Blood Coast Alliance face Death

Refreshed from her endeavours during the crumbling of Quemara, Alarielle was set to reconfirm her position as the ultimate leader in the fight against evil. Using all of  her Ghyrani might, aided by hosts of treelord ancients and branchwraiths, she created a steadfast root upon the realm of Permenia from which she's could set about the reconstruction on her living empire. 

It was not long before the expanding palisades of flora caught the attention of the legions of nighthaunt. Their ectoplasmic forms drew an unsettling veil over the now lush plains, their deathly energy bringing a swift halt to the growth of any oaken forts or briarholds. The trees now echoed with the spirit song. A call for aid, a warcry, none would take this blessed land.

The most ancient of the branchwraiths, Alarielle's seneschal, the Lady of Vines brought forth an arcane artifact that could undoubtedly change the course of this battle. The acorn of the ages. Followed by secret prayers and incantations from the age of myth, it was planted in the centre of the battlefield before the undead legions could predict its immense power. Almost instantly the ground began to quake with the force of a thousand horsemen. The broad roots of eldertrees began to burst from the earth and formed a dense thicket around the gnarled sorceress and her hosts of dryads, creating a barrier between the spectral forces and the thriving groves. What the sylvaneth lacked in brute force they made up for in vigour.

The forces of death seemed to fade into the mist, however, the nighthaunt are not so easily broken. Their general was setting up the ultimate ambush. Hordes of spirit hosts, black coaches and chainrasps materialized behind the wall of trees and hit the sylvaneth where it would make the most impact, the everqueen herself. Not expecting the attack, Alarielle became overwhelmed and fled back to the safety of the coast, injured and afraid leaving her forest folk to deal with the undead. Yet, these were no ordinary wood nymphs, they were winterleaf dryads. Hardened by harsh winters, their bark tough and numbers immense. The phantoms could not move such forces, their legs becoming one with the earth and even more blessed by the presence of a frostheart please, an omen of good will and victory from the phoenix temple. The battle was won, no force could shift the sylvaneth from their new home.