On Grand Demisco and The New World

There isn’t one reason for the exodus to the New World.

New Demisco, the latest in a series of conquered lands, has become an attraction beyond what any could have predicted. Some go in hopes of profit. Promises of gold, spices, herbs, and flora and fauna which have never been seen are whispered in the streets of Grand Demisco.

The mainland might as well be called Old Demisco for what it represents. A land that once held a mighty nationalist pride has fallen into the category of old news. The political theater of the High and Low Senates and the King don’t reach the front page of the feeder pamphlets anymore. The covers are reserved for what’s new in New Demisco, which is always something.

Not too long ago, newness was a harbinger of worse tides rising. Newness used to mean a breakaway from tradition. The Kingdom was blessed by decree of the Divines themselves; anything that disrupted the quo was by nature blasphemous.

Culture is but a byproduct of what’s available of a people, and the culture of tradition splintered open upon the discovery of the New World. While it had its detractors, mostly loyalists, the bulk of folk aren’t in a position to deny the world’s changes. They’re too busy with their own lives and often can’t make a choice in ideology. The New World is a paradigm shift. It is a disruptor.

Some go for profits. Others go for adventure, or its bastard cousin fame. New lands means no society, or at least one without establishments and institutions in place to terrorize it into a land barren of opportunity or class mobility or a life worth living. People can make a name in an age of the nameless. There is danger and death and the hunt. The fearless would not have it any other way: they will be those who come across the un-come-acrossable.

Some go for a noble cause, one that is personal and deep and with value. They are the folks whom life remembers; those who escape the droll existence of the everyday and transcend themselves with purpose. They squander their vices if they’re of the fortunate capacity and luck to do so. They are who stories will be told about. They will be the shoulders the coming generations will stand upon; will see as heroes. As role models.

Role models do not exist in Grand Demisco. Rather, Demisco is filled with Names. Names of politicians, of gossip pamphlet celebrities, of royalty, and of businessfolk. These Names may carry with them stories, but they do not carry any substance. While they’ve been etched into Foreverness by ink in the tomes of history, they are forgettable by the mind.

And that is what is being left behind. There are no Names in the New World, only Adventurers. Builders of cities, defenders against the wilderness, inventors of new necessities, merchants of recently discovered practices.

This is a new land, with new challenges and new life. It is open and free and perfect in the way that anything untouched was always supposed to be, so that all that spills from it is worthy. Worthiness has gone away, sold for a vote or a tithing.

Adventure isn’t for everyone, but it’s becoming a necessity for those wanting anything more than life than what they’ve got. All the young are taught in schools that the world is theirs to shape between their fingers. This is a false promise. The world is solid. They were told it is clay, but it is granite sculpture.

The keys of Grand Demisco continue to be passed along lines of lineage.

Which is why New Demisco is a land for those destiny has forgotten.