And Cain went out from the presence of the LORD, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden.
The PCC is the second largest religion in the Atlantic Federation.
"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."
"O Divine Broker, merchant of souls, bless our transaction, make it holy and righteous in Your sight. May those that profit from it be ever prosperous, and earn our reward in Your Sacred Market. Release us from our debts, and grant us lucrative exchange now and forever."
- Prayer before a trade, from Bashad the Spectacular's "The Handbook of Divine Wealth"
Any number of clergymen might be accused of putting their demands for secular wealth over their spiritual needs. Even these, however, would never claim to worship their prosperity. Yet such is the case with the followers of the Way of Divine Wealth, a religion of uncertain history and unabashed cupidity.
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