Join the new world

I haven’t been in Belfast in weeks. Once I realized the Irish ability to hold off the British onslaught was not as great as their mouths, I went vagabond, traveling, fighting every day, saving my gold for training, and making friends. I gained a Mercenary Medal last week for my troubles. In 42 days I’ve earned 21 medals; comparatively, in 661 days, Grandfather Arjay earned nineteen. Of course, he lived in a different era, was president twice and was most proud of his Media Mogul Medal, but it’s still a worthy comparison to make.

If ever Irish leadership gets their act together and musters enough support to push the British back, or at least enough support to put up a dignified fight, I’ll return for battle. There is no point in wasting my time and gold for a lost cause, and I’m not about to pledge allegiance to any flag if those who call themselves leaders cannot organize and inspire their citizens. The Brits outnumber us four to one, I get it, but with smart organization, sound diplomacy, and shrewd distribution of resources and manpower, surely we could have regained just one region and maintained a homeland. My mancrush for MUFC992 is over, it was fun while it lasted, but there’s something bigger in this world to find, bigger than fighting for a president that leads more with his mouth than his intellect.

Dio willing, I intend to find that something bigger.

That stone I picked up when I first came here, the one I put in my pocket so a small bit of Belfast will always be with me, it’s still here. I’ve etched the word XITLALI on it, because that’s what I’m looking for. I may not ever find it, but that’s the name of my journey.



I translate the Aztec word into “goddess of the stars.” I don’t know if Xitlali will be a person per se, but it will be someone or something worth falling in love with. It will be something precious and poetic and worth putting my energies and fortune into.

Is there such a utopia in the eRepublik cosmos? The pursuit of daydreams drove my grandfather crazy and ultimately killed him. For brief and beautiful moments, he believed he found something to believe in. At one time it was the honor in forging a nation as it comes new to the world, at another it was making love with a fellow traveler in a strange hotel room in a strange country as the flame of war grew around them. He loved Japan’s Righteous Nation and Pakistan’s Stardust Crusaders and even attempted his own World-Tribe. In the end, he broke his own heart; the world didn’t break it, it was what it was, and you cannot blame it for not carrying something he sought.

There have been tremendous warriors in this world. The admins have seen to it that warfare is the primary aspect of life in this game, making everything else secondary, making the soldier the central character. However, it is not the soldier who motivates others, for he fights with his own motivations. It is the voice, the eyes, the song, the saunter, the lithe limbs and fingers, the halo behind her head, that makes men raise their brows in recognition and inspires them to move. A rifle and a good pair of blood-stained boots are paramount, but neither are in and of themselves transcendent. They are tools, a means to an end, not the end itself. Whatever it is that is above us all, that tugs at our hearts, that makes us seek something honorable for ourselves, I call her Xitlali.



The first commitment I’ve made in this game since I left Belfast (I made half-assed commitments that never panned out, it’s hard to keep them when your country is being overrun) is to the Bolivian resistance. I’ve fought in wars all over the world in my short time here, mostly for the sake of fighting itself, but this is the first time the reason is for something other than the accumulation of damage and rank points and medals. It is for Princess Isabella, and while I’m sure she’s played this game before, it is remarkable how her current incarnation has already become a somebody in Bolivian politics and their military. For most of her young life, Bolivia has been wiped, original regions regained for maybe a day here or there, but she has already proven herself an active, energetic, even charismatic leader. Of course I want to see Bolivia back on the map and thriving, it’s something Grandpa strove for until the day he died, it’s something we all want, isn’t it? Don’t we all want to see the smaller nations, the so-called failed states, come back to life, even in a smaller form, and prosper? I know it’s something the Irish can appreciate, they’re in the same boat, perhaps not as deep a hole to dig out of as the Bolivians, but it’s the same predicament. As such, whether or not the Irish get off their duffs and stop bickering long enough to move down here to fight the upcoming resistance war against Paraguay, I’m sure they can at least root the underdog on.



Where it goes from here, no one knows. Life, even as a citizen in an online world, goes on. Time will tell if Bolivian independence and watching Isabella blossom into a true champion will constitute Xitlali. It may just be a stop along the journey.

I pull the stone from my hand and rub my thumb over the letters etched into it. Belfast is where I started and where I hope to finish when this trek is finally over. In between, I’m looking for you, my beautiful goddess of the stars. I sleep every night beneath you and gaze up into your twinkling eyes, this morning in Hungary, tonight in Santa Cruz, who knows where tomorrow, but the name is the same, and the stars are the same. So is the dream, whatever form it may manifest.