Ladies and gentlemen, friends both new and familiar—
Welcome! Today, we open our doors and our hearts to those who were once strangers but are now part of something greater: our clamily. Whether you’ve come from far across the world or just a few blocks down the road, know this—you belong here. In this circle, we don’t just share meals and stories, we share strength, compassion, and the unshakable bond of togetherness.
It’s a rare and beautiful thing, to be welcomed. In a world so often divided, this moment of unity is precious. So raise a glass, shake a hand, hug someone (consensually), and feel the warmth of being seen and accepted.
Now… if I may digress just slightly.
There is, of course, the matter of the Leviathan.
Yes, 'that' Leviathan—the ancient, slumbering beast beneath the churning deep. You’ve probably felt it, haven’t you? The subtle trembling of the ground at night? The unnatural tides? That low, almost imperceptible hum when you close your eyes and listen just right?
For centuries, it has waited. Watching. Dreaming in the black abyss, beneath fathoms of cold silence. But lately—oh yes, lately—it has stirred. The old songs warned us, but who listens to barnacled prophets anymore?
You see, it doesn’t just devour ships and shatter coastlines with its waking breath—it REMEMBERS. And it judges. And I fear, dear clamily, it has judged us wanting.
Now, I don’t bring this up to alarm anyone per se—though if you feel a chill in your bones or the sudden urge to flee inland, that is perfectly natural. But rather, I speak of the Leviathan to remind us of our shared fate. Of how we must cling to each other, laugh together, love boldly, and perhaps build an elaborate subterranean refuge equipped with ancient sigils and canned goods.
So let us feast tonight, not just in joy, but in defiance. Let the walls ring with music and merriment, that the Leviathan might hear us and pause—but briefly—before its endless hunger resumes.