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.

Timothy Pipwhistle
(The Little Light)

Small, bright, and unbreakable - proof that even a candle can warm a kingdom.

Timothy Pipwhistle stands bundled warmly in a thick green scarf stitched with golden thread, snow gathering softly at his tiny feet. His golden tophat sits proudly atop his head, reflecting light from the window behind him. The night sky sparkles with falling snow and glowing bokeh orbs that shimmer like distant carols. His ears are rosy from the cold, and his pink little nose shines with hopeful warmth.

Timothy Pipwhistle may be the smallest member of the Hat Society, but his spirit is the brightest. He believes that kindness is magic and that warmth spreads farther than wisdom. When he speaks, the air feels lighter. When he laughs, winter seems less cold. Some say he once convinced a blizzard to wait until morning simply by saying please.

Bartholomew Shillingfrost (The Winter Miser)

He counts candles like coins and keeps the chill close, but the glow behind him hints at a change he cannot quite name.

Bartholomew Shillingfrost stands illuminated by a single flickering candle. His blue top hat is trimmed with a worn brass buckle and sits with solemn precision. His coat is a deep cranberry red with golden buttons that gleam like coins. Beneath it, a warm gold waistcoat and crisp ivory shirt reflect the candle’s glow. Behind him burns a swirling field of amber and violet light that seems to shift with memory and shadow. His dark eyes shine with frost, calculation, and the faintest hint of change.

Bartholomew Shillingfrost was known for keeping his heart locked tighter than a counting house safe. Every kindness was tallied. Every joy was rationed. Every ember of warmth treated like a luxury. Yet as winter deepened and strange visitors stirred the quiet halls of his life, something in him began to crack like ice underfoot. Beneath his practiced chill, a forgotten ember waited. The Hat Society hopes it is ready to glow again.

Jasper Dustbarrel
(The Midnight Outlaw)

A smooth talker with quicker hands, Jasper Dustbarrel never steals what isn’t already looking for a better home.

Jasper Dustbarrel faces forward beneath a bold crimson cowboy hat, its brim curved with confidence and wear. A matching red bandana is tied high at his throat, patterned like a promise and a warning. His silver-gray fur is brushed with soft browns and creams, glowing subtly against a deep, shadowed background. His wide, watchful eyes gleam with cleverness, daring anyone to guess what he’s already taken.

Jasper Dustbarrel lives by a personal code that no one else has ever fully decoded. He doesn’t rob for greed and he doesn’t steal for spite. He borrows possibilities. A former drifter between worlds, Jasper slipped into the Hat Society through an unlocked window and never quite left. Some members say he’s unreliable. Others say he’s the reason the doors still open when they should not. If something goes missing and turns up exactly where it’s needed, Jasper was probably nearby.

Selene Nightwhisper
(The Moon Oracle)

She watches the night so you don’t have to.

A black cat with luminous amber eyes sits beneath a crescent moon, her tall witch hat crowned with celestial symbols and a glowing central gem. Wisps of cloud curl behind her, stars flicker in gold, and twilight purples and pinks swirl like a living sky. A small golden pendant rests at her chest, catching moonlight as if it were listening.

Selene Nightwhisper does not predict the future. She remembers it.

As the Moon Oracle of the Witch Hat Coven, Selene observes tides of magic as they rise and fall, saying little and missing nothing. She speaks only when the moon changes or when silence itself becomes dangerous. Her visions arrive unannounced, soft as breath and sharp as truth.

Some believe Selene once walked among the stars. Others think she has always been here, watching from the edges of the circle. When she meets your gaze, you may feel seen, steadied, and slightly undone.

Elwyn Breezebloom
(The Messenger of Spring)

Hat bright as a promise, Elwyn arrives with the first yes of the year.

Elwyn stands front and center in a blush-pink suit that looks tailored by spring itself: broad lapels, crisp shirtfront, and a moss-green vest fastened with small golden buttons. His bow tie flashes chartreuse and olive like new leaves catching sun. Above it all: a pale pink top hat with a deep green band and a crown of blooms, roses nestled among tiny yellow blossoms and trailing greens. The background is a lush tangle of painterly foliage and petals, suggesting a garden mid-gossip, mid-bloom, mid-magic.

Elwyn’s paws never touch the ground when the daffodils bloom. He delivers messages from the wind, the thaw, and the first robin’s song. They say he can hear a bud opening from three hedgerows away. He arrives with the news you didn’t know you needed: forgiveness on its way, a door unlatched, a long winter finally loosening its grip. If you spot him at the edge of the garden, hat bright as a promise, it means something is about to begin.