The Vastglen must be protected. With her army of satyrs, dryads, and animal attendants, Sylvia raced south through the forest. As she went, new creatures joined the ranks of her army, forming an embodiment of nature’s wrath. When they reached the first bugbear scouts of the Legion, they cut them down in haste, before they could flee back to the horde and alert them of their presence. Poisoned arrows flew fast and true, striking their marks and ending them in moments, before they knew what had hit them. Then, Sylvia and her kin lay in wait for the inevitable grinding march of the Odious Legion.
The front ranks of the horde were composed of hobgoblin legionnaires, bearing armaments both stolen and goblin-forged. They marched in step, like a living machine, cutting down the undergrowth and trampling it underfoot. They were followed by real machines, their iron-studded wheels and steel-bladed mouths churning through the earth and shredding any remaining plantlife, felling trees, and cutting tracks through the forest for the rest to follow.
Sylvia already had her battle plan. The dryads were hidden in the trunks of trees before the legion. The animals lay hidden in the undergrowth, forming a horseshoe into which the hobgoblins were marching. The satyrs were with her, on a flank, waiting for the right moment to charge and break the rank and file of the horde. The satyrs loved wanton destruction almost as much as dancing, and she could feel them itch at the sight of the machines, eager to smash them to smithereens. Suddenly, the unstoppable marching of the legion faltered. The dryads had sprung.
It suddenly seemed that every tree was alive. Figures stepped out from the trunks, their glare as sharp as thorns. They spoke a language the goblins could not understand but the trees could, as they responded in anger. Enormous boughs swung down into the path of the legion, breaking their lines and sending hobgoblins flying overhead. Their roots erupted from the earth, scattering yet more of the legionnaires. The shock of the assault staggered the hobgoblins, but they were quick to reform as the captains barked their orders. They formed up into shield walls, surrounding the machines as they were loading with flaming ammunition. The first volley ignited the trees like kindling, and their dryads wailed at the sight of the pyre. In response, Syliva beseeched the animals to charge. Led by valiant Imbrell, the animals made their stand, colliding with the shield walls and puncturing many. The air was filled with the sound of claw on steel, the smell of smoke and blood.
The rest of the Odious Legion marched onward, catching up to the front lines. Boaz grimaced in anticipation of the fight. He relished these moments before a clash. With a word and gesture he sent bugbear gangs ranging ahead. They loped through the forest, striking with lethality at the flanks of the animals disrupting his lines of legionnaires. Meanwhile goblins swarmed through the ranks, slashing at anything green they could see. Then came the charge of the satyrs. Though each was small, their impact as a group was staggering. They rammed through the broken lines and into the war machines. In a moment they had clambered atop them and were dismantling the engines with unmatched abandon, sending chunks of timber and metal flying. The swarming goblins were knocked back by the debris, and scattered. The break in the flaming volleys let the awakened trees move forward once more, wiping out what remained of the first rank of hobgoblins, freeing up the animals to fight the bugbears back. Boaz loved the sight. This was what he lived for. He commanded his worg handler Grak to bring Fang and Claw to his side, and the pair mounted and charged forward, backed by their worg cavalry.
In the thick of the fight, Sylvia mourned her departed friends. She felt every tongue of flame that lapped at the forest as if it burned her own limbs, every fallen beast like a stab through her heart. Around her vines lashed at the goblinoids, felling them before they could reach her. The thorny lashes cut through breastplates like paper, puncturing into the chests of the oncoming attackers. A ring of the legionnaires started to form around her as she unleashed her fury upon them. Her devastated scream pierced through the chaos of the fight, and served as a beacon for Boaz and his worg riders.
The ferocious speed of Fang and Claw propelled them into the range of the vines. Sylvia whirled around to face them, immediately recognizing Boaz as the leader of the legion.
“You have made a mistake,” she said. “Leave the Vastglen and you will be spared.”
“Hah!” Boaz barked back. “I’ll die before I take orders from a tree.”
Sylvia struck out with a vine, narrowly missing Boaz as Fang dodged to the side. Seeing a chance for glory, Grak spurred Claw forward. The worg leapt toward the Mother of the Forest, but was swept aside by another swipe of a thorn-flecked vine. The worg whimpered as the hooked barbs sunk into its flesh, wrapped around, and began to squeeze. Grak rolled off the beast’s back and began hacking at the vine with his axe. Just as the worg was about to come free, a thin green tendril lashed out from Sylvia, and wrapped around the hobgoblin’s throat. As Grak choked, Boaz charged, but Sylvia was no fool. She dodged aside, keeping the vines pinning Grak and Claw to the spot, while Boaz wheeled around for another assault. This time, she tripped his worg with a rupturing root, and the warlord was flung from the beast’s back and into the dirt.
He arose with fury burning in his eyes. Sylvia met his gaze, snapped Grak’s neck, and crushed Claw’s ribcage. Around them, battle raged like a whirlwind of smoke and steel. Without the war machines keeping the trees at bay, the defenders of the Vastglen had the upper hand. Sylvia rose into the air, lifted aloft by two thick vines. She rained a shower of thorns down on Boaz, who was forced to cower behind a splintered stump to avoid the volley. When it abated he ran forward, slashing wildly with his scimitars, and cutting through the vines and bringing Sylvia back to the ground. She landed gracefully, and exhaled a choking cloud of spores into the warlord’s face. He stumbled back, blinded and gagging. Boaz was beaten, expecting the killing blow.
Sylvia stood tall and with conviction. The ground around her glowed with a green light that spread quickly, animating all the plants it touched. A root erupted and trapped Boaz’s foot, vines began to encircle him, taking hold of his hands as he tried to wipe the black spores from his face. The vines lifted him into the air and began to pull, intending to rip him in half. Sylvia gritted her teeth as she mustered all of her strength. Boaz was no ordinary hobgoblin. She could see the horns on his forehead clearly now, an indication that he’d been touched by demon blood. Killing him would require everything she had.
The whole grove glowed as the green light brightenned more and more until it was nearly pure white. Boaz opened his eyes wide and locked in a menacing gaze with Sylvia. He suddenly let out a roar as his horns smoked. Sylvia let out a cry that was abruptly cut short with a blade thrust into her back. The light faded and Boaz was dropped to the ground. All of the trees and vegetation near Sylvia wilted and began to turn black. She fell to her knees and revealed her attacker. It was Esula, once her most trusted friend, now standing over her revealed as a secret foe. The woodland creatures all wailed in shock and horror.
Sylvia’s elvish blood pooled on the forest floor as she looked up at Esula who approached Boaz. Slowly Sylvia’s bark-like skin turned dark and ashy as she gasped. She could see the dagger in Esula’s hand was cursed by the way the blade smoked as she walked away.
Esula looked back at Sylvia and spoke, “This is all of your making! If you hadn’t denied us the riches of Sylcara there would be no need for such death and destruction.”
Sylvia stood, her legs petrifying as she did so. She pointed at Esula and declared; “Dear sister, you have made this, and all those in my realm will know. I put a curse on you this day, you will feel the sting of that black blade before the end so that you may know this pain. Though I may be reborn if the gods judge me fit, your soul will be banished to the abyss, never to return, never to…” Her words were cut short as the petrification took over her entire body, leaving her a silent statue in the clearing where no trees would ever grow again.
Goblins attended to Boaz, chopping the dead wines from his arms as he coughed up the last spores from his lungs. Around them, the forest was recoiling, devastated by the loss of its mother. The legion pursued, chopping and felling and burning as it went. The battle was won and the legion marched on.
Esula stood still, contemplating Sylvia’s final words. Boaz approached her. She turned and met his glance.
“Sylcara lies to the north.” Esula said.
“Lead the way.” Boaz grinned as he struck Sylvia’s remains with his scimitar, scattering her once fair form into a cloud of ash.
Esula watched as the ash was swept up by the gentle breeze.