The Hat Society

Meet the council of whimsical misfits

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Bertrand Struttington
(The Peacock Noble)

Radiant, vain, and positively fabulous. Bertrand never enters a room…he arrives

Bertrand arrives in a tailored blue jacket, golden peacock-feather lapels gleaming, and a mauve bowtie knotted just so. His top hat is crowned with a blazing yellow blossom…less fashion, more announcement. Behind him, fiery orange and red radiate like a personal sunrise.

Bertrand believes the moon rises for his entrance…and honestly, it might. His vanity is grand, his posture impeccable, and his confidence blinding. Though his feathers are polished and his charm theatrical, the Hat Society keeps him close…for no one raises a goblet or a scandal with quite his flair.

Monty Puddleplop
(The Trickster Quack)

The quack with charm and chaos in equal measure. Laughter follows wherever he waddles

Monty floats into the circle with feathers fluffed and spirits high. Dressed in a jacket of swirling yellow-green nonsense and a red bowtie he tied himself (mostly), Monty’s top hat gleams like he’s trying to impress someone…though he forgets who.

Monty is the heart of laughter at every Hat Society gathering. Endlessly cheerful and just a bit bumbling, he stumbles into brilliant ideas and chaotic accidents with equal enthusiasm. His jokes don’t always land, but his joy always does.

Ophelia Starmuddle
(The Dream-Walker)

Soft, spooky, and a little unhinged…in the most charming way possible

Wrapped in star-sparked velvet and bathed in violet light, Ophelia Starmuddle floats somewhere between “darling” and “demonic.” Her hat is covered in glowing constellations, her smile is unhinged (in the best way), and the air around her hums with unpredictable energy. The orbs? Probably ghosts.

Ophelia doesn’t mean to scream during rituals…it just…happens. Her magic is dreamy, erratic, and occasionally louder than expected. But no one drifts through dimensions quite like she does, and when she smiles like that, the veil gets very thin.

Thaddeus Bogswallow
(The Swamp Sorcerer)

Quiet power and ancient wisdom…where the forest hums, Thaddeus listens

Perched calmly on a blue log, surrounded by red autumn leaves and emerald forest glow, Thaddeus Bogswallow wears his star-dusted witch hat like a crown. His skin shimmers with mottled greens, golds, and purples - a living spell in amphibian form. Behind him, chartreuse woods blur into magic.

Thaddeus Bogswallow doesn’t speak unless the spell calls for it…and when it does, trees lean in to listen. He’s the oldest presence in the Hat Society, older than some of the stones they sit on. His brews don’t bubble; they hum. His eyes don’t blink; they know.

Fitzgerald Fitzpatrick
(The Velvet Schemer)

Dashing, dramatic, and just a little dangerous. Keep your jewels…and your heart…close

Fitzgerald Fitzpatrick stands tall and dashing in a tailored blue vest, trimmed with purple-pink fur that screams drama and dazzle. His crisp ivory cravat spirals like a spell. Topping it all is his signature fuchsia top hat, bursting with flair and crowned with a jaunty feather. Behind him swirls a Mardi Gras mirage of violet, emerald, and gold.

Fitzgerald Fitzpatrick wasn’t born into the Hat Society…he infiltrated it with flair. A former illusionist and alleged jewel thief, Fitz claims to have turned over a new leaf…but no one can quite figure out if he’s joking. He charms rooms, dodges questions, and always leaves a trail of glitter behind. The other members trust him…just not entirely.

Reginald Vexley
(The Crowned Watcher)

Noble. Fierce. Possibly immortal. The Hat Society’s silent sentinel

A commanding presence in cool blues and fiery glows, Reginald Vexley stands cloaked in nobility. His sharp golden eyes pierce beneath a regal top hat adorned with an ornate crown. He wears a tailored sapphire coat, a gilded brocade waistcoat, and a stiff ivory cravat fastened with a jeweled brooch. Behind him burns a mysterious orange aura…perhaps the moon, perhaps something older.

Reginald Vexley is not just a wolf in a top hat - he is the silent sentinel of the Hat Society’s most arcane rituals. Some whisper he was once a king. Others say he’s the wolf that time forgot. Regal, unyielding, and fiercely protective of his kin, Reginald doesn’t suffer fools, but he does enjoy an occasional bloody pun. If he growls, it’s already too late.

Phil Punxley (The Weather Warlock)

He predicts the future…occasionally. Equal parts storm and sunshine

Clad in a magenta suit with a matching top hat, Phil Punxley peers outward with wide-eyed authority (or confusion). A red bowtie crowns his chest like a ceremonial badge, though he’s not quite sure why. Behind him, swirls of pink and purple shimmer like an early morning sky unsure of its intentions.

Originally from Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, Phil Punxley takes his title of Weather Warlock very seriously…on February 2nd. The rest of the year, he naps, snacks, and gives wildly inaccurate forecasts just to stir up gossip. A proud member of the Hat Society, Phil insists his magical abilities include cloud reading, shadow whispering, and meteorological mischief. (He once predicted fog and caused a townwide existential crisis. It was Tuesday.)

Lilith the Wild Trickster
(The Goat of Glittering Mayhem)

Rainbow chaos with a side of sparkle. Rules are optional…glitter is not

Lilith beams mischievously from beneath her wide-brimmed witch hat, its brim catching bits of starlight and mischief. Her golden eyes sparkle with untamed joy, and her fur swirls with streaks of ivory, chestnut, and misbehavior. She stands amid a burst of rainbow blooms…a storm of color and chaos and charm.

Lilith the Wild Trickster doesn’t follow rules, she rearranges them into confetti. Her spells go sideways on purpose, and her laughter can be heard echoing through meadows long after she’s pranced away. She delights in turning quarrels into dance parties and regrets into rainbows. Watch your footing, your potions, and your pride…Lilith is near.

Sabine Gloamwell
(The Shadow Weaver)

Soft as smoke, sharp as thunder…Sabine’s magic lingers long after she’s gone

Sabine the Shadow Weaver perches quietly beneath her frayed witch hat, its buckle catching stray light like a secret revealed. Her fur ripples in streaks of inky teal and pearl, and her eyes gleam with gentle curiosity. The background swirls with teal, magenta, and peach - a dreamy haze where dusk and dawn blur together.

Sabine walks the line between charm and warning…sweet as clover one moment, sharp as thunder the next. She’s the Hat Society’s perfumer and potion-brewer, known for her smoky enchantments that linger long after she’s gone. Her magic leaves behind a haze, part perfume, part portent. Those who follow her trail rarely know if they’re being blessed or warned.