Golden. Silvermoon City had always been golden and red. Magnificient and beautiful, peaceful, magical. In the distance, a lyre was played, a sad longing tune which awakened the yearnings of one’s heart and soul. Except, he had no heart. Akeion smiled bitterly as he turned from the tune and occupied his mind with something else. There were no hordes of followers, no servants, no slaves. Only Akeion Greythorn, a cranky priest swallowed in shadow, wandering aimlessly in the city. Oh, and an orc that trotted behind him, grumbling from time to time. Although he snapped and teased the elf whenever given a chance, Nehjo seemed a little restless. The priest had been unusually quiet and introverted lately, barely giving any responses to serious inquiries and normally just dismissing the teasing wit