The Fuzzy Dice
Gaming Society

 
The Night of the Violet Lantern 

Tamotsu Masanori was drunk. Not pleasantly tipsy. Not merely enjoying the lingering warmth of a particularly good ale. Drunk. The sort of drunk that made the cobblestones seem unnecessarily complicated and caused him to suspect that the village's buildings had been moving when he wasn't looking. He had spent the better part of the evening at the Wrong Turn Tavern, arguing with a dwarf about the merits of imported beer and insisting that he knew a recipe capable of making every brewer in the realm weep with envy. By the time he stumbled out into the fog, he had forgotten precisely where he intended to go. "Home," he muttered. He considered this. "Yes. Home is good." He adjusted his blue kimono-style robe, took a firm grip on his staff, and set off with all the confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea which direction he was facing. Some time later, he found himself wandering along the path toward the Elsewhere Oak. This was peculiar. He was quite certain his home was in the opposite direction. "Stupid road," he grumbled. He turned around. Then stopped. Through the thick fog, he could see the familiar amber lights of the Elsewhere Oak. Dozens of lanterns hung among its branches, their warm glow creating little islands of gold in the mist. But something was different. Tamotsu squinted. One lantern, hanging low among the enormous roots and branches, was glowing violet. He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again. Still violet. "Huh." He considered the possibility that he had consumed considerably more beer than he remembered. Then he considered the possibility that someone had put something unusual in the beer. Neither explanation seemed entirely satisfactory. He took a few unsteady steps toward the tree. "That is not right." The violet lantern glimmered through the fog, its strange light mingling with the warm amber glow of the others. Tamotsu had seen these lanterns hundreds of times. He knew that the lamplighters maintained them with almost religious devotion. He had never seen one change color. He approached the oak, leaning heavily on his staff. "Well, well. What have we here?" Then he heard something. A faint sound beneath the rustling leaves. He stopped. Listened. A baby crying. Tamotsu frowned. "Oh, no." The crying continued. "No, no, no." He followed the sound toward the base of the tree. And there, nestled between two enormous roots, directly beneath the violet lantern, was a small wicker basket. Inside lay a baby. A very small, very frightened harengon baby. Her soft fur bore the beautiful, irregular markings of a harlequin rabbit, with patches of white, warm orange, and deep brown. Her long ears were folded awkwardly beneath her, and all four of her tiny paws were completely black, as though she were wearing little mittens. She was wrapped in a blue blanket embroidered with tiny silver stars. And she was entirely alone. Tamotsu stared at her. She stared back. He looked at the basket. Then at the lantern. Then at the flask hanging from his belt. "Perhaps I should stop drinking." The baby sneezed. A tiny shower of blue sparks burst from her nose. Tamotsu blinked. "Perhaps not." He looked around the clearing. "Hello?" Nothing. "Someone has forgotten something!" Only the wind answered. He waited. The baby began to cry again. Tamotsu sighed. "Do not look at me. I am not qualified for this." He reached into the basket to adjust her blanket, but something caught his eye. Tucked beneath it was a folded piece of parchment. It was stained, creased, and written in a hurried hand. Tamotsu opened it. There were only three lines.

Her name is Maribel Widdershins.
Please protect her.
Let her be safe.

Tamotsu read the words twice. Then a third time, because the letters had begun moving in a manner he found deeply unhelpful. There was no signature. No explanation. No indication of where she had come from. He looked down at the little girl. "Maribel Widdershins." The baby stopped crying. For a moment, the two simply regarded one another. Then she reached up, caught hold of his whiskers with one of her tiny black paws, and pulled. "Ow!" She giggled. Tamotsu carefully freed himself. "Listen, Maribel. I am going to take you somewhere warm. Then we are going to find someone who knows what to do with you." He gathered the basket, tucked the baby securely into his robes, and began the walk back toward The Wrong Turn. "Someone responsible," he added. The baby cooed. "Not me." He had gone only a few steps when he stopped and glanced back. The violet lantern was still glowing. All around it, the other lanterns shone their familiar amber. Tamotsu frowned. "Very strange." He considered investigating further. Then Maribel began to cry again. "Yes, yes. I am going." He adjusted the basket and continued on.  

A Wish Answered   

What Tamotsu did not know was that, somewhere deep within the Feywild, someone had made a desperate wish. Someone who had loved Maribel enough to give her up. Someone who had known that keeping her close would place her in terrible danger. With no other hope remaining, they had wished for the child to be taken somewhere safe. Somewhere she could grow up. Somewhere whatever threatened her could not easily follow. The wish had been answered. But wishes are peculiar things. They do not always take the path one expects. And in a village known for things that disappear, the Elsewhere Oak had received one very precious lost thing. A child of the Feywild whose only instructions were to be protected. Whether the violet lantern had been a sign of her arrival, a warning, or something else entirely, no one could say.  

A Most Inconvenient Discovery   

Tamotsu entered the Wrong Turn Tavern carrying the basket beneath one arm and the baby beneath the other. The bartender looked up. "Tamotsu. You're back." "Unfortunately." She noticed the basket. "What have you got there?" "A problem." The baby squeaked. The bartender leaned over the counter. "Oh, gods." "Yes. Exactly." She stared at him. "Where did you get a baby?" "Under a tree." "Tamotsu." "A very large tree." "Tamotsu." "With a purple lantern." The bartender closed her eyes. "How much have you had to drink?" "That is not relevant." Within minutes, half the tavern had gathered around. Someone fetched warm milk. Someone else produced a blanket. A dwarven woman began explaining, at considerable length, how to care for an infant. Tamotsu listened impatiently. "Yes, yes. Very interesting. Now, who would like to take her?" The room fell quiet. He looked around. "Anyone?" The baby reached for his whiskers again. He moved his head out of reach. "Surely someone here has experience with children." The bartender folded her arms. "You're the one who found her." "That is not a qualification!" When asked where she had come from, Tamotsu explained about the basket beneath the Elsewhere Oak. Then he mentioned the lantern again. "It was violet." The bartender stopped wiping her glass. "What?" "One of the lanterns. Violet. All the others were amber." A few nearby patrons turned toward him. "That's impossible," someone muttered. Tamotsu shrugged. "Nevertheless." The bartender frowned. "Those lanterns have always been amber." "Yes. I am aware." "Are you certain?" Tamotsu gave her a long look. "I know the difference between amber and violet." The bartender glanced at his empty flask. "Usually." The news spread quickly. By morning, Cornelia and Cornwalis had heard about it. The two halfling lamplighters were thoroughly unimpressed by the suggestion that one of their lanterns had changed color without their knowledge. "Lanterns do not simply change color," Cornwalis insisted. "Especially not the ones on the Elsewhere Oak," Cornelia added. They visited the tree themselves. Every lantern was amber. Its glass was intact. Its fittings were secure. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. Cornwalis inspected the lantern Tamotsu had described twice. Cornelia inspected it three times. Neither could find anything unusual. When they returned, they informed Tamotsu that he must have been mistaken. Tamotsu suggested they inspect their own eyesight. The matter was never satisfactorily resolved. But whenever someone mentioned the violet lantern, Cornelia and Cornwalis exchanged a look. And neither seemed particularly eager to discuss it.  

The Little Girl Called Mittens 

For several weeks, inquiries were made throughout Embermist Hollow. No one knew the Widdershins family. No traveler reported a missing child. No parent came forward. No one could explain how an infanthad appeared beneath the Elsewhere Oak. In the meantime, Tamotsu agreed to look after her. Temporarily. He made this very clear. He reminded the bartender every morning. He reminded Rennin whenever they crossed paths. He even reminded the baby, though she seemed remarkably uninterested in the arrangement. He was not a father. He was not a caretaker. He was certainly not the sort of person who knew how to raise a child. Yet somehow, Maribel remained with him. He learned to prepare her meals, change her clothes, and recognize the particular expression she wore immediately before something nearby became enchanted. He also discovered that harengon babies possessed an astonishing ability to escape from cradles. One evening, while attempting to dress her for bed, he noticed her little black paws sticking out from beneath the blanket. He took one in his hand. Against her beautiful white, orange, and brown fur, the black paws looked almost comical, as though she had been born wearing four tiny mittens. Tamotsu chuckled. "Look at you." She wiggled her toes. "Little Mittens." Maribel giggled. He smiled despite himself. "Mittens," he repeated. She reached up and grabbed his whiskers. "Ow! Yes, yes. Mittens it is." The name stuck. Before long, nearly everyone in Embermist Hollow called her Mittens. Even Tamotsu rarely used her proper name, except when she had done something particularly alarming. "Mittens" meant everything was fine. "Maribel" meant something was broken. "Maribel Widdershins" meant the village might need evacuating.  

The Trouble With Loving Someone

   Tamotsu's temporary arrangement lasted a month. Then two. Then six. At first, he continued searching for someone who might take her in. He spoke to families around the village. He asked travelers whether they knew any harengon communities. He even considered taking her to a larger city where someone might know more about her origins. But every time a possibility arose, he found a reason it would not work. The family had too many children. The city was too far away. The travelers seemed unreliable. The weather was poor. And Mittens, he insisted, was a particularly difficult child. It was only reasonable that he should be careful about where he sent her. Then came the winter she fell ill. It began with a cough. By morning, she had a fever. By evening, she would barely open her eyes. Tamotsu carried her through the fog to Stone and Root, where Brynhild Starkhelm examined her. For the first time anyone could remember, the fox-man had nothing clever to say. He sat beside the little bed while Bryn worked, his staff resting forgotten against the wall. "She will be all right?" he asked. Bryn assured him that she was doing everything she could. Tamotsu nodded. Then he asked again. He stayed through the night. And the next. He refused food, barely slept, and snapped at anyone who suggested he should go home. When Mittens finally opened her eyes, she found him sitting beside her. "Tam?" He leaned forward. "Yes?" "Thirsty." He immediately reached for the water. She drank, then looked up at him. "Why are you sad?" Tamotsu stared at her. For a moment, he could not find the words. Then he gently brushed one of her long ears away from her face. "I am not sad, little one." She studied him. "You're crying." He wiped his cheek. "Nonsense. Dust." She reached out with one small black paw and touched his hand. "Don't be sad, Tam." He held her paw between his fingers. And for the first time, Tamotsu understood that he could no longer imagine a life without her. He had spent months telling everyone that she was only staying with him until someone better came along. But somewhere along the way, without asking his permission, the little rabbit had become his daughter. He never looked for another home for her again.  

A Home Among the Lanterns

   Mittens grew up in Embermist Hollow. She learned to walk along its cobblestone streets, to recognize the villagers by their footsteps, and to navigate the fog by the warm glow of its countless lanterns. Her harlequin markings became more pronounced as she grew. Her beautiful white, orange, and brown fur made her unmistakable among the villagers, while her four black paws remained as dark as the day Tamotsu had found her. She was an extraordinarily curious child. She took apart clocks to discover where the hours went. She collected broken keys, unusual stones, and bits of colored glass. She asked questions that even the oldest villagers struggled to answer. And she followed Tamotsu everywhere. He taught her to recognize an approaching storm, to move quietly through the forest, and to defend herself against anyone who underestimated her. She taught him patience. Or, at least, she attempted to. Her magic emerged early. When she laughed, candles sometimes changed color. When she cried, nearby objects occasionally floated. Once, during a particularly spectacular tantrum, every mug in the Wrong Turn Tavern became a teacup. Tamotsu was furious. Not because of the magic. Because his beer had become tea. As the years passed, Mittens developed a fascination with the arcane. She devoured every book she could find and spent hours experimenting with small enchantments. Tamotsu encouraged her, though he insisted that magical experiments were to be conducted outdoors. Preferably far from his belongings. And whenever she asked about her parents, he told her what he knew. He showed her the blue blanket. He showed her the note. And he told her about the night he had found her beneath the Elsewhere Oak. Including the violet lantern. "Do you think it changed because of me?" she once asked. Tamotsu shrugged. "Perhaps." "Why?" "I do not know." She thought about that. "Do you think it will happen again?" Tamotsu looked toward the distant oak. "I suppose we shall have to wait and see." But whenever she asked about her parents, he told her only what he knew. "Whoever left you there," he would tell her, "wanted you to be safe." "Do you think they loved me?" Tamotsu would look at the note. Then at her. "Yes," he would say. "I think they loved you very much." She would consider this for a moment. "Do you love me?" Tamotsu would pretend to think. "Well, you are very expensive to feed." "Tam!" "And you have broken several of my favorite mugs." "Tam!" "And I have not had a peaceful night's sleep in years." She would fold her arms. He would smile. "More than anything, little Mittens." And she would throw herself into his arms.  

The Widdershins Girl

   Years passed, and the little girl from the basket became an accomplished wizard. Eventually, Mittens opened Widdershins' Arcana Emporium, filling its crooked shelves with enchanted curiosities, peculiar artifacts, and objects that occasionally behaved in ways their owners had not anticipated. She filled its space with things that people found at the Elsewhere Oak and things she found on her many adventures.  She kept the name Widdershins. It was, after all, the name she had arrived with. Tamotsu visited often. Usually without knocking. Usually demanding tea. Occasionally demanding beer. And whenever Mittens became too absorbed in her work, he would remind her that even the greatest wizard in the world still needed to eat. She would roll her eyes. He would complain about the state of her shop. Then they would sit together, drinking tea and arguing about matters of absolutely no consequence. Neither spoke very often about the night beneath the Elsewhere Oak. But Mittens kept the blue blanket embroidered with silver stars. And tucked carefully within its folds was a small, weathered piece of parchment. Three lines. A name. A plea. And a wish.  

The Lantern That Changed   

Tamotsu still visits the Elsewhere Oak from time to time. He stands beneath its enormous branches, looking at the place where he found the basket so many years ago. Dozens of lanterns hang overhead. Their amber light glows warmly through the fog. Just as it did before that strange autumn evening. No one has ever reported seeing one turn violet again. Sometimes Tamotsu wonders who left Mittens there. Sometimes he wonders whether they ever learned what became of her. And sometimes, when he is certain no one is listening, he speaks softly to the old tree. "I did not want her, you know." He pauses and then chuckles. "Not at first." The lanterns glow quietly above him. "I tried to find someone else. Someone who knew what they were doing. Someone better." For a while, he says nothing. Then he smiles. "She turned out all right, though. Didn't she?" He adjusts his staff and looks back toward the warm lights of Embermist Hollow. "She became a very troublesome rabbit." His smile softens. "My troublesome rabbit." He begins walking toward the village. Then, just before leaving the clearing, he stops and glances back at the lantern where it all began. "Still amber, eh?" The lantern flickers gently. Tamotsu smiles. "Good." And with that, he turns toward home. For whatever else the Elsewhere Oak might be, whatever strange things it might take or return, it had once given him something he had never known he was missing. A daughter. And he had loved her more than anything in the world.