abolish Veylocke had an open invitation to join the Goldsmith coven. Meanwhile, more and more the young agent's missions went roughly, with agents and civilians getting hurt, targets almost getting away, and a lack of teamwork between Veylocke and any agent he worked with.
Despite the mistrust of the Veylocke heir, his betrayal still caught the Organization at large off guard. At Thornvale manor, the staff awoke to find their lord murdered in his study, while his ward was nowhere to be found. Along with the young Veylocke, a number of secret documents were missing.
Though the Veylocke heir did not stay missing for long.
Abolish Veylocke made his debut as a Goldsmith during a blood moon gala hosted by the coven. The Lord Goldsmith seemed quite pleased to parade the former agent around, letting all know that the once great prodigy of the Organization, was now a mere bodyguard. And all who witnessed heard the beating of the heart still pumping blood through Veylocke's veins.
The Organization braced for the Great Houses, spearheaded by the Goldsmith House, to descend upon them. For the Lord Goldsmith to act upon the wealth of information Veylocke had handed him. Yet no attack came. There were no unusual shifts within the vampiric courts. Everything stayed quiet.
Scott Goldsmith appeared content to lace upon his throne, sipping goblets of blood spiked wine, and throwing lavish functions, his pet hunter ever at his shoulder.
His first few years with the coven, Veylocke kept himself quiet in the Lord Goldsmith's shadow. Only ever showing aggression against overt threats to the Lord and the coven. Until he didn't.
The attack on one of the Organization's elite vampiric agents was quick, brutal, and unprovoked. As the vampire turned to dust the chocked silence was broken by the Lord Goldsmith's theatrical clapping. He called for a feast in Veylocke's honor.
Such an overt move did not bode well. Was the Lord Goldsmith so confident he could take the Organization head on? Even with the other Houses watching intently.
Though perhaps the Elder had grown too comfortable, too assured of his power. For it was not long after that the Goldsmith coven collapsed in on itself.
Not a single of the vampires who emerged from the chaos claimed to have witnessed the fall of their Lord. Yet they'd all felt it, the snapping of the bond tying them to the great sire, binding their coven as one.
Rumour ran rampant. Some said a notorious witch was found among the dead. Some claimed the House had fallen to infighting. Others whispered that Veylocke had not been among the dead.
The truth of that day remained a mystery. Those who went in search of answers would turn up with nothing, or never be seen again. Whispers spread that the Lord Goldsmith had cast a curse upon the land as disease spread through the woods and misfortune befell all who settled.
The centuries passed on. And even the whispers faded to time. The former seat of a once great House faded into obscurity.
The Organization grew lax, perhaps. The Lord Goldsmith was gone after all. Their attention was needed elsewhere.
And so when a group of strangers made their way to the long abandoned land, there were no one who took note. There were no one there who knew to raise an alarm when the travelers did not return.
The only ones to witness a reunion centuries in the making, had no context to understand its significance.
A fallen Lord and a fallen hunter locked gazes, and the land of Oakhurst was once more bathed in blood.
