In the darkness of the void when nothing was set in stone, when the wind blew wildly across empty space, a craftsman was afraid of being alone. He took hold of the primordial force of creation that lay in the far edges of the void. Upon his forge, he focused raw creation into physical form. The craftsman made the stars and planets. The fear in his heart abated for he was no longer alone. The craftsman grew weary, as the void became no more. Stars checkered space. Planets circled around their respective stars, and the craftsman was satisfied in his work. The primordial force of creation grew thin in supply; most of it consumed in his work in populating the universe. What little energy he had left, he stored into his very being, thinking to himself that he would find some use for it later. The craftsman wanted to rest, selecting one of the many planets he created to rest his hands after untold millennia of creation.
The craftsman felt death at his door and his fear returned once again. Looking upon the stars and worlds, he felt a bitter loneliness. From the clay on the ground, he breathed life into what would be the first peoples. They were a simple people, prone to the dangers of the new world that they had been brought into. The craftsman loved the first people, and the first people worshipped the craftsman as a god. But to his great disappointment, the craftsman would not belong for this world. He felt his body withering away. He feared for the first people, because unlike the craftsman, they were short lived, fragile, and prone to conflict if not led properly. With death so close, the craftsman resolved himself. From the last reserve of primordial essence in his body and parts of himself, he made the masks of legend. Through these masks, pieces of his spirit could possess those who wore them so that they could guide the first people to prosperity. No trace of their original soul would remain, only the traits imbued in the masks would express itself through the wearer.
In his work, the craftsman both succeeded and failed. The masks would grant its wearers with superhuman ability, beyond that of a mortal. The masks were powerful artifacts of creation, possessing their wearers with characteristics of the craftsman. They would nearly equal to the craftsman’s own power at his prime, succumbing to whatever traits the masks represented or were imbued with. However, the fear of death was so powerful on the craftsman’s mind that parts of that fear imbued themselves into some of the mask. To adorn a mask of power, one would have to give into the powerful influence of craftsman’s personality and do nothing but embody those traits.
Every mask was made with the intention of possessing the wearer with the power and the foresight to lead the first people. However, only fourteen would succeed in this.
The chieftain mask was made to give someone one the foresight to lead the first people after the craftsman passed on. Honest, just, and fair, any who wore the mask of the chieftain would be fit to rule over a people.
Fifteen masks were tainted by the craftsman’s fear of death. So powerful were these masks, that those who adorned the masks of doom became monsters and tyrants capable of destruction of a wide scale. The thought of death brought forth the ugliest emotions in the craftsman, and in that desperate torment of emotions, dark energy seeped into these masks.
The Craftsman looked at these masks in horror, not knowing which ones were tainted and those that were not. He feared that in trying to save his people, he had doomed them with masks too powerful for mortal kind. What was worse was that he couldn’t tell anymore. Death made his senses untrustworthy. With his life coming to an end, he scattered the masks across the world. He hoped that the first people would uncover the ones that would help them survive without their creator.
In his last breath, in an act of godly impossibility, he funneled the dying essence of his own being to draw from time itself to borrow from a future yet untold. In the craftsman’s last moment, before his body withered away into nothingness, he was granted a moment of clarity of all possibilities both past and future. In that revelation, he made the last mask, Baba, the mask of the future. It would be Baba that would grant the foresight to guide the progeny of the craftsman into a chosen future unknown to all but those that put on the Baba.
Through Baba, the masks of the great future could cross over to the present to fight against the corrupted creations of the craftsman. In the future seen by the craftsman in his last breath, he envisioned a new generation of masks whose light pierce through any darkness. The wearers of the new masks rivalled the craftsman own power, powered by both the wonders of technology and the primordial power of creation passed down by the God’s last breath. These masks were sleek in their design, shining in colors that were impossible in the craftsman’s own time. The craftsman wept for in this future he saw in his drying moments, he saw that his people would survive if properly guided by Baba. Through the mask of Baba, these new LED masks of the future could crossover into the present day and help the forces of good overcome the corruption of the evil masks. Baba would be a bridge across time itself, made from the strands of a dead god’s breath.
But like the other masks, Baba was lost to the first people. Without a bearer to wield Baba, the mask of the future cannot crossover. And now, the craftsman through his last act of creation, was no more. His legacy of people is at war against each other, as both hero and tyrant wage battle wearing the different masks of creation. The world waits for Baba to be worn again and for the future to become bright once more.