[Exalted Essay] On Malfeas

When you ask someone to describe Malfeas, they will no doubt point to the qualities he's most famous for: his anger, his fury, his boundless violence and capacity to subject the world to an emerald holocaust. Few will note that his heart, Ligier, is ashamed of the whole, and fewer still will note that the titan has a jouten known only for joyous physical expression in the Brass Dancer. It is harder to empathize with the Yozis, perhaps more than any other being in the setting; they are vast and monstrous, after all. My goal is to take a deeper look at the Primordials and paint them in new lights, offering a more sympathetic and human side to the god-beasts that created the world.

In the time before the war, Malfeas was known as the Holy Tyrant, the Empyreal Chaos. An eternal expanse of energy, the lord of the Primordials, unquestioned authority figure and the driving force behind the making of Creation. It was He who had the first idea, and it was He who inspired the rest to contribute and take part in this grand adventure of his. A far cry from the sullen and violent thug he's seen as today, the Empyreal Chaos seems to have ruled through more than force in those days; he was a visionary, a dreamer, one so full of passion that others could not help but be swept up along in the currents he dictated. His dynamic with the other Primordials was not one described as resentful or fearful: he was their king, the one who stood above them, and they did not begrudge him this. We are never lead to believe they denied his authority, choked under it, or wanted to remove it. To his peers, at least, Malfeas was a fine leader, inspirational and strong.

The creation of the Sun is perhaps the clearest example of the Tyrant's passion: so driven, he stirred up all his subjects, having them participate in the testing of Sol. His excitement is obvious throughout it, and though he harbors vast anger toward Sol for his later actions, he is noted to have a strong fatherly pride and affection for his only child in those days. The Holy Tyrant was a generous king and father, however cruel he may have seemed to the things beneath him.

At the war's conclusion, the Tyrant was wounded for, perhaps, the first time in his life. Brought low, his confidence irreparably shattered, his brothers and sisters dying and being maimed around him, the proud king subdued his pride and bent the knee for the first time in his long life. For his own sake, and the sake of those who believed in him as their ruler, he went so far as to accept his own eternal torment and maiming, turned inside-out and made into the very prison that keeps the other Yozis chained. It is at this point that the Empyreal Chaos becomes Malfeas, the king brought low, wounded, ashamed, and angry. Many think this is all there is to the Yozi, but I strongly feel otherwise.

Malfeas' anger is a curious thing. It is easy to assume he's simply pissed that he lost he, the great Malfeas, the rightful ruler of reality! To think his emotions are so simple would be a tragic mistake, however: more than angry, he is portrayed consistently as self-loathing, despising himself even more than the world that hurt him. He is angry he lost, but that is not what truly guides his actions: he is ashamed he lost. He is depressed he lost because of what that loss means. As evidenced with Gorol, when Malfeas thought he had finally found a way to break the prison, he gathered everyone to him, infinitely pleased with himself. This is significant for a few reasons: it is one of the few times Malfeas, post-War, is described as interacting with people in a non-violent and non-hateful manner. If anything, he seems happy, truly happy: he has remedied his past mistakes. He gathered his peers, the other Yozis, and told them they would be free. The ones he failed to save so long ago would, by his hands, have their lives restored. He would no longer be the fallen king, the monarch who failed to live up to the faith his subjects had in him. It is telling that, when this failed, Malfeas could not bear to be reminded again of his shame, and speaking of it is forbidden to this day and he doesn't seem to have tried anything else after that, his spirit truly broken.

Another curious aspect of Malfeas is his dynamic with Ligier. His fetich, what should, presumably, be his most defining aspect, is ashamed of Malfeas. Malfeas is a cosmic loser; a sullen, sulking nobody who once had it all and has been brought low. His shame is greatest when Malfeas dances, however interestingly, this is also the only time Malfeas seems to be happy, forgetting his pain and failure. Why does Malfeas' heart begrudge him a moment of joy? Deep down, he feels, more than anything else, he does not deserve to be happy. The great king is broken, undeserving of even the brief respite his dance provides. That he can find joy in this situation, that he can find peace when his brothers and sisters go mad and curse the world, is something he is deeply ashamed of.

It is clear, then, that Malfeas is motivated more by his own failure to live up to his own ideal of king than his actual defeat. While he may ignore the input of others except in the throes of limit break, he nevertheless seems keenly aware of their well-being, and regrets his past mistakes. It is also clear he does not know how to remedy them, he does not know how to move on, and has fallen into a deep, fearful depression because of this. Nothing makes this more obvious than Malfeas' most famous jouten, the Demon City.

It is a safe assumption that, prior to his defeat, Malfeas had never known loss, had never known pain. His crushing defeat and subsequent transformation into the Demon City is likely the first time this sensation was felt. He lives now in a state of constant pain, his body a living wound. He does not know how to deal with this, having no prior experience with it. He cannot ask for help, in his pride, and he cannot learn from his peers, who all, save Adorjan whose acceptance of the situation is unacceptable to the shamed king are similarly failing to deal healthily with their new condition. What, then, is he to do? He looks to those who defeated him. Beneath his notice before, he now, in a moment of madness, considers the human, the race that brought him low with the power of Exaltation.

What does a human do, when they are afraid of the environment? They put on clothing, warding away the elements. What do they do when they fear the sting of a blade? They add layers of metal and leather to their bodies, separating themselves from sources of injury. The scale climbs humans build houses, they build cities, they build fortresses, all to protect themselves from things outside that may hurt them. Malfeas, hurt once, hurt unimaginably, internalizes this lesson. Beginning with Viridian Legend Exoskeleton, he absorbs the armor of a human, protecting himself from harm. This ability to absorb the tools of man continues, until he's absorbed houses, streets, castles, towers until his vulnerable flesh is as guarded as it possibly could be, secured behind infinite layers of ever-changing architecture.

But despite this, the pain does not stop. He is safeguarded against future pain, but it does nothing to stop the hurt already there. Nothing can stop that, but Malfeas knows no other ways to deal with pain, with the fear of pain, than what he already learned; and so, he continues to grow, to expand, crashing his layers together and filling them out, eternally hiding himself away from a world he's now too afraid to face, burying himself beneath self-loathing and depression, growing ever larger to push everything away.

It is significant that, in stark contrast to the Demon City, the Brass Dancer is nearly naked. When dancing, Malfeas forgets himself. He forgets his loss, his torment, his pain he forgets his fear and smiles, lost in the music, exposed once more.

[Exalted Essay] On The Ebon Dragon

On The Ebon Dragon

For a long while, I was stumped as to how I might portray the Ebon Dragon sympathetically. He is a being designed to elicit your disgust, your hatred you may root for him, but only because his evil has flair, and is not being done to you. And then you look at the cannibal rape parties, where he skins children alive as they've being spitroasted by blood apes and eats their parents in front of them, and you stop rooting for him ever again.

This essay's purpose, since it can't really make him truly sympathetic, is to make him almost-sympathetic and then point out how much it'd rock and simultaneously suck to be him, mostly to help characterization in your own games.

As always, this is fanon.

When that which would become the Ebon Dragon first coalesced from the chaos of the Wyld, all things trembled. He was the darkness lurking in everything's heart, a nameless force dwelling in the dark places of the earth. He was a nightmare, the beast you see in the corner of your eye, a presence of pure horror. But this was not enough, for being feared did not grant him power. We may dread our nightmares, but they are gone once we wake. We may panic upon seeing something flash in the distance, but it never reaches us, and the fear fades.

And so this primal malevolence whispered to its king, and calling on its powers to be that which one fears, an antagonist, he created his own opposite, a being of perfect virtue and endless inspiration. As hopes and dreams now had a tangible form to act upon the world with, so too did darkness and despair. The sun cast its light and the Dragon's Shadow was born.

The tears wept in the fallout of this unholy birth could drown Creation many times over, and soon the Incarnae spoke of rebellion. In the blink of an eye to a Primordial, the world went from plaything to vengeful creation.

He lost the war. He escaped it relatively unscathed, however: as a creature of complete fear, he'd long since mastered the ability to talk his way out of situations, worried above all else that if he couldn't he might be harmed. Only a minor soul of his died, one he didn't like anyway, and the Dragon's Shadow became the Ebon Dragon. Few can accurately point out what this change encompassed, and most assume it was not meaningful.

What the Ebon Dragon lost was his idolization of Sol. He had identified himself at his conception as the opposite of the Sun: this was what gave him form, the ability to act on the world. He antagonized all because Sol uplifted them. This commitment toward antagonizing the Sun provided the foundation of the Dragon's identity and, his conquerors thought, removing it may improve him, preventing him from basing himself on opposition. The Dragon's idolization of Sol was transformed, and in its wake stood Five Days Darkness, who wished for nothing more than to stand by him but, due to the taint of his father, never will.

It didn't improve the Dragon much; really, it made him entirely worse. It is true he no longer bases all of himself on the Sun: he is no longer the Dragon's Shadow but the Ebon Dragon, a being of malice powered by his own mad will, and not opposition to another. Antagonism is still his purpose in life, but who he mirrors changes on a whim, and now his evil may be petty as much as grand. Where once he blighted the world, he can be content for a time to kick a puppy and then blight the world.

Still, though it was no improvement, understanding this is what allows one to understand the Dragon now. He has no sense of self literally, he has no motivation. Where once stood a monster now stands a husk, devoid of substance though just as hateful. All that guides the Dragon is what he steals from others and perverts. His is a hollow heart, aimless torment and spite directed at whatever's closest at hand. Though he derives enjoyment from these acts, it is empty pleasure, for it is not what he truly wishes for.

And the Ebon Dragon is tormented by this fact. He alone among the Yozis can feel this sort of disappointment, for his existence is unique: all the others have their own identity, their own driving goals. They are titanic in breadth and thought, always pursuing their vast aspirations. There is a deep satisfaction inherent to this. The Ebon Dragon? He can do no such thing by making himself the enemy, he has sacrificed any ability to have an existence independent of others. He is a pitiably codependent being, devoid even of his own dreams save in opposition to another. For all that he balks at restraint and ruins those around him, without them he would be meaningless.

It is not only the hatred of his lessers the Dragon receives and thrives on, of course. Since his conception the other Primordials have also hated him, finding him perverse and strange. Why is it that they would feel this way, even though on the surface he is no different from them? He is, after all, nothing more than a theme powered by Essence, as unable to go beyond his nature as any of them; isn't it wrong, therefore, to look down on him for it?

Among the Primordials, the Dragon is unique in that he willingly casts aside his titanic nature: he assumes the forms of others, mimics their traits, and, for a time, even understands what it means to be Virtuous. The Dragon intimately knows what it's like to be brave, to love another, to resist temptation and hold firm to your beliefs but his ability to do so is broken every time he drops a mask, and he is reminded that such Virtue is a lie forever denied him. Cursed as he is to be a monster, he chooses to revel in it, tragically unable to conceptualize what he's lost the moment it's gone.

It is for this horribly human element of the Dragon that his peers find him odd. They are content where they are: he is unhappy with his nature and, though he will never change it, willingly adjusts it temporarily, lowering himself to human scales. It is for this reason his evil is as likely to be petty as much as grand: after having mirrored so very many souls, he now understands that anything can be important and that all people are individuals, and so any act, however small, can hurt someone as completely as epic villainy. He understands, through the theft of their traits, that one can operate outside their own themes, that his perspective is not the only one, the only truth and to the Primordials, this is the most perverse thought imaginable.

Is it any surprise, having internalized the mother of all perversity, the Dragon would have no trouble engaging in lesser horrors?

-----

Those are the downsides to being the Ebon Dragon: a loss of self, withered Virtues that make you fear and abuse the world, and an existence that will only ever achieve transient pleasure and never find true satisfaction.

What, then, is awesome about being the Ebon Dragon? Exactly what is said above.

You may have had a crazy thought one day at the store: what if I just took this? There's a thrill in it, in the taboo, in empowering yourself. You don't do it, due to being an upright citizen. You could, this item could be in your grasp, but no. It's the wrong thing to do. Control yourself.

Imagine it's dead. Gone, and it will never return. You take this, and there's the thrill of violating this code we're expected to live by. There's no guilt. There's no punishment, because you are a master of your sins. You cheat and lie and worsen the world and all you have to show for it is more possessions and the pleasure of a job well done. You know better than to be temperate.

You're walking down the street and a homeless man accosts you. He's obviously sick, he's tired, he's hungry all he wants is some change. Any good person would accommodate the poor man. He wanders off with the money to do who knows what, and what do you have to show for it? The belief you did something good? Sure, maybe that's nice for a few minutes, but you know he probably spent it on booze. Your pocket's empty, you didn't really make anything better, and some drunk poisoned his liver. Why did you do this? Because the little voice said it was right.

Now it's dead. Gone. You walk past him with a smile on your face and feel nothing. There's no guilt. You have all your money. You can spend it on something you'd like: drugs, food, women, whatever. You can be selfish and never feel like you owe anyone anything. There is nothing in the way of your happiness except everyone else in the world who might get in your way. You know better than to be compassionate.

Naturally, you oppose these people. But you have everything to lose if you make the wrong move, so you're careful always careful. You fight dirty. You hide. You turn tail and run if need be. You cry, you beg, you plead. You have no spine, and people look down on you. You're a bitch, a coward, a pussy. They don't respect you.

But who the fuck are they? They're nothing. They're your enemies. They act like virtue is something to be proud of, stick their chest out at the wrong moment, and get a knife in their back for their trouble. And you? You scampered off to live another day, and, though no one can prove it, they all know it was your hand that thrust the blade. You know better than to be valorous.

There is nothing stopping you now from pursuing pleasure above all else. Take joy in whatever you want to do. Sink to any depths, rise to any heights. You are the ultimate triumph of the ego, the unfettered. The world cannot slow you down. The people in it can't manipulate you. By this point, only one thing could possibly get in your way: yourself.

You realize then that growing attached to anything is a mistake. No matter how much you like something, no matter how much you want it, you're willing to give it up. You'll abandon a friend, crush your dreams underfoot, forget about that heavily-guarded diamond you want to steal. It's not worth the risk, and you don't need those things anyway. Fuck 'em, fuck the world, and fuck yourself, too they're just empty desires. Dust in the wind. You know better than to have conviction.

To be the Ebon Dragon, to learn his Charms, is to be a monster. The world will hate you. Your loved ones will hate you. You will oppose them forever, bring untold darkness into their lives, twist them, corrupt them, poison the earth until there's nothing left. You have no overarching purpose, no direction in life, drifting from whim to whim, hurting everything in your path because there's no such thing as a person besides you, just obstacles. Toys. Tools. Nothing deeply satisfies you, but that's alright; you don't need that sense of accomplishment. There's always something to entertain yourself for the next few minutes with.

To be the Ebon Dragon is to be the ultimate expression of your own will. You set yourself against all comers and revel in it, forever, bringing everyone down as you stand on their broken corpses, making everything as bad as you are and beating them with experience. Only you matter. Only you can win. Selfishness is power, and the self is all that matters.

And, one day, after you've broken everything, there will be an empty world of darkness. No longer do things exist for you to oppose. No longer can you antagonize them, find a brief purpose against your enemy. There is no more wickedness to be done, no more joy to be had. Then?

Then you will have a last laugh, and in the darkness, be at peace.

[Exalted Essay] On Cecelyne

Accounts of Cecelyne differ; in some reports she was a fair and just arbitrator of disputes, in others a monster who perverted the law. It is far likelier that she was the first than the second - after all, a perversion of law is what she is now, and she has surely changed due to the War. She is known to have been the one to settle disputes between the Primordials, dictating fair terms and consequences for all. The older sister of Malfeas, she is possibly the only being he may have shown respect to, and if so, she enjoyed a very unique position in the early time of Creation, one of comfort and authority that the others looked up to much like they did their king. It would seem all would have benefited from her existence, and her power and position justified her beliefs on the righteousness of law. The sole exception to this is Autochthon, who, to the best of our knowledge, was never protected from the other Primordial's wrath by Cecelyne.

Does this say anything bad about her, though, truly? What we know of Autochthon paints him as quite possibly the most monstrous of his peers, the most unnatural; he grew more attached to his creations, meaningless things that they were, than anyone else, loved them more than he loved his family or even himself, given his willingness to sacrifice his health to create better. He was ostracized for a reason, and it's quite possible that disputes he was involved in were fairly arbitrated, from the perspective of every other Primordial, and Autochthon's inability to agree was his own failing.

What is the relevance of this? I feel it is key to understanding Cecelyne as she is now by understanding Cecelyne as she was: an earnest supporter of law. Not one who abused it for her own benefit, not one who only paid it lipservice, but a truly Lawful Good being, believing in the justness of laws and their ability to improve the world and the lives of those in it. It makes her current state all the more tragic and pathetic, and any other interpretation of her early years removes the pathos of her degenerated state.

When Cecelyne was brought low, she saw everything she believed to be true about the world proven false. Her laws, as perfectly conceived as she could imagine, did not protect her peers or herself. Her laws did not save those tragic brothers and sisters who became the Neverborn, did not prevent their infinite suffering. Her laws did not prevent rebellion, did not prevent the execution of their souls, the castration of her little brother, her eternal imprisonment. She, who once spread everywhere, limited by nothing save her own sense of justice, was now restrained and broken.

In the face of power, in the face of fire and sword, justice was empty. The quality or righteousness of law was irrelevent; as the Exalted and Incarnae showed, the only true measure of something's worth is its ability to force everything else to submit. Overpowering the titans, the Exalted imposed new laws on them, binding their very names and souls. They cast aside the mandates Cecelyne set down previously and decided on their own government, their own rules. And what happened to the Exalted, so long after? Like the Primordials before them, the Solars were betrayed, cast down, their societies torn asunder. Even their power meant nothing in the face of one still greater. It is not enough to be strong - you must be the strongest, for anything less is weak.

This is the lesson Cecelyne internalized. She is often described, pre-Primordial War, disparagingly as a princess; but this is an apt choice of words, despite the scorn. She truly believed in something, clung to an ideal that nothing except her own faith could support. Much like the princess from a fairy tale, she was idealistic and wide-eyed. However, she saw her kingdom brought to ruins, her court murdered before her, her own body mutilated. For daring to believe that law mattered, she was punished, and her eyes grew dark, and she would never make that mistake again.

Cecelyne now is known for the hypocrisy of her laws, for the whimsy that dictates what is and is not allowed. There is but one constant: the strong rule over the weak. That this is the only constant is very telling of Cecelyne's altered views on the world: she does not think law matters. She changes the laws on a moment's notice, watching as the demon world scrambles to obey them - but not because they are right and just, but because she will punish them if they don't. She has turned law into a game, torturing the population of Malfeas in a neverending cycle of confirmation, reminding herself that only power matters.

Why does she do this, though? Is she a sadist? She is not described as enjoying pain for its own sake, though her behavior might indicate it to some. I say she does it because she is world-weary and depressed. I believe, more than anything else, Cecelyne wishes she was wrong. Her whimsical games exist to crush any hopes she dares to have that her views before were not wrong. That maybe justice is more than the tip of a sword, the will of the strong. For all her vast depression and jadedness, she cannot forget what she once was, what she once believed, and how much happier she was during those times. Nor can she forget what brought her low and stole her dreams away.

Torn between idealism and cynicism, she grows bitter and morose, unable to reconcile her hopes with the reality of the situation and unwilling to give them up and lose herself completely to madness. She cannot believe, no matter how much she wishes to; she cannot forget, no matter how much she wishes to. Hopeless, she repeats her life on a small scale over and over, making laws and showing their worthlessness.

[Exalted Essay] On She Who Lives In Her Name

A quick note to readers: as there is less information on the Yozis I'll be doing now than the earlier ones, they have noticeably become less reinterpretations of their canon presentations and more my personal characterizations. Despite this, I still believe giving a fleshed-out view of them might be interesting and helpful to people, so here it is.

Among the Primordials, few seem more alien than She Who Lives In Her Name. Where they are guided by their impulses, however divorced from a human's, she seems motivated entirely by a lack of personal desire. The others embrace their ambitions, twisted though they may be, and seek tirelessly to fulfill them. It is She Who Lives alone whose only purpose seems to be to facilitate the purposes of others, particularly her king. It is this lack of drive that makes many think of her as robotic, less a living thing and more a machine in ways Autochthon never could be.

On average, this view of She Who Lives is profoundly apt. One can reliably predict her responses and understand her goals by viewing her as a machine devoid of empathy, a being of pure logic focused on advancing the agenda of her king and spreading her perfect utilitarian hierarchy. There will be no emotional outbursts, no unexpected tantrums, no hitches in dealing with her rooted in illogical thoughts. She is a being of cold rationality and remembering this will aid those who meet her.

The problem, of course, is that the above is completely wrong. It would be far more accurate to call She Who Lives inhumanly emotional instead of inhumanly unemotional a core part of her being is Cosmic Transcendence of (Virtue), a Charm which alters her Virtues into unnaturally powerful and inhuman manifestations. Among all the Yozis, her passion is perhaps the greatest, her ambition the most keenly felt; it just so happens that she directs this energy toward acts and roles that seem, on the surface, remarkably dispassionate. It is her calling to promote order and efficiency, regardless of the wills of those involved and regardless of her own.

This calling defines her very being. Through her transcendent Conviction, she knows that her stance on the world's needs and her own role is infallible. She is the Principle of Hierarchy, meant to spread a perfect order through the world. The wills of the ones this order is forced upon do not matter, for it is the correct thing to do.

She additionally has transcended human understanding of Valor and warped it to new extremes she acknowledges no peers, has no equals. Yet, paradoxically, she does not rule. It is not her place despite her obvious superiority. It is Malfeas who rules, Malfeas who must rule, Malfeas who will always rule. She is his right hand, unequaled yet beneath him. She has chosen to submit, to be a living example of the concept she has deemed so significant. She lives to express this belief: I have found hierarchy to be of the utmost importance. All things must have a place, even I, and there is as much importance in the bottom as there is the top. A being of unquestionable will and dominance making this choice is a powerful statement, resounding through the very fabric of reality to strengthen her themes, and it was through this choice that the idea of hierarchy spread throughout Creation, She Who Lives' acceptance of this role the catalyst.

For all her belief that a perfect hierarchy is needed, however, she has taken many actions that are detrimental to this, most of them due to her loyalty to Malfeas. The most glaring of them is free will's existence though time proved her right to the others, she always knew it would be problematic, yet acquiesced to Malfeas' demands that it exist. Many times she was forced to compromise lesser beliefs of hers in order to obey her overarching motivation, a conflict which caused her no small amount of turmoil. Malfeas will not bring a perfect order; he never will, and as time marches on, She Who Lives comes to understand the folly of her original pledge. She cannot bring herself to break it, to betray the very concepts she brought into the world, yet her continued acceptance of her position leads to ever greater problems.

The accumulation of this stress twice reached a breaking point: once, during the Primordial War, upon being eloquently assaulted by the news of the first Neverborn, she lost herself to grief. The Empyreal Chaos had proven himself the ultimate incompetent, the pristine order she wished to establish beneath him forever ruined as core components of it were lost to death's embrace. From that point on she refused to fight at all, and many believe it was this action that caused the Holy Tyrant's confidence to flicker more than the first death of his peers. Of all things that could happen, it was the one being he could be sure would always believe in him that suddenly lost faith.

Whether this is true or not, the Tyrant did fall, and so did his subjects. The Primordial rule had ended, and She Who Lives saw the fruit of her labor, the end result of her so-called perfect hierarchy: death, imprisonment, and the absolute sundering of her role in the cosmic order. She could not accept this last bit, could not accept being removed from her life's work. She offered herself to Sol, pledging loyalty and to uphold his rule like she previously did the Empyreal Chaos'. This was the greatest betrayal of her beliefs she could possibly do, breaking apart the hierarchy she helped form.

She was rebuked. For whatever reasons, the Unconquered Sun did not see fit to accept the Primordial's service. She would be forever denied the world she helped forge, the reality she poured herself into with her own intense passion. Her struggles beneath her king's yoke were all for naught, her support for him amounting to nothing.

The titan snapped, and in the wake of her wrath the world knew the Three Spheres Cataclysm.

From that point on, She Who Lives has been subtly different. The other Yozis aren't fully aware of the change, as on the surface she seems much the same. She serves Malfeas unquestioningly, once more a slave to his will. She promotes order and efficiency above all else, fulfilling the purpose she originally gave herself. Yet the dynamic has changed, the relationship between her and her king forever altered she wished to get away. She knows, he knows, she knows he knows. Malfeas will never forgive her for this betrayal, though he will accept her service again. She Who Lives will never again be a part of a perfect hierarchy, instead forced to go through the motions of the proven-flawed one she instituted so long ago, forever beneath a mad and cruel beast she has lost all respect for. If she seems cold, if she seems devoid of empathy and any sign of emotion, it is only because she is tired beyond comprehension, her life's work ruined and her purpose in life taken away. She is broken now, as much as any of the Yozis, even if she doesn't look it.

[Exalted Essay] On Adorjan

Among the Yozis, it is Adorjan who stands unique in her ability to terrify her peers. The treachery of the Dragon, the fury of their king these things are expected, natural. They do not worry the imprisoned titans truly. Adorjan is the abomination, perversely claiming to have forgiven the Exalted for their crimes, to have accepted her imprisonment, to have even found joy in her new condition. It is this thought, that they might come to accept their diminished and beaten state, that frightens the Yozis so.

But the Silent Wind was not always so enlightened indeed, in the oldest times she was known as Adrian, the River of all Torments, famed for his powerful obsession with the Games of Divinity. The world quaked in fear when it was not his turn, for in his possessive wrath he would unleash great creations on the world's face, tormenting the helpless beings beneath him. He is never known to have cared, of course, his thoughts ever dwelling on the Games and when his next turn would be. It was this perfect joy to play the Games that made him useful to Creation, for he brought the idea of joy and entertainment. Such was the root of his name, savants later theorized though he brought endless wonders and felt the keenest joy of all the titans, a river's flow cannot be stopped, and always his fey moods and marvelous children would pass and take a darker turn, leaving only horror and rage in their wake.

His wrath in the war was famous, for he knew he would lose the Games forever should he be defeated. The armies of the Exalted clashed against him, and every torment he'd ever birthed was brought to bear, breaking them against the Host. Despite his immense power, however, he was cast down, his fetich slain, and the River became the Wind, a mad and broken Bodhisattva and seared into her mind was the last thing she ever heard, the pounding march of the Exalted forces over her ragged souls. Where once she tormented the world she now only torments those she can reach in her prison, claiming to enlighten them through pain and tragedy. All know her name and all fear her, the city of demons permanently marked with thunderous accord to ward her presence.

It is ironic that the most feared of the Yozis is the one who most clearly seems afraid herself. For all her claims of enlightenment, of abandoning attachments and recognizing their folly, Adorjan has never abandoned her peers. She actively seeks out those to enlighten, proselytizing, bringing about baptisms of pain with her razor winds even as she claims doing so has no point. It would be easy to chalk this up to madness, claiming that Adorjan seems hypocritical because she is insane, lacking the cognitive ability to maintain consistency. Still, Adorjan does not seem truly devoid of purpose, and her willingness to assist the Reclamation and ability to interact with it, frankly indicate she is not insane; at least, not insane in a way that makes her unable to understand and respond appropriately to the world.

Why, then, would Adorjan seek others out? Why is she so quick to bond with people, in her own twisted way, even as she says bonds are pointless? The truth is, Adorjan is not enlightened; she is immature, a frightened child, pointedly lying to herself. Adrian revolved around the Games and the joy he brought them, his obsession giving him purpose but the games were snatched away from him by the bloodied hands of the Chosen and given to the gods, and he was cast down, castrated, fundamentally changed. Adorjan is no less obsessive but far more jaded: she knows that no matter how much you care for something, it can't truly be yours, and someone stronger can always take it away. She commits herself fully to others because she craves their company, craves the reassurance of another, craves something to obsess over in emulation of her whole self. Yet she is never satisfied by this, for despite her commitment, she lost what was important to her and can never have it back.

Like a child who has lost a favorite toy, she has turned to telling herself she never wanted it anyway. Attachments are ugly. They're pointless. They're no fun. Bothering with all of this is so stupid, she says, can't you guys see how stupid you are? With every bond she fosters and breaks in another, she confirms her own desperate beliefs, that caring for anything is so stupid because it's so fragile. She can't have what she wants and so no one can.

This is a powerfully malevolent motivation, but Adorjan herself should not be thought of as evil. Adorjan is a child, so far as the Primordials go: the first to experience fetich death, assuming a new mind, a new personality, a new identity. Her introduction to the world was one of bitter memories and a hellish landscape she cannot leave. She is young, acting like many children do before they mature: petulant, unhappy with their lot in life, whimsically coping with her past abuse by inflicting it on others. She finds comfort in the idea that everyone is like her, caring for things and having them ripped away by someone stronger. She zealously spreads this belief because it is truer the more others agree with it; like many children, she bases her opinion of the world on the thoughts of those closest to her, and pursues it so vigorously because if she doesn't then she has to accept it's not true, not everyone has to be unhappy and lose what they cared for, the universe isn't truly like that, and that her situation is not natural, that she may be alone in what she is experiencing. Solipsistic as they might be, genuine isolation is not something even the Yozis are likely to want, especially not one as focused on obsessive commitment to others as Adorjan.

This does not mean she is innocent, of course. Even a child is responsible for their actions. But she can, perhaps, be understood and sympathized with: torn from everything familiar, losing what gave her old self purpose, trapped in a realm of mad gods filled with hate and violence, she has adapted as well as could be expected.

"I'm fine. It's okay to be alone. I'll prove it to everyone - if they can endure it, so can I."

[Exalted Essays] On Autochthon

As always, not intended to be taken as a canonical interpretation; rather, my own unique take on the Primordial.

--

A Brief History Of Autochthon

Among the Primordials, perhaps none are as misunderstood as Autochthon. Even the Ebon Dragon, hated and deceptive as he is, is at least understood by his peers the King of Craftsmen never enjoyed such concern. From the moment he awoke in the place before Creation, joining the game of kings and courts his purposeless peers played at, he was doomed to a fate alien to them.

The focus of that which would become Autochthon has always been creation for its own sake; he is mad brilliance and inventive passion, a living alchemical reagent, his passage enhancing the world around him in strange and interesting ways. In the beginning, his brothers and sisters would bring something to him that they created, a meaningless toy, a great river, a simulacrum of life; eager to please and work, he would reach out and touch it, bathing it in his reactive Essence, and when it faded there would be something never seen again. For a time he existed in harmony with his peers, earning the favor of all save the Ultimate Darkness, who forever sought for some way to pervert his brother's gifts, scorning the joy he brought the others.

The Shadow Of All Things never did succeed in ruining these gifts; too pure was his talent, too imbedded in his nature the urge to create and improve, that he could not touch something and make it worse. Furious, he began to seek some way that Autochthon may be brought low and in his ear he planted the seed of temptation, the idea of turning his mutative brilliance on himself and becoming something more. Surely his peers would embrace such an act, overjoyed in the realization that paths of further evolution existed even for beings as great as they. Autochthon was delighted and intrigued by the idea he had never thought that a creator may be changed as readily as a creation. The Dragon smiled, for he knew better than anyone that attempts to improve oneself lead only to worsening.

The mad rush of power and sickness that came upon Autochthon made the other Primordials tremble and, though he laughed wickedly, in the darkness the Dragon hid, fearful of what he had unleashed. All could feel, intuitively, that he had become something less and more. His flesh bubbled, raging unchecked within himself, ravaging his body as his Essence rebelled at the alteration of his nature. He sucked in the raw potential of the chaos the dwelt in to rebuild his dying form, and after a time he stabilized at death's door, health slowly returning.

For the first time, the Primordials saw they might die, and they never forgave Autochthon for that.

The majority of the Great Maker's life was one spent a pariah, but for the most part he did not mind this. At times he missed the joy on his brother and sister's faces, resented the fear and hatred they looked upon him with, despaired at his own failing health, but there was always something new to create. Having internalized the understanding that creations can create in turn for he was, ever since that moment, nothing more than his own creation he stopped transforming the works of his peers and began to create his own beings in Creation, ones who would have part of himself dwelling within them and build things even he did not foresee, for he was not all-knowing. It was his touch of death, his knowledge of even a titan's frailty and ability to err, that led to Autochthon's unnatural and immoral perspectives.

To the other Primordials, their creations were not individually important; their wills birthed worlds and things to fill them, and should they grow bored, they could simply annihilate all traces of them ever existing. They were but temporary expressions of their will painted on the canvas of reality. Autochthon was unique: every life could create another life, if left to its own devices. Every life could learn and create in turn. Every life could look at the world around it and, for its own reasons, take in the essence of the world, of the trees and the stones and the beasts, and fashion for itself a tool to climb higher. Life embraced those things Autochthon held dear, and for that he loved them.

This, however, was incredibly perverse. Autochthon would spend time uncounted fiddling with what he made, perfecting it, experimenting with it. He would watch it grow, watch it learn, watch it develop, and when it reached its apex he would, infinitely pleased with himself and proud of it, move on to something else. He would rage when his creations were disturbed, his fury boundless, but he would let these fits go the moment something exciting happened. He felt closer to these things than his true peers, chose to invest his time and attention in the ants and bugs and detritus of the imagination the others discarded. He chose to love objects more than people, and the others could never understand this strange affection.

But was it so strange? Even a Primordial can be lonely, as the awakening of the Divine Ignition showed. Scorned by his peers for the results of his mad experiment, he needed to turn somewhere to get the connections he so desired. Ever since his brush with death, ever since their quests for the Shining Answer abandoned so very long ago, Autochthon had believed that he lived for a purpose, that something beyond even the Primordials might be lurking at the end of the long road. It was this faith, defying all evidence and their aborted journey, that guided him in becoming the god of those he made, handing down the tenets of religion and dogma. He would give others purpose, something to worship as he once had, and in doing so he would be adored, needed, desired once again.

And so Autochthon, isolated due to his sickness, became the butt of jokes and cruelties due to his insane hobbies and, perhaps most awfully, attempts to fix him. The others took satisfaction in destroying that which he built, not only because it made him unhappy but because they were sure that he would realize what he created had no value. 'You raise this up', the Empyreal Chaos would say, gazing upon a ruined civilization; 'And I cast it down. Do you not see the folly of a kingdom other than mine?' And Autochthon would seethe in fury, fearful of the king, hating him for his misguided villainy. 'You watch them defy their natures,' the Whispering Flame would say when she came with Empyreal, having a unique interest in Autochthon. 'You watch them reach outside themselves, clumsy things, and struggle against their role. You watch them fail, and even when they rise up you see them fall soon after. Do you not see the folly of defying Order?' And Autochthon would seethe in fury, unable to articulate a logical response, hating She Who Lives for her misguided villainy.

After a time, Autochthon's hatred grew too strong. He could no longer abide his creations being treated lightly and made mockery of. He labored tirelessly to create the prototype for what would later be the Exaltation: a shard of power that could not be destroyed, eternal and unstoppable. For a time, this impressed the Primordials, as their own pet races rose up at Autochthon's behest, stronger, faster, smarter, spiritually more enlightened. But their power was ultimately nothing in the face of the titans, and so even these exalted ones were struck down, and their immortal cores banished outside existence or idly consumed.

In his despair, the Incarnae approached Autochthon, speaking of rebellion, sparked by his creation. If only it could be adjusted, imbued with their own natures, produced in greater quantities...an endless series of alterations were offered, and when all was complete, the Exalted were born.

The first death of a Primordial shook Autochthon to his core. He made a terrible mistake a race so wronged by the titans would never simply beat them, they would annihilate them utterly with the power they were given. A creator could be destroyed, pushed past even the edge Autochthon once balanced on. Forced to watch in horror as those he called brother and sister were slain, he could only think: all was lost; his dreams were no more. The Chosen could not be stopped, the War could not be ended, and things could never be the same.

Throughout the First Age, the Exalted were fond of Autochthon. Though he feared them, it was his nature as the Great Maker to be proud of that which he had wrought, and their willingness to learn from him and the respect they gave him persuaded him that, perhaps, he could have a new place to belong, even if it was not amongst the Primordials. As time progressed, however, he realized that even the greatest Twilights could not share his perspective, though they might intellectually understand it. He could never truly be a friend or companion of the Exalted or Incarnae, and any lesser creation would see him as a god, not a peer. This crushing realization coincided with the demand by the Sun to geass the Mountain Folk. Auto understood: he had no place here, and soon the weapons he could not be part of would turn upon him.

Taking that which he could, the Great Maker fled to the world beyond, sealing himself away from Creation and all those in it. He would be alone for eternity, free of the world that reminded him of his mistakes and his loneliness, serving as a home to the race he once loved. He fashioned plans for guardians and reworked his inner environments to suit them, and with that he chose to enter a deep sleep. He would reflect on all he had done, all he had taken away from those he once thought of as family. He would dream of his creations, of the place he once held as a bringer of joy and wonders before weapons. He would remember his life and all that was good in it, and when he was done, he would die.

[Exalted Essays] On Isidoros

A Brief History of Isidoros

I am here. Where are you?

Such were the thoughts of the Black Boar That Twists The Skies in the ages before Creation, in the time of Zen-Mu and before. Where the other Primordials played at kings and jesters in their Wyld courts, the Boar roamed alone through the Wyld. Though Chaos was infinite, he was grander still, and could perceive nothing else in the shifting tides of madness. Armies of Unshaped died around him as he passed, their angry cries, their desperate pleading unheard. Other Primordials were overlooked, too small to see, for the superdense mass that was Isidoros then could but scratch the smallest part of the smallest part of him and shed enough to create a thousand worlds and more. He existed at a level above all other things, and knew nothing but his own motion, his own thinking.

Eternities came and went. The infinite Primordial refined his own image: a being of great weight and will, aware of every last detail concerning itself possible. He sat and thought, asking himself why he was here. If the universe had an answer, he could not hear it. Over time he grew lonely, having explored every facet of himself possible, and grew weary of his travels through the Wyld, never seeing another thing, unable to perceive a world that had anything but himself in it. Because of this the despair of the other Primordials came upon him as well, and they would know him as a brother if he could but look at them -- yet he never did, though they saw him often in passing, and tried to catch his interest. He accompanied them on their journey for the Shining Answer in ignorance, a constant presence at their side that warded off many of the dangers they might otherwise have faced. Through good times and bad he was there, their alien guardian, and they became fond of him. When they retired to the Games of Divinity and forged Creation, they did all they could to use it to draw his attention, yet they could not do so; even the Empyreal Chaos, omnipresent and unchallenged, could do nothing but scream unheeded.

It was then that Szoreny, in great sadness, left Creation to follow Isidoros, mirroring him as best as he could, stretching himself for eons, unwilling to let their unknown companion be alone forever. None can say how long it took, but eventually the Black Boar saw something from the corner of his eye, something that looked like him but not, something unexplainably intriguing -- and in that moment, he was aware that Something Else existed, and that it was too small to clearly make out. He then focused and condensed himself, assuming the form he's worn since, and fell in love with the Primordial that let him know he was not alone.

---

Isidoros is the most disciplined and self-aware of the Primordials. She Who Lives In Her Name balks at his gaudy displays and constant power, yet she is forced to acknowledge that this is his will, and that he has never once deviated from his passions, unlike herself. And such is true: there is no force in existence that can influence the Boar. Though slow to decide on actions and thoughts, when his mind is set he can only gain momentum, that which he has dedicated himself to becoming an all-consuming fire that wreathes his hooves and burns all which doesn't scatter before him. Words fall on deaf ears, attempts to restrain fail, and even the other Primordials can do nothing but watch him work in awe.

That in his way is destroyed, generally without even being noticed. Attacks fail to pierce his hide, mountains crumble beneath his heel, and Fate itself is torn asunder by his passage, the mere idea of dictating his actions causing the Loom terrible damage. Even in his current state, he is vaster than can be easily imagined, dwarfing the other Primordials in most of their jouten -- and he is actively restraining himself now, for he knows that if he lets loose and expands to his full size once more, he may never again see another being, consigned to a lonely existence once more -- and though he tries not to think of it, he abhors the idea of that, terrified of isolated millenia again.

A lifetime spent without others has made Isidoros a spoiled and egocentric person. He is aware, dimly, that others exist, and if he were deprived of that knowledge he would likely be quite sad -- but for the most part, day to day, he doesn't care. He revels in his own freedom and passion, doing what he wants, going where he wants, and allowing absolutely nothing to impede him. When he crushes a layer of Malfeas, slaughtering billions, it is not out of malice but ignorance, forgetting demons lived there. Should his attention ever be gotten, he is affable and accomodating, willing to go and party elsewhere so he does not hurt anyone more. At times he even seems apologetic, doing something great and life-changing for the person who alerted him to this fact. It is that generosity of spirit that makes Isidoros beloved by the denizens of Malfeas even as he annihilates them, for he is larger than life, more icon than anything, and his passion is their passion.

He has no meaningful relationships with others outside of Szoreny. It is not that he doesn't want to have them, but they're either boring or too small to pick up on. Szoreny alone can speak to Isidoros as Isidoros himself, mirroring the Boar in an idealized and abstract fashion, and for this Isidoros loves him even when he's not reflecting him. Those who can emulate his own qualities may attract his notice and favor, and he will challenge them to improve themselves, a habit he's borrowed from his partner. Unlike him, however, Isidoros tends to destroy those he wishes to improve, crushing those who fail to live up to the potential he demanded of them. Only one being has ever lived up to all he could be and won Isidoros' eternal friendship for it: the Unconquered Sun. Isidoros respects his strength and conviction to this day, for the Sun alone was a being who knew exactly what he was meant to be, and in pursuit of that ideal nothing could rival him. Could the Boar see him today, denying his Virtue and wasting away with the Games of Divinity, he would be moved to a rage not seen even in the War, likely reverting to his original form in a moment of anger and shattering the divine city and the Games themselves.

How, then, does Isidoros tolerate the fact he lost, that the Exalted imposed their will on him and he was forced to submit? He finds that he doesn't actually mind. It shouldn't be possible, what has happened cannot happen, but unlike his King, Isidoros' mind did not break from the stress that surely should have resulted in. He simply thought about it for awhile and decided things weren't so bad: he gets to be with Szoreny forever, the other Primordials provide infinite vistas for him to stomp over and interact with, and should he ever grow bored and decide he does want to break out and show the Exalted a thing or two, well, he'll start working on that -- besides, they defeated him while he was holding back, unwilling to reveal his true nature. Part of him is pleased that he lost, as it means the Exalted are nearing his level, and one day they might expand their own natures and become beings of a similar scope as he, and he will not be alone even should he unleash his full power.

Isidoros may be unique among the Yozis in that he is almost devoid of negative emotions. He knows what he wants, he knows what he is, and he knows he can do whatever he puts his mind to. With this almost saint-like enlightenment, he chooses to party and hang out with Szoreny, hoping for others to become like he is: a true Brodhisattva.