The Druid Avengers entered the area planted with Sapling, while Annan stayed outside.
He did not expect a few words and sights to change them. They had lived through too much over the long years; their ways of thinking had long since hardened.
Magic Films had taken the Nobles by storm, yet older Nobles still had a soft spot for stage plays. At least they did not watch the same film every day like the younger Nobles, who could even remember the mole beside Evelyn's collarbone.
Annan only hoped to change the Druid Avengers' view of Free City. If they left it alone, that would count as a Victory. Better yet, he might gain something more.
The Old Orc and the Orc Druid, who had fallen behind, caught up. The Old Orc switched from Orcish to the Common Tongue. "We both come from the Maren Highlands. I thought he belonged to the Blackhorn Tribe."
"You did well." Unlike the other Druid Avengers, who were less than forthright, the Orc Druid was much like Gema. He shoved his Tree Root into Annan's hands and patted his own head. "I was rude to you earlier. Hit me back."
Annan had no intention of looking for trouble, nor had he taken their earlier clash as an insult. If an Orc had been unfailingly polite, he would have wanted to peel off the Orc's face and see what was underneath.
"Is this your weapon?"
Annan hefted the Tree Root. It was much heavier than it looked, probably close to twenty pounds. The thicker end was still crusted with dried blood.
"My weapon is stained with the filthy blood of countless Ratfolk!" the Orc Druid said proudly.
"How many Ratfolk have you beaten to death with this Tree Root?" Annan asked, glancing at Michael. He