Veska Morvain, The Lastbell: A Ranger Who Hunts the Shadows
From Patrons & Paragons, as told by Adraviant, Mistress of the Teahouse of the Crimson Veil.
There is a particular sound that silver makes when it rings in an otherwise quiet room.
A delicate thing. Almost apologetic.
I heard it shortly before a stranger stepped through the doors of my teahouse.
The evening was growing cold, the lanterns were lit, and Shadowfest was fast approaching. From the Mughouse next door came the unmistakable sounds of Pippers preparing for the festivities.
Something crashed.
Someone shouted.
I poured another cup of tea.
Some things are best left to one’s husband.
The stranger, however, was considerably more interesting.
He was a Vulpine, his fur white as fresh snow, with long pale hair, violet eyes, and two magnificent tails trailing behind a weathered traveler’s cloak. A bow rested against his shoulder, a quiver of arrows upon his back, and his clothing bore the unmistakable marks of someone who spent far more time on the road than beneath a roof.
At his throat hung a small silver bell.
He looked exhausted.
Not the ordinary exhaustion of a traveler who has walked too far, but something deeper. The weariness of someone who has been searching for a very long time.
“Tea?” I offered.
He hesitated.
“How much?”
I smiled.
“Sit down.”
The Fox with Two Tails
His name was Veska Morvain.
A ranger, a courier, and, according to several rather peculiar stories, a guardian of those who wander too close to the Shadow Parade.
Some call him the Lastbell.
Others call him a ghost.
I assure you, he is quite alive.
Though I understand the confusion.
Veska is what his people call a Kitsune.
An ordinary Vulpine is a foxlike member of the Beastkyn, possessing all the familiar traits of their people. But occasionally, something more manifests. A rare planar resonance awakens within one of them, altering their nature in ways that ordinary bloodlines cannot explain.
Among his people, such individuals are known as Kitsune.
I found the distinction rather familiar.
After all, I am a Felisar by birth, but my own supernatural nature marks me as a Nekomata.
He has two tails.
I have three.
Neither fact tells you very much about who we are.
Still, there is something comforting about meeting another who understands what it means to be both familiar and something altogether stranger.
Veska seemed to recognize that as well.
Although he did stare at my tails for a moment longer than was strictly polite.
I elected to forgive him.
The Sister Who Never Came Home
It was during our second pot of tea that I learned why he traveled.
Veska had not always been a ranger.
Once, he had a home. A family. A younger sister whose company, by his own admission, frequently tested his patience.
He spoke of her with a fondness that made his otherwise guarded expression soften.
Then his fingers brushed the little silver bell at his throat.
And he fell silent.
He lost her during Shadowfest.
Not to illness. Not to war. Not even to some ordinary misfortune upon the road.
He lost her to the Shadow Parade.
I will not pretend to know precisely what happened that night. Veska himself speaks of it reluctantly, and there are some wounds that should not be opened merely to satisfy curiosity.
What matters is that when the Parade passed, his sister vanished with it.
No body was recovered.
No grave was dug.
And no one could tell him where she had gone.
Some insisted she was dead. Others claimed the spirits had taken her beyond the mortal world. A few suggested he abandon his search entirely.
He listened to them all.
Then he packed his belongings and left home.
He learned to survive in the wilderness, to follow trails others could not see, and to recognize the faintest signs of supernatural passage.
He became a ranger because the roads were the only places left to search.
And he has been searching ever since.
The Ranger of the Lost Roads
Veska is an accomplished archer and tracker, though I suspect he would object to the word accomplished.
He carries a bow, a travel knife, and enough equipment to survive for weeks without returning to civilization.
He knows how to find safe passage through dangerous country, how to follow tracks that others overlook, and how to recognize when a perfectly ordinary woodland path has become something considerably less ordinary.
But his greatest talent has little to do with his bow.
Veska possesses a strange affinity for shadows.
Not darkness itself, mind you.
Shadows.
The peculiar things left behind when light meets something solid.
His planar nature allows him to perceive when a shadow has been damaged, displaced, or stolen by supernatural forces.
And, remarkably, he can sometimes repair them.
From his fingers emerge delicate strands of violet-silver light, resembling threads drawn from an invisible loom.
With these spectral threads, he can stitch a damaged shadow back together, restoring something of what was taken.
It is an extraordinary gift.
Unfortunately, it comes at an extraordinary price.
The Price of Remembering
Every time Veska repairs a stolen or broken shadow, he sacrifices a fragment of his own memory.
Perhaps a childhood afternoon.
The taste of a favorite meal.
The sound of a familiar song.
Something small. Something precious.
Something he may never realize is missing until he reaches for it and finds nothing there.
I asked him why he continued using such magic when he knew the consequences.
He regarded his tea for a long moment.
“Because I know what it’s like to lose something you can’t get back.”
I had no immediate answer.
There are moments when even I find silence preferable.
But a more troubling question occurred to me.
“What happens if you forget her?”
His ears lowered slightly.
For the first time that evening, I saw genuine fear in his expression.
He looked down at the bell resting against his chest.
“I don’t know.”
Then, after another moment, he added:
“But if I find her, perhaps she can remind me.”
I confess that I needed a moment to compose myself.
One can grow accustomed to tragedy in this world.
That does not mean one must become indifferent to it.
The Lastbell
There is a reason Veska has become something of a wandering legend.
Each Shadowfest, when the lanterns begin to dim and the final bell draws near, he travels the roads where the Shadow Parade is rumored to appear.
He watches the crossings, the abandoned streets, and the lonely paths where frightened travelers sometimes lose their way.
When someone wanders too close to the procession, he attempts to guide them home.
When something follows them from the darkness, he stands between it and its prey.
And when a lost soul cannot find the road back, there are stories of a faint silver bell ringing through the night.
A small, stubborn sound beneath the distant music of the Parade.
A reminder that someone is still looking.
That is why they call him the Lastbell.
Not because he commands the Parade.
Not because he knows its secrets.
But because, after the final bell has sounded and the world has shut its doors, his is sometimes the last bell a lost traveler hears before finding safety.
A rather beautiful name, I think.
And a rather lonely one.
A Seat by the Fire
Before Veska departed, I offered him a room at the Mughouse.
He declined, politely.
There were roads he wished to investigate before Shadowfest arrived, and rumors of strange lanterns appearing near an old crossroads.
Naturally.
Rangers, I have discovered, possess an extraordinary talent for discovering reasons not to rest.
I gave him provisions for the journey and a small packet of tea.
He tried to pay.
I refused.
He insisted.
I informed him that continuing the argument would be deeply disrespectful to his hostess.
That settled the matter.
Mostly.
As he turned to leave, I asked him one final question.
“Veska. What will you do when you find your sister?”
He paused at the doorway.
For a moment, I thought he might not answer.
Then his expression softened.
“I suppose I’ll take her home.”
Such a simple answer.
No great declarations. No promises of vengeance. No desire for glory.
Just a brother who wants his sister back.
I watched him disappear into the evening, two white tails following behind him, his little silver bell chiming with every step.
And I found myself hoping, rather fiercely, that the world might grant him that small kindness.
A Word from the Crimson Veil
Should you encounter a white-furred Kitsune upon a lonely road, carrying a bow and wearing a silver bell, I suggest treating him kindly.
He may appear distant. Perhaps even unfriendly.
But I suspect you will find that beneath his melancholy lies a man who has not forgotten how to care for others, despite everything it has cost him.
And if you happen to hear his bell on Shadowfest night, after the final bell has already sounded…
Do not wander toward the music.
Do not follow the masked strangers.
Follow the ranger.
He knows the way home.
And should his own road ever lead him back to the Mughouse, there will be a cup of tea waiting.
For him.
And, I hope, one day for his sister as well.
— Adraviant
Mistress of the Teahouse of the Crimson Veil
The Mughouse
An additional note: My husband has suggested that Veska would make an excellent addition to our staff.
The Lastbell (I’ll Bring You Home)
Read The Lyrics
[Intro – Distant Silver Bell, Lonely Acoustic Guitar, Whispering Wind]
[Male – Soft, Almost Whispered]
One bell for the living.
One bell for the lost.
And one for the road between.
[Instrumental Build – Violin Enters, Slow Footsteps, Rising Drums]
[Verse 1 – Male, Low and Reflective]
I remember lanterns burning gold,
And the stories that the elders told.
You laughed beneath a paper moon,
Said you’d be coming home real soon.
Then the final bell cut through the air,
I turned around, but you weren’t there.
Just masks and music down the lane,
And footprints swallowed by the rain.
[Pre-Chorus – Building Determination]
They told me not to chase the night,
That some things vanish out of sight.
But I took my bow, I learned the wild,
And followed every road and mile!
[Chorus – Powerful Male Vocal, Full Band, Soaring Strings]
Ring, silver bell, carry me through!
When the moon goes dark and the road splits in two!
Call to the lost where the wild winds blow,
I’m coming, little sister, I will bring you home!
Let the shadows dance, let the cold winds rise!
Let them steal the stars from the midnight skies!
When the last light fades and the night winds moan,
I’ll still be walking!
I’ll bring you home!
[Instrumental – Driving Guitar Riff, Fiddle Melody, Silver Bell]
[Verse 2 – Male, Stronger and More Urgent]
I’ve learned the language of the snow,
The hidden tracks where spirits go.
I’ve walked the roads the maps forgot,
And guarded those the darkness caught.
I’ve stitched the shadows torn apart,
With violet threads and a borrowed heart.
But every soul I lead to dawn,
Costs one more memory, lost and gone.
[Pre-Chorus – Emotional, Rising Tension]
I cannot hear your laughter clear,
The songs we sang begin to disappear.
But something deeper calls me on,
A promise that refuses to be gone!
[Chorus – Full Band, Emotional and Defiant]
Ring, silver bell, carry me through!
When the moon goes dark and the road splits in two!
Call to the lost where the wild winds blow,
I’m coming, little sister, I will bring you home!
Let the shadows dance, let the cold winds rise!
Let them steal the stars from the midnight skies!
When the last light fades and the night winds moan,
I’ll still be walking!
I’ll bring you home!
[Instrumental Break – Haunting Violin, Echoing Bell, Distorted Guitar Solo]
[Bridge – Male, Quiet and Vulnerable, Instruments Pull Back]
What if I forget your face?
The sound of your voice, our childhood place?
What if I find you standing there,
And cannot tell you why I care?
[Voice Breaking, Almost Whispered]
If all my memories turn to dust,
And all that’s left is broken trust,
Then let this silver bell recall,
The reason I began it all.
[Build – Drums Return, Strings Swell]
[Male – Fierce, Rising]
For every soul the night has taken,
For every promise left unbroken,
For every road that leads nowhere,
I’ll keep on walking!
I’ll still be there!
[Final Chorus – Explosive, Full Orchestra, Layered Male Harmonies]
RING, SILVER BELL, CARRY ME THROUGH!
WHEN THE MOON GOES DARK AND THE ROAD SPLITS IN TWO!
CALL TO THE LOST WHERE THE WILD WINDS BLOW,
I’M COMING, LITTLE SISTER, I WILL BRING YOU HOME!
LET THE SHADOWS DANCE, LET THE COLD WINDS RISE!
LET THEM STEAL THE STARS FROM THE MIDNIGHT SKIES!
AND IF I FORGET EVERYTHING I’VE KNOWN,
MY FEET WILL REMEMBER!
I’LL BRING YOU HOME!
[Outro – Drums Stop, Solo Violin and Acoustic Guitar]
[Male – Soft, Resolute]
One bell for the living.
One bell for the lost.
[Single Silver Bell Rings]
And one for the road…
[Almost Whispered]
…that brings you home.
[Final Orchestral Chord – Strong Resolution, Bell Resonates Once]
[End]
