"We were not Chosen for greatness. We were not selected above others for power by some outside force. No, we chose to live when others would have died, and so we are damned to a near-dead existance. Ours is the power of vengence, and so shall we punish those who have betrayed us and the shadow of our patron.
Each of us is marked by fate, yet we are outside it's power by our very nature. Only if we should deny that we are among the walking dead do we find ourselves back within the power of those who cursed us to die.
We have waited for a great time, and the time to strike is now. The stars have become aligned, the gods feel their bonds stretch and crack under the strain of time, and the "true" Exalted have grown heady and drunk on their corruption. Soon we shall tear down the pillars of heaven itself and spill the traitors to earth where they shall taste our wrath."
This is the tale if the Exalted had betrayed their creators, and taken the side of the Primordials in the ages past. The gods were punished severely, bound round and round again to be the slaves of the Exalted, except for one. The Shattered Sun was torn apart, and his essence thrown into a shadowy world where even his light would be dim and weak. But, one thing lived on, his desire for vengence. And so, on rare occasions, those who were marked for death by the Sidreals but survived... they fought Death itself and won. They were filled with the might of the Solar Exalted, burning with sparks corrupted by the Sun's own shadow. And so they grow in power, enraged by betrayal of the Sun, as well as their own betrayals. In defeating Death, they have become Death itself, the destroyer of Gods.
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