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Eldardeen - Part 1 - Overture by Artimus Bena

To listen to the entire soundtrack in streaming format, visit http://www.myspace.com/eponymsoundtracks
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An assassin turned Monk of Solitude, named Wedonkind, has been out of touch with society for decades, seeking to mend his broken spirit after murdering his own treacherous mother in broad daylight.

A red robed messenger from the island fortress Eldardeen finds him in the unsettled territory to the North, meditating atop a boulder at the crest of a steep hill. Wedonkind recognizes the messenger as a Seer, devoted apprentice of the Seerin order, gifted protectors of the royal line. Knowing this he doesn't bother asking the boy any questions. The smoke from his alder pipe curls beneath his short-brimmed hat as he opens the parchment.

The message delivered is encoded, and in Eldan's handwriting.

" Wedonkind, old friend, I am sending this in secret. As you well know, our sacred code instructs those in my order never to take matters into our own hands unless there is a direct threat to the throne. You, however, have only your own code to restrict you. I am risking everything, even my honor, on the hope that you may bend your code where I cannot.

" A new emperor, secretly an eleven-year-old boy, has declared martial law in Eldardeen, and seized control of all but one Dren province. He has done this legally, taking the name of an old general, who we called En'kante. The boy's guiding mission is the reclamation of the Drendin people's home island, an island we were forced to leave hundreds of years ago, as the result of similar ideals. As noble as this flighty mission may be, his cruelty and oppression cannot be abided.

" You must kill the boy. I trust no other."

Wedonkind smirks his infamous smirk, glancing at the Seer messenger boy, who only cocks his brow. The last time he was in Eldardeen, he had gently absconded with the king's treasury. His enthusiasm, however, is fleeting, bringing about old and tired feelings of self-hatred. He has sworn never to kill another living thing; not for money, not for power, not for anything.

But before long, Wedonkind's curiosity gets the best of him. After all, he's not a monster... anymore. He travels to Arjasus, once his lustrous home, to discover a mud-plastered, filth-ridden pit of villainy and oppression, echoed even by the lowest of Imperial ranks. It is Wedonkind's muffled conscience which drove him never to kill again. And it is that very same conscience that tempts him to take matters upon himself. Perhaps he truly is, as Eldan implied, the only one who can fix this right bloody mess.

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