Black Mask Lore
You've managed to find me, that proves you have cunning. Word is that you also have some talent. So, you want to don the Mask? First learn who we really are.
If you listen to the stories, you've heard all sorts of things about the Black Masks. That we are legion, a secret army of evil killers who've turned our back on God and King, ruthless assassins who can walk through walls, who kill every man we see and who grow rich off the blood we shed. Know this: stories are just air.
Listen to the bishops or the Knights of the Sash, and they'll fill your head full of sermons about virtue and the tenets of their faith. More air. Men are judged by deeds, not words. They might revile us from the pulpit, but even bishops buy my blade when they have the need. It makes their hearts sick that my calling is just as high as theirs.
How can that be? Consider: How many conflicts have there been in the world? How many wars? How many of them might have been stopped with a single blade? Look at the kingdom of Alvaetia. Two brothers, both honorable knights, both men of impeccable virtue, waged ten years of civil war proving which of them should rule. Thousands died in the deciding of it, when only one man need have. Is that honor? The princes of the world have learned, slowly, despite all their precious virtues. Successions, marital disputes, trade wars, even theological arguments have all ended on the point of my blade in the dark of the night. And so terrible wars end before they can even begin, and the people are spared the scourge of war. Is this evil?
Do my employers deserve to win their fights? Have they truly earned the victories I hand them? I don't trouble myself with such questions. If my benefactors are corrupt or undeserving, their righteous enemies can buy my blade if they wish. Is this not just?
There are those who think that the Black Masks are no more, that the Sundering put an end to our profession. These men are fools. Our role has never been to kill. Killing is just a means. We are the Hands of Fate. Our blades carve the channels which shape the river of Time.
The bishops will tell you that the sins of man have closed the Gates of Heaven. In our shattered World, they say, a man can die a thousand deaths and will forever awake at the base of the Tree of Life. A great curse, they say, to never die.
Perhaps for them.. but not for us. The Turning was to us the greatest of gifts. Pain still exists. Humility still exist. These have become our stock and trade. Now when we change the world, the sin of murder has been lifted. We are petty assassins no longer. We are the true voice of Justice.
Yes, many think we've hung up our Masks, but our blades are as busy as ever.