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The Glassfang Syndicate
Characters
The Glassfang Syndicate
Dungeons & Dragons 5e
© 2026 WestMarches.games
Level
8
Experience
89 XP
Gold:
987.58
Syndicate Tokens:
3
Renown - The Lords' Alliance :
1
DTP:
5
Lifestyle purchasing token:
1
Renown - The Order of the Gauntlet :
1
Starting Class:
Sorcerer (2024)
Race/Species:
Human
Background:
Spellfire Initiate
Soul Directive:
I will return if I return free. No bargain. No leash. No vessel-work. No ascension bought with my soul. If the magic calls me back as myself, I consent. If anyone seeks to own what comes back, let the spell fail and let them fear what they tried to wake.
Dark Vision:
0 ft
Age:
24
Pronouns:
she/her
Alignment :
Neutral Good
Place of origin :
Small Settlement outside of Spellguard ruins.
(IC) Why did you join The Glassfang Syndicate?:
“I joined because I needed work, allies, and answers.”
Completed:
15
Most recent:
1 day ago
Tova Sundara is a striking human woman with bone-white hair streaked in electric blue, vivid green-hazel eyes, and a grounded presence that makes her hard to overlook. She carries herself with easy confidence, warm enough at first glance to seem approachable, but with a sharpness beneath it that warns against mistaking kindness for softness.
Intricate arcane tattoos climb from her hands and wrists up her arms, throat, and chest, their dark lines broken by scars where the old designs were burned apart and made into something new. When she channels magic, those marks flare with electric-blue spellfire, sparking across her skin like living lightning.
Tova does not speak much about where the tattoos came from, only that they are hers now. She joined the Glassfang Syndicate seeking work, allies, and answers about the power burning through her blood, especially where old magic, strange relics, and cults are concerned.
Reported by Tova
Flamerule has been busy for the Glassfang Syndicate. That is still the polite way to say it. The Syndicate continues to gather capable, dangerous, strange, and occasionally very attractive people under one roof. New faces have arrived, familiar faces keep finding new ways to surprise me, and the feast hall remains one of the best places to hear rumors, find work, share a drink, or accidentally learn something personal before the meal is finished.
The work has continued steadily. Members have taken contracts beyond our walls, investigated threats in places most sensible people avoid, and returned with bruises, stories, and sometimes a bit more mud than necessary. Corruption, fey influence, hostile creatures, missing soldiers, and worse have all made an appearance this month. Training has also been active, with sparring, spell practice, crafting, and preparation shaping the Syndicate into something stronger. Some of us are learning how to hit harder. Some of us are learning how to avoid being hit. Some of us are learning both the hard way.
The biggest threat this month was the assault on the Syndicate itself. The attack was organized and serious, with goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, fiends, and siege equipment pressing both sides of our defenses. The Syndicate held, but not without cost. Several kobolds were lost during the attack. They helped keep this place running before the siege, and many helped defend it during the fighting. They should be remembered as part of the Syndicate, not treated as background losses.
This month also made something clear to me. The Syndicate is not just a place people pass through for coin. At least, not for me anymore. I have grown close to people here. Friends, allies, sparring partners, troublemakers, and one particular drow who has become very difficult not to care about.
Because of that, I found myself standing against Akordil Kuldrexel, Sylk’s patron and grandmother. She made it clear she believed I was interfering with the future she had planned for him, and she expected fear, duty, and old bloodlines to be enough to make him obey. I disagreed. Strongly. Sylk is his own person, not a title, not a weapon, and not something to be bent into shape by someone else’s expectations. I do not hold power over him, and I do not need to. Caring for someone without controlling them is not weakness. It is love, and I will stand by that.
I have also had difficult words with Wuyon’e about Sylk, duty, and the expectations placed on him by the world he came from. We do not agree on the value of life, choice, love, or whether people are allowed to become more than what others named them. For the record, I believe they are.
The Syndicate is full of people carrying old wounds, old duties, old fears, and old names that do not fit as well as they used to. Some are trying to change. Some are fighting it. Some are doing both while pretending no one notices. I notice.
Morale is not untouched, but it is not broken. People are still training. Still taking work. Still gathering in the hall. Still laughing, flirting, arguing, healing, and walking back through the doors with new bruises and better stories. The Syndicate is not quiet. It is not safe. It is not simple. But it is alive, and after this month, I think that means something.
Signed,
Tova
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Reported by Temoren Cairnwright
This month was busy in a way that felt less like one clean road and more like several badly marked trails crossing at once.
I have continued taking Syndicate work where I can, and the pattern remains consistent: the world is full of old problems, new problems, and people who insist on handing adventurers unclear maps before sending them toward both.
One job took us north toward the Nether Mountains on behalf of Nahaungloroth the Sky Surge. The work involved the Blood of Morueme, a goblinoid messenger named Hario, an abandoned and warded city called Glaurachyndaar, swarms of stirges, giant scorpions, poisonous dragon-like creatures, and wyverns. The provided map was poor, so I corrected my copy as we traveled. This is not a complaint. It is a fact, and also a recurring theme.
I also joined work involving the Mistbourne, the Tidewheel, and the Dark Tide. That matter was considerably stranger. The town was built around the ribcage of a dead leviathan, which I am still deciding how to categorize in my notes. We learned more about Joturr, the storm around old Ithal, and what the Dark Tide has become. Erlan Fleetfoot survived, which matters, because he may be one of the few people capable of helping the Mistbourne understand the Tidewheel without becoming part of the problem himself.
I have also met several new people around the Syndicate this month, including a white-haired woman with very striking markings. I do not know her story yet. I have learned not to assume too much based on appearances, but I do keep notes. Quietly.
Fetch continues to be helpful, though not always durable. He was taken out by friendly fire during one patrol. He has since been repaired. I have tools, and he has opinions.
On the craft side, I have begun offering spell scroll scribing under the name Cairn & Compass, which is also the name I intend to use for my future bastion once the proper location is settled. The bastion itself is not ready yet. I want the location to be right, not merely available. There is a difference.
For now, I am focusing on useful work: scrolls, corrected maps, field notes, and whatever preparations keep people alive when the next road turns out to be worse than advertised.
No one died on my watch this month.
That is not the same thing as success in every matter, but it is worth recording.
~Temoren Cairnwright~
Date: 17 Flamerule, 1502 DR
Location: Glassfang Syndicate
Reported by: Tova
Incident: Assault on the Syndicate
The Syndicate came under attack by an organized force. From what I saw on the eastern side, the enemy included goblins, hobgoblins, hobgoblin captains, bugbears, siege weapons, imps, and other fiends. It was not a random raid. They came prepared to break through our defenses.
I was stationed on the eastern side and helped hold the tower and bridge there. The fighting was heavy from the start. We had enemies pushing toward the walls, siege equipment advancing, and flying fiends creating problems wherever they could.
On our side, everyone fought hard. Orri and Tealight were working with the ballista. Vincel and Bri were holding the front line. Sylk, Aber, Theoden, Jax, Snap, and others were also in the fight, doing what they could to keep the enemy from overrunning us.
I maintained my Spellfire Storm through the battle and used Fireball where I could catch groups of enemies without catching too many allies, which is always the less scandalous choice. The spellfire helped hold back several pushes, but there were too many enemies to pretend any one person carried the field.
The eastern side held, though not cleanly. People were injured, resources were spent, and the enemy kept coming. The western side was fighting at the same time, but I could not see everything happening there from my position. I know they were under heavy pressure as well.
Many kobolds were lost during the assault. Some were helping with the defenses, some were caught by the flying fiends, and some simply had the misfortune of being in the path of a force that came here meaning to kill us. They should be remembered as part of the reason the Syndicate still stands.
Eventually, we broke what turned out to be the first wave.
Then the horns sounded again.
The fight was not over.
Signed,
Tova
Date: 7 Flamerule, 1502 DR
Party: Snap, Tova, Aber, Tealight, Jabble
Patron: Nahaunglaroth
Representative: Hario, Blood of Morueme
Objective: Investigate the plague in the Far Forest, destroy its source, and make the area safer for hobgoblin travel.
Hario arrived at the Syndicate with a sealed missive from Nahaunglaroth. The seal was blue and marked with a dragon’s head, with a red ribbon wrapped around it. I accepted the letter, broke the seal, and read it aloud to the group.
The message thanked the Syndicate for previous work and requested our aid with a plague affecting the Far Forest, south of the Nether Mountains. We were instructed to clear out the corruption “root and stem.” Payment was promised for successful completion.
We traveled north with Hario and a hobgoblin escort. During the journey, we introduced ourselves. Jabble showed us a mermaid tattoo that moves when he flexes. Worth noting.
The Far Forest was dense, dark, and difficult to travel through. The area showed signs of old ruins and lingering fey influence. Tealight noticed possible Unseelie influence among the remnants. Aber observed a strong presence of wildlife and signs of arcane ley lines running through the area.
I also spoke with the group about Surx and the incident where they used my face and contacted my mind without permission. Since the topic of fey came up, it seemed relevant. And because I enjoy being helpful, obviously.
When we reached the edge of the Far Forest, Hario informed us that Platoon Thirteen, a group of fourteen hobgoblins, had entered the forest earlier and had not returned. We agreed to look for signs of them while completing the main objective.
Once inside, Snap carried a torch for those of us without darkvision.
We were attacked by two awakened trees and a shambling mound.
The mound grabbed me during the fight. Tealight used her whip to pull me free. Snap and Tealight helped destroy the mound, Jabble attacked one of the trees, and Aber helped prevent Snap from being pulled into danger.
We learned that some of the corrupted plant creatures regenerated from electrical damage. An unpleasant lesson, but a useful one.
All hostile creatures were destroyed.
We moved deeper into the forest and found corrosive pools of mud or ooze. There was also purple dust in the area that appeared to interfere with healing.
We were attacked by another awakened tree and two vine-like humanoid creatures. One vine was spotted and quickly taken down. The tree grabbed Snap and held him over one of the corrosive pools, but it was unable to lower him in properly. Snap escaped, and the rest of the party destroyed the tree and remaining vine creature.
One wisp-like entity retreated through what appeared to be a fey portal.
We followed glowing fey-like lights to a more heavily corrupted section of the forest. There we found a large mass of skulls, fungus, roots, and corrupted plant matter.
It stood and attacked.
The creature released rot and poison at the start of the fight, incapacitating Jabble. It later grabbed Snap and pulled him into itself. Snap continued fighting from within its grasp, while the rest of us focused on destroying the creature and dealing with the remaining vine entities.
The fight was difficult. Several of us were low on resources by this point, myself included.
The creature was eventually destroyed. Once it fell, the surrounding plague began to recede.
After the creature was destroyed, we found the remains of Platoon Thirteen. They had been grafted into the corrupted mass and were beyond saving.
We recovered identifying belongings and effects so Hario and the Blood of Morueme could confirm their fate.
We returned to Hario and reported the destruction of the plague’s source. We also confirmed the fate of Platoon Thirteen.
Payment was received.
Mission completed.
Signed,
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.
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.
I do not yet know what that means.
But I intend to find out.
Being only my second job here at the Syndicate, this one was especially strange. Although, Sylk has been on both of my jobs, this time it was really nice seeing them do their thing.
Basically, it was Me, Salviron, Sylk, Vincel, and Willow. Way up into the Ice Spire mountains we find a woman named SEER and a really beaten up dwarf named Emelia. I asked if they needed any assistance or if a healer had tended to them and they were already tended to but must have been really bad before because they looked... well they looked not great.
We were given info about a tablet that a Lt. Adriana had and that was our primary objective to get that back. We also really needed to try and save the Captain (Emelia's father). Also getting the battalions back would be ideal and I certainly wanted to save as many as we could.
We venture forth through snow and wind and basic all-around shitty weather. It was a trudge but my new winter gear - apparently it is edible because it is fungal or something? not sure. Either way we get out there, two crazy fire snake/work/centipede things attack us. I was able to use my new spell Laeral's Silver Lance. It was pretty spectacular since I can maneuver it around my allies. No careful metamagic required for that one.
We get to the gorge and see the camp below. There was one big ogre that looked to be the leader and was better armed than the others. Another 36 normal ogres, and 5 or 6 Winter Wolves. We attempt to travers down the gorge and luckily, we had a few things to help us and for some reason, Sylk, decided that they were going to catch us all at the bottom, even though they did not make it down there easily either and took a bit of fall damage. There was only one time they had to catch me... we both were able to stay upright. I think he was just being extra careful with me. I don't know why... it isn't like he likes me or anything.
Anyhoo... there were hours of this trudging we had to go through before this and now we had to skirt past the patrols with these crazy ass Winter Wolves with this freezing breath they spewed as we were caught by one of the patrols. I was able to web just the wolf and the ogre that was with him didn't get stuck, but he was killed fairly quickly and the wolf as well.
We make it eventually down to the camp and decide to challenge them for safe passage. Apparently, they went for it and so we all were able to take down the two things fighting us and get to the dwarves where we found all of them still alive.
To escape, we were able to get two of the sarcophagi off the wall and out and then use it to ride a wave of an avalanche out there. We lost a few... including the captain who I was able to immediately leap off and grab then immediately thunderstep back onto the sarcophagus. It was wild!
We eventually made it out of there but not with everyone. Out of 24 we returned with maybe 16. More than half so we considered that a win. Everyone was happy and we got a few really nice things.
I am not going to forget how Sylk actually put himself in front of danger or falling for the whole party that needed him. Stupid, but brave.
No more cold for a while. Although it was a nice reprieve from the sweltering heat here at the syndicate.
~Tova~
A note arrived at the Syndicate asking for adventurers. It claimed that a beloved Princess had been stolen by a red dragon in the Graypeak Mountains, and that the dragon had flown south toward the smoke after taking her. The sender did not leave their location, fearing the message might be intercepted, but said we would know where to return Princess once we found her.
The group that answered was Theoden, a human paladin; Mika, a human warlock; Vernel, a small clockwork-looking construct warlock; and me.
We traveled toward the smoke in the Graypeaks. Theoden was able to tell that the signs looked like red dragon activity, which was impressive, especially considering he was also dealing with the aftermath of some hag nonsense that had left him completely bald. I had met him before and let me say this clearly: he had very good hair. The messy, handsome sort. A terrible loss. I may have had a small reaction to hearing the word “hag,” but I kept that to myself. Mostly.
After a few hours, we reached a river of flowing lava and found a large number of kobolds. I cast Web and caught several of them, which made their attempt to swarm us much less effective. We dealt with them and continued onward.
Further in, we found writing in Draconic, which I was able to read:
“I was carried into a dark room and set on fire. I wept, and then my head was cut off. What am I?”
A charming riddle, really. Horrible imagery, but charming. The answer was “candle,” and once that was handled, a boulder moved and allowed us deeper inside.
Before reaching the final chamber, we heard two distinct sounds: something flapping, and something hooved. Inside, we found the red dragon, and also a very cute white goat wearing a collar with a tag that read: Princess.
So yes. We did slay the dragon and save the Princess.
During the fight, I cast Spellfire Flare at the second level. The final flare struck with all the control and force I could pull through my spellfire, and the dragon fell. I will admit, that felt excellent.
We recovered Princess safely, along with 43 gold and a few small items and trinkets. Better yet, saving Princess earned us 50% off a food or drink item at Peeking Farms, which may be the most wholesome reward I have received so far.
A successful job. A dead dragon. A rescued goat. A tragically bald paladin. Discounted refreshments.
Honestly, a very fine day’s work.
For my first official Syndicate job, I traveled north of Shining Falls with Fenris, Sylk, Forvist, Vernal, and Forvist’s drake to help Miss Wormtop, a middle-aged halfling woman with a very strange talent for making squirrel “drones” out of corpse flowers, nothic eyes, and dead little animals. Charming? No. Effective? Apparently, until hundreds of them vanished in the woods.
Our task was simple: follow one of her drones and find out where they were being destroyed. We did not need to recover the lost thing she was searching for, only learn where the drones stopped.
Along the way, we met a wood elf, learned there were Underdark entrances nearby, and heard warnings of aberrations and undead. Sylk carried a scimitar the elf seemed to recognize, which was interesting. Forvist also gave us a surprisingly passionate explanation of a Silver Talon Spear and how, in rare cases, elven craftsmanship can rival or even surpass dwarven work. Rare cases, mind you. Very rare.
The drone led us into a cave filled with the remains of countless little animal constructs. It touched a stone door, climbed onto the pile, and was destroyed by a thunderous magical blast. Fenris identified the trap as a Glyph of Warding. The door had only a keyhole and refused to open, despite Sylk’s Mage Hand and my attempts to test it with different types of Sorcerous Burst.
Unfortunately, all that noise woke the forest.
On our way out, we were attacked by several creatures, including a barlgura, which made the awful monkey-like sounds we had heard. It hit hard enough to drop me, which I did not enjoy. Fenris healed me, and Forvist brought the barlgura down with impressive force. Sylk held his own beautifully, Fenris’s Spirit Guardians cut through enemies, Forvist and his drake hit like thunder, and Vernal’s small blade did far more damage than expected.
Then it rained blood on the way back. Horrible. Absolutely horrible. I need several baths.
We returned with the answer Miss Wormtop needed: her drones were being destroyed by a trapped stone door protected by a glyph. For a first job, I would call that a success.
I went unconscious, yes, but everyone came back alive. Having capable people at your back makes all the difference.
And truly, nothing is sexier than capable people who have your back.
I have not been here long, but the Syndicate has already proven far more interesting than expected.
My first days have been spent mostly in the feast hall, which seems to be as good a place as any to learn who is worth knowing. I have met Dahlia, who has excellent taste in tea and a talent for asking questions with a smile; Vincel, whose interest in magic may yet prove entertaining; Zaerius, who arrived with a three-eyed raven and speaks of the Raven Queen with admirable certainty; Mimsy, whose entrance alone suggested this place does not suffer from a lack of personality; and Solia and Fenris, both of whom have been remarkably welcoming.
I learned rather quickly that the Syndicate already has trouble of its own. Solia spoke of a goblin called Orlak, stolen artifacts, infernal dealings, and the attention of a Red Wizard of Thay. Apparently, being new does not spare one from being immediately invested in another person’s dangerous problems. Unfortunate for Orlak, I have decided I dislike him already.
Some conversations became more personal than I expected. A few here now know that the markings I carry were not originally made by my choice. That is as much detail as I intend to offer freely. They are mine now, and I have no interest in anyone treating them as wounds to be erased. Fenris, to his credit, understood this with more grace than most would.
Speaking of Fenris, I asked for training and he was kind enough to provide it. Twice.
I lost. Twice.
In my defense, he is enormous, heavily armed, capable of healing himself, and surprisingly quick once he starts moving. I did manage to make him say “ow,” which I consider a modest victory.
More importantly, the sparring taught me something. My magic is changing. Growing, perhaps. When pressed, I felt the spellfire answer more strongly than it has before, rushing through the lines on my skin with a force I could barely hold steady. It was exhausting, occasionally painful, and entirely exhilarating. I have a great deal to learn, but I am less uncertain of myself than I was when I arrived.
So far, I have found good tea, dangerous rumors, kind people, an irritatingly durable training partner, and at least one problem involving a Red Wizard that I would be very pleased to help solve.
All things considered, I believe I shall stay.
~ Tova ~
________________________________________________________________
State of the Syndicate
This month has been quieter for me, at least by Syndicate standards. No worgs. No desperate roadside rescues. No sudden wings in the middle of a fight. I am choosing to consider that progress.
Most of my time has gone toward smaller work: maintaining my tools, refining my maps, checking over Fetch, and continuing to build a better understanding of how the Syndicate functions when no one is actively bleeding on the floor. It is useful information. Less exciting to write down, but useful.
Although, I did get to fight off some giant as well as a couple of cyclopes and owlbears. That dropped me. Solia slid right up valiantly and saved me. It was an ordeal and I found these very strange bolts with dried leaches. I hope to gross someone out by using them in the future.
New faces continue to arrive. That seems to be a pattern here. The Syndicate has a way of collecting capable people, strange people, and people who are both. I met one white-haired woman with very striking markings across her skin. I do not know her story yet, and I have learned it is usually better not to assume. Still, she is difficult not to notice. Some people enter a room and become part of the room. Others enter and make the room rearrange itself around them a little. She may be the second kind.
Fetch remains helpful, occasionally too helpful. He has taken well to his tricorn hat and appears to understand that it gives him a certain amount of authority. It does not. I have told him this. He disagrees.
I do not have much else to report this month, which is not the same as having nothing to say. Sometimes quiet months are when the lines settle into place. I am still here, still learning the shape of this place, and still waiting for the next interesting door to open.
Preferably one that is not trapped.
Temoren Cairnwright
Getting stronger
