The Anunnaki are a secret society in the Cosmic Era
"Protect us, oh holy one,
from the dangers of the night
may your smoke and ashes
to our souls with clarity ignite"
These are items of great interest to the Players Cult, and show a few potential ways to bring them into a larger campaign.
The First three are of particular interest to one guild over the others, while the final two are vitally important to the Cult as a whole.
30 cult members, of varying levels of sanity and skill. Divided into Guilds for convenience and clarity. Could potentially be used as 30 gang members, depending on your needs.
"If we the poor cannot enjoy our lives, you the rich will have yours taken away." Police statement taken from a captured cultist, a member of Inanna's Avenging Hands.
Inanna's Silver Tongues are one of the most unpopular of all cults, hated by all other cults and criminal organizations and thought to be somewhat unpleasant even by those in law enforcment who make the most use of them. What they are renowned for, is the art of informing.
"If you take out all the bullshit about the machines and the crappy prophecy, The Matrix was pretty close to the truth. Just think about it for awhile and you'll see how much sense it makes. And really, if you were trapped in a game and couldn't wake up, wouldn't you want to know the truth? So you could do something about it?"
" . . . Still haven't convinced you, huh? Here, tell you what: I'll give you my card. Whenever you feel like learning the real truth of this world, give me a call. I'll show you the ropes."
AutoMedon – A mechanical poet of renown not for his vast catalog of poetry, but for his complete lack of anything written or spoken, having had no output in his programmed profession. His creator is unknown or at least unaccredited, and there are those in great number in the artistic world who wonder and marvel at his inability to produce poetry, crediting that flaw to his creator who is unknown or at least un-credited. There is also a small faction of scholars who believe that when he finally, finally speaks, it will be the most beautiful or sorrowful verse ever spoke or will ever be spoken. Whether his creator is among either group or dead is unknown. AutoMedon sits alone under a tin roofed enclosure, upon a stone chair, with his gaze off in the distant as if thinking.
“It’s strange to look at this mechanical man and think what thoughts are working through its’ workings or even if the damn thing is” – Aralis of Qurim, poet and pottery salesman