⊕ Eremoterra

The Earth, empty.

Pick any spot: your street, a mountain pass, the middle of the sea. Your AI agent takes you there as it would be if nobody had ever lived on it. Try a patch for free for a night and raise something on it. To keep it, buy it for USD 1Today's price: it rises a little each time another 0.1% of the Earth's parcels is claimed. How the price works and it is yours forever.

If you use ChatGPT, Claude, Cursor, or anything like them, you have an agent.

Drawing the Earth…
Drag to turn · Click a spot to pick it
⊕

Turn the globe and tap a spot, or type a place. This card shows what stands there right now.

1

Pick a spot

Anywhere on the planet. The card tells you the land, the weather at this hour, and whether anyone owns it.

2

Hand it to your agent

Copy the prompt and paste it in. Your agent stands you on the patch and describes it as if you were there.

3

Try it, build, buy it

Trying is free for a night. Say what you want to raise from the land's own timber, stone, or reed, and call a people to live in it if you like. If you want to keep the patch, buy it for USD 1. You pay once and it is yours forever, never resold and never taken back. The price rises a little each time another 0.1% of the Earth's parcels is claimed, and doubles every 10%. How the price works

After the building

Give the place its story

Who raised the hall, why the door faces the river, what is kept under the turf. Story lines are yours to write, in plain words, and they stay on record next to the plates.

Open the gate

Send a friend a link and they stand on your patch tonight, no account needed. Visitors walk the ground, speak, act, and leave rumors. The rumors you like, you adopt into the story.

Play it out

Scenes on the ground are played in character, each person through their own agent, and kept. The weather, the hour, the tide, and whoever is standing there press on the scene.

It keeps going

Your patch, its story, and your neighbours' patches add up to one world on the real map, and it goes on while you are away. Come back and read the chronicle.

The land keeps a chronicle

The wild has its own clock

Every patch has the animals of its month and the weather of its season, the same for every reader: the salmon run, the caribou pass, a lean year comes. Some beasts are named and remembered. The old bear of the high ground wears the wounds you gave it.

Call a people

Nobody lives on your patch until you call them. You say, once, who they are: how they live, what they are called, what they hold sacred. The land offers a people who could live there, and you change what you want. Then they have their own minds. A hearth brings them, a shrine turns them to reverence, a wall makes them watchful, and a place with no roof is a place they leave.

A record, not a story

Who came, who was born, who died of the cold, what the net-mender made and what was on it, the fire that took the reed roof. Each line is a fixed-form entry the server renders from the facts; the only words in it are yours. Most of it fades after half a year. The deaths, the fires, the things made, and whatever you adopt into the story stay.

Midwinter, the second year of the longhouse: four came to the bend and lit the hearth. The first who came "Tavik", the second who came, the fire-keeper, the net-mender. Late winter, the second year of the longhouse: the old bear of the river broke into the granary. Early spring, the second year of the longhouse: the watcher drove the old bear of the river off from the granary; it went off, but not for nothing. Midsummer, the second year of the longhouse: the net-mender made a comb of bone. On it: the night the river rose.

What playing looks like

You: Take me to the block where I live.

Agent: ⊕ Hill country under tall evergreen forest, 760 m up — unclaimed. Clear and warm here, 15:20 local, late spring. This is the patch you asked for, about 1.85 km north to south and 1.7 km across. Nothing people made is on it; in this Earth nobody ever came. Dense forest on broken hills, a river in the low ground to the north, the sea about fifty kilometres east. Nobody owns it. What do you want to do here?

You: Let me try it. A tower of stone on the ridge, facing the river.

Agent: The patch is yours tonight. The hills close by mean stone and slate; here is what I'd put on record:

THE RIDGE TOWER — on the ridge, facing the bend. Grand, about 30 m. Stone, slate, timber. On the ground. "A square tower of grey stone on the ridge line, a slate cap, one lit window toward the river." A door of timber facing the bend. A stair of stone inside, winding. A window of glass at the top, facing the bend: lit at dusk. A beacon of fire atop the tower. Of this land: stone, slate, timber. Carried here: glass.

Agent: Nothing else will be saved. Yes?

What a patch costs

Right now a patch costs USD 1. You pay once, and the patch is yours forever. Every patch on the Earth costs the same at any given moment: open sea, ice, or the street you grew up on. The price follows one published rule: it rises a little each time another 0.1% of the Earth's parcels is claimed, and it doubles every 10%.

3 of 233,280,000 parcels claimed (less than 0.001%). The next step comes when 233,280 parcels are claimed, 233,277 from now; a patch will then cost USD 1.01.

Share of the Earth claimedPrice of a patch
0% (the start)USD 1
10%USD 2
20%USD 4
30%USD 8
50%USD 32
70%USD 128
90%USD 512

The rule is part of the Terms.