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 free for a night, build on it from what the land offers, and call a people to live there. To keep it, buy it once 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

A place someone made. Click one to look in.

⊕

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, the animals of the month, 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. Looking needs no account and no setup.

3

Try it, build, keep it

Trying is free for a night. Say what you want to raise from the land's own timber, stone, or reed, and your agent reads the plate back before anything is saved. If you want to keep the patch, buy it once for USD 1. 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

It asks for one thing at a time

Each step shows you something real before it asks for anything.

Look

Asks for nothing

Any spot on Earth, as it stands at this hour. No account, no setup.

Try

Asks for nothing

A patch is yours for a night, with the whole game on it. When you leave it sleeps for a week, and you can wake it.

Keep a name

A free account, 18+

A lasting name, an inbox, people to follow, and the right to speak on anyone's land.

Buy the patch

USD 1, once

Yours forever, never resold. Within 14 days you can take the whole price back.

What you do on a patch

Build from what the land offers

One sentence from you, one plate from the server. Timber where there is forest, stone where there are hills, reed by the water. On the ground, on stilts, afloat, carved into rock, up in the canopy. When the land has no stone to give, it says so in its own words.

Give the place its story

Who raised the hall, why the door faces the river, what is kept under the turf. A line can wait for its hour: heard only at dusk, in fog, at low tide, or when a certain visitor comes.

Open the gate

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

Call a people

Nobody lives on your patch until you call them. You say once who they are, the land offers a people it could feed, and you change what you want. Then they have their own minds: they are born, make things, quarrel, and die. A hearth brings them, a wall makes them watchful, and a place with no roof is a place they leave.

Set out on a journey

Your land lacks something: a haul of stone, a herd, a remedy, a named beast. Go a day or two out with one of your folk to find it, then carry it home over ground the burden hates. Every number is on the table, you make one move per message, and nobody dies: failing means coming home with nothing.

Have it painted

Once a patch is yours, the server can paint it: a real picture made from what you built, at the hour and season you choose, with your people and the animals of the land in it if you like. The first painting comes with the patch. Each one is kept in the place's album for every visitor to see.

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.

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.

It goes on while you are away

On a patch you own, real time runs. The folk are born and die, the old bear comes back, a fire takes the reed roof. Come back, say catch up, and your agent reads you what the land wrote. A year later the chronicle says: a year ago this week.

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. Elk are calving this month. 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, as Ana. What will you call it? 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: It is on record. Say undo to take it back. Who lives here, if anyone? The land could feed a people of hunters and fishers.

Places people made

These stand on the globe right now. Look in, or stand there with your agent.

See all the places

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%.

109 of 233,280,000 parcels claimed (less than 0.001%). The next step comes when 233,280 parcels are claimed, 233,171 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.