KENOS (Communion)

[ Some recent arrivals have not really been treated to Silco via communion, and the crime lord does not frequently use it, and certainly has never initiated it en-masse, even though he's spoken his mind time, and time again. You all know him, because it's always some kind of rant. Well surprise! It's another one today! As always, communion feels like being dropped into cold, slick water, that clings like it's vile and corrupted, like pollutants make it feel clingy, like it doesn't simply dry off normally. It's like being dunked into that water, like being drowned in it. Like there is no escape from it, ever-present, pulling one under.

This communion is sharp, and agitated. Silco does not do this lightly, and it shows in the general anger expressed from the man. Roiling under the water like a furnace spilling heat that gets quickly swallowed by the cold, but still it churns deep beneath the surface. Intensifying. Ever intensifying. ]

How many of you have struggled? Truly struggled, where you have to fight for your very survival. Every moment of every day. Have any of you fought to find a place to sleep? Hunted for hours for food? Winnowed your fingers to the bone for the mere scraps of what those who look down upon you only allow you to have? Struggle is what war is, after all.

[ In communion, there is the sensation of something in your hand. Small, and delicate. So small, so easy to crush, should you only choose to do so. And you want to. You hold off, of course. What is it in your hand? The sensation of holding it up to the light, and there's the impression of a glimmer, brighter and more unknowable than you could imagine. ]

For too long, you all have lacked the resolve to take this seriously. Who can blame you, of course. So warm in your little beds under Meridian's light, or Yima's watchful eye. There is no true danger, is there? Even the most powerful among you would never go too far with their enemies, would they? [ He has no clue what had happened in the manor. He had been in Kowloon, deep in the bowels beneath Springstar. No news made it to him down there, and this only a scant bit of time after the manor was leveled. ] No, they would keep you, perhaps. Leave you a nice little bed for a rock.

[ A derisive snort, ripples through communion, before it is swallowed with a ripple of... something dark. Hopelessness. ]

Let me teach you a final lesson. Zenites, I suggest you pay close attention. Do not look away, should you not learn this lesson, you will have wasted your opportunity. Where I come from, we do not abide waste.

They do not care about you, the Meridian. They will do anything to see you stopped. The new world that you dream of will be nothing if you do not fight for it. You make friends with them. You coddle them. You allow them victory when the Oracle is nearly in our hands Do you not understand? If you do not take this seriously, then there will be no world at the end of this. There will be only what they want.

Meridian will not show you mercy. They will not allow you to go anywhere. They will shatter you, for the crime of wanting something different. Of refusing to look back. Our worlds are gone. Destroyed. It is not your fault, it is not their fault. It simply is. They detest us for accepting this. They hate us for looking forward, to trying to take the ashes of our shared tragedy, and make something new. Meanwhile, they refuse to accept the inevitable, try to put it back like it was before.

They proclaim it as hope. I call it regressive. They will take our world from us. [ In communion, the self-editing is more obvious, and the echo of 'revenge' can be just barely sensed, behind the impression of "world" ] Unless you fight them, and take the threat that they pose seriously.

[ Thin, small fingers clutch the small, round thing. You can all feel it. It is power. Deep, and weighty, like what is contained within -- the soul inside -- is vast. It nearly buckles under the force, but not quite yet. You know it is jade, and teardrop shaped now. You can feel it burning, in your hand. The impression of it, anyway. ]

Consider this my small gift to you. [ His fingers start to press down. It starts to buckle, and crack. ] I will level the playing field.

[ It shatters, the impression of it in your hands. Crushed into many pieces. The burning prick in your hand starts to subside, and fade. The impression of remnants in your hand goes cold.

In Springstar, for a moment. There is a Solar Eclipse. ]

Do not waste this opportunity, Zenites.

[ Communion like this does not normally cut off with such finality. This time, however, it will become rapidly apparent. Silco will not be responding, since he's uh. Busy. By the time he is able willing, it will be several days later, and communion does not last that long.

Feel free to gossip amongst yourselves though! ]