The Royal Society of Hat-Wearing Foxes

The Feywild is a place like no other. It is a strange wonderland filled with lush green forests of impossibly high trees where flowers and mushrooms of all colors glow under the faint blue sky of eternal twilight. Time works funny in the Feywild. You can never quite be sure how long you’ve been there. You could stray off the path on your morning walk through the woods and slip into the realm of the fey, have a nice cup of tea with Ceeles the satyr, and head right back home only to find that a whole week has passed. Likewise, you could spend months there, perhaps searching for a way back to your own world, and when you return, find that you’re home just in time for supper on the very day you left.

Distances don’t work quite right there either. Or rather, they work differently. The inhabitants—elves, fairies, talking animals, and other peculiar creatures—would say that everything is perfectly normal, thank you very much. But to an outsider, the shifting of distances is an elusive phenomenon that makes planning your journey impossible. You can walk from Björn the bear’s cottage—being careful not to anger his garden gnomes on the way out—down the winding path to Irsa Anore, listening to the crows that sound like humans imitating jackdaws, and arrive in just under an hour. Heading back from the hamlet (if you can call it that, it’s really more of a loose grouping of cabins that are sometimes close to one another) you might just find the cottage just down the road and over the hill. Other times, the path may lead somewhere else entirely.

The inhabitants are equally inscrutable. Instead of money, they trade in food, art, tools, favors, memories, eye colors, years, and anything imaginable. If someone asks if they may have your name, you say no. That’s the oldest trick in the Feywild book. It’s mostly witches that try that sort of thing, and while there are far more dangerous and frightening creatures in the Feywild than witches, most of the inhabitants are actually quite pleasant to deal with. The gnomes may be mischievous but are always kind at heart, the treants are infinitely wise, and the badgers are exquisite cooks. Then, of course, there’s the foxes.

The Royal Society of Hat-Wearing Foxes resides in a tall moss-covered castle with ultramarine spires rising confidently from its keep. It is located in a clearing somewhere deep within the wilds where few dare venture. A broken stained glass window of a long-forgotten king overlooks the courtyard from the throne room on the fourth floor. On this day, if there are truly days in the Feywild, the throne room just so happens to be where the foxes are gathered. Today is a very special day for the hat-wearing foxes. Today, they have guests.

The guests are an adventuring party from the material realm and it is no coincidence that they are in the castle today. They sought out the foxes on purpose. Few animals in the Feywild are as sneaky as the foxes, but there’s a trick to finding them. This particular adventuring party had been picking glassberries near the strawberry river. Glassberries are shaped like blueberries, but are translucent and vary in color, giving the impression of stained glass beads growing on bushes. They taste like summer. Foxes love glassberries. In fact, if there are enough glassberries in one place, a fox will inevitably appear to investigate, hoping to find a delicious snack.

The fox that appeared before the adventuring party is named Sombrero, which is also the name of the hat he wears. This is no coincidence. You can tell by the size of his hat that he is a high-ranking member of the society. In exchange for the berries, he brought the group to the castle to discuss a hat-related matter.

The party now stands in the middle of the throne room. They are flanked by rows of foxes, each wearing a distinct type of hat: cowboy hat, sombrero, fedora (often confused with the trilby), trilby (often forgotten), bowler, tyrolean, and tricorn. One of them even wears a pineapple on her head. She keeps her head perfectly still so as not to drop the hat that is a pineapple. It is nerve-wracking, for a fox without a hat is no fox at all.

On the throne sits another fox. He is old and the fur around his muzzle is turning gray. His expression is stern. The adventuring party is not treating him with the proper respect. He is King Fox, the leader of the Royal Society of Hat-Wearing Foxes. He wears a wizard hat, the largest of all hats. That is why he is king.

One of the adventurers is speaking. She claims to have lost her hat. A tragedy, the foxes know. She looks like a cross between a human and an orange tabby and wears a coat that wouldn’t look out of place on a pirate. She, like the other adventurers, is not from the Feywild and doesn’t know what an honor it is to be granted an audience with the foxes. She points at the newest member of the society, Tricorn, who wears a tricorn hat. This is no coincidence. She accuses Tricorn of theft, claiming that the hat is hers.

Tricorn is incensed but he does not show it. He found the hat near a crashed airship, it is his. Claiming otherwise is disgraceful. Indeed, Tricorn been never been so insulted in his whole life, but he stays quiet. He knows that King Fox, the wizard fox, will put the adventurers in their place. It is his responsibility as king.

The adventurer finishes her speech by asking for Tricorn’s hat. King Fox sits in silence for a moment, paws clasped before his snout. His piercing gaze is locked on the adventurer. The other foxes are all holding their breaths. Then, King Fox speaks. His voice is husky and guttural, though faint.

“You come into my castle and you say, ‘Wizard Hat Fox, give me a hat.’ But you don’t ask with respect. You don’t offer friendship. You don’t even think to call me King Fox¹.”

King Fox is just but also kind, perhaps too kind. He is willing to forgive the adventurers’ rude ways and even offers them a deal for Tricorn’s hat if they’re willing to find him a new (and of course, bigger) hat. King Fox holds out his paw for the adventurer in the pirate coat to kiss as a sign of respect. Confused, she shakes it instead. Then she turns back to the group and they whisper among themselves for a moment.

The hatless pirate cat-person smirks at King Fox right before she dashes toward Tricorn, who recoils in fear, covering his eyes with his paws. The adventurer takes Tricorn’s hat and puts it on her head. This brings an indescribable shame upon the family of the unnamed fox formerly known as Tricorn. Then the pirate and the rest of her party rush for the door.

“Stop them!” King Fox bellows. But it is too late. They are already making their way down the stairs at a pace that the foxes cannot keep up with.

It is a grim day for the Royal Society of Hat-Wearing Foxes. They all know that the hatless fox must leave them. He has no other choice. King Fox, in his endless kindness, offers the fox a chance at retribution. He arms the hatless one with a wand of disintegration and sends him to track down the hat thief. Wand clenched between his teeth, he set out full of purpose toward the material plane. He would find the pirate theif, and he would disintegrate her². He would be Tricorn again.