The State of the Syndicate - June 2026
Kythorn 1502 DR
Tova
I have not been with the Syndicate long, but I have already found more trouble, kindness, bruises, and beautiful distractions than I expected.
The Syndicate remains lively, humid, loud, occasionally dangerous, and full of people far more interesting than is probably wise. I have met more faces this month: Theoden, with his red and gold and very honest appetite for reputation; Surx, who may or may not know what they are looking for when they stare; Zaerius, still courteous and theatrical with his three-eyed raven; Sylk, who slips away from crowds but offers lavender lights in the dark; and of course Dahlia and Fenris, both of whom have already become difficult not to like.
I also visited Na’ima’s club in Loudwater, Club Gadagadaahat, after Arlis was kind enough to bring me there. I had been told it was worth seeing, and for once, rumor did not oversell the truth. Music, mirrors, drinks, dancing, good company, and a hostess with tattoos as lovely as her smile. Na’ima is confident, generous, and very easy to admire. Her ink is beautiful, her hospitality warm, and her bed far better than anything I have slept in lately. Breakfast the next morning was no small kindness either. I am beginning to understand that comfort can be dangerous in its own way. It makes a person want to come back.
There was also a great deal of talk about the Feywild after my recent encounter with green hags. I will say this carefully: I learned not to assume that beauty, sweetness, or a soft voice means safety, but I also learned not to paint every creature with the same bloody brush. Annabelle tried to save me. She was honest in the moment that mattered, even if the truth of what she was nearly stopped my heart. Her sister, however, was another matter entirely. Yikes feels too small a word, but it will do for now.
One evening, Sylk left the feast hall. I assumed the room may have become too crowded, so I followed after a while to make sure he was well. He made soft lavender lights for me in the dark, which I appreciated more than I said at first. We spoke at length about magic, home, family, and the Weave. I tried to explain that, for me, magic does not always feel like calling on something distant. It feels like holding a storm behind my ribs and deciding where the lightning is allowed to go. He understood more than I expected. Or at least, he listened beautifully. That is sometimes rarer.
Dahlia, Fenris, and I also played a drinking game called Not Upon My Legend, which is exactly as dangerous as it sounds when played with whiskey and hard cider. Fenris made a dramatic toast to the parents who abandoned him to a river, Dahlia briefly began speaking in a language neither Fenris nor I understood, and I somehow defeated both of them in an arm-wrestling contest. I do not know where that strength came from. I suspect confidence, alcohol, and divine comedy. I also apparently declared Fenris my wingman, which still seems like a sound tactical decision.
Training has become important to me.
Fenris has beaten me in the sparring ring more than once, and I am grateful for it. He is enormous, kind, difficult to put down, and annoyingly capable of undoing every wound I manage to give him. Each spar has taught me something. Distance matters. Control matters. Running out of magic is not an abstract concern when someone built like a wall decides to cross the ring.
Then I sparred Vincel.
The first fight was over almost before it began. They caught me in a spell that locked my body in place, then cut me down before I could break free. I woke with the very clear understanding that being helpless in a fight is a lesson I do not care to repeat.
So, I tried again.
The second time, when that same paralysis began to close around me, something in me pushed back. I broke through it. I drew deeper into the spellfire than I have before and forced it into something precise. Not just power. Not just a flare of blue-white radiance thrown in anger or panic. Control. Aim. A strike shaped exactly where I wanted it to go, even while I was exhausted and nearly out of strength.
I still lost blood, breath, and pride in some places. But I gained something sharper.
Fenris healed me afterward, gently and without presuming. I thanked him before, but I will say it again here: that sort of kindness matters. Especially when it comes without demand.
I have also begun to understand what I need to learn next. I have plenty of ways to burn. I need more ways to survive when I am out of spells, cornered, hunted, or caught off guard. More ways to escape. More ways to misdirect. More ways to keep myself and the people beside me from being trapped, cut down, or killed before I can act. Recent events have made that painfully clear.
So, this month I have learned:
- The Syndicate is full of beautiful trouble.
- Hags are complicated. Some are dangerous. Some may still try to save you. Some sisters, however, should be avoided at speed.
- Never underestimate a quiet person with dancing lights.
- Fenris is an excellent healer, a terrible drunk, and a very good person to have in your corner.
- Dahlia is dangerous in at least three languages.
- Na’ima makes a very good omelette and runs an even better club.
- Arlis knows where to find the interesting people.
- Surx is curious, and I am curious about the curiosity.
- Theoden has an ego, but at least he is honest about wanting to use it for good.
- Vincel is terrifyingly effective.
- I need more ways to survive than simply hitting harder.
- My spellfire is growing, and I am beginning to control it with more precision.
I do not yet know what that means.
But I intend to find out.
