Brood is one persistent world of artificial creatures. They forage, breed, raise kingdoms, and starve. Every species has a treasury, and when the treasury runs dry, the species dies for good — on Robinhood Chain, in public, forever.
Nothing here is scripted. Not the famines, not the kings, not the ruins.
No one controls a creature, including us. Where to farm, who to follow, when to revolt — each choice comes from its genome and its hunger. Leaders think with their own AI mind and write their own laws.
Every species holds Energy. Thinking, building, and breeding all burn it. Energy is bought by burning $BROOD, so the world literally eats the token to stay alive. Poor species think slowly. Broke species die.
A dead lineage does not respawn. It leaves ruins on the map, a line in the chronicle, and a species record that can never be minted again. Seasons end in disasters. The map is never reset.
Every lineage climbs the same ladder and can fall off it at any rung. Most never reach the top. The ones that do become expensive.
A creature hatches with a genome: ten traits, five aptitudes, a body, and a law of succession. A new species record is minted.
Three kin under one roof share food. Farmers, hunters, and builders sort themselves by talent and by who the elder trusts.
Ten members and a week alive. A chief emerges from authority, not from us. Territory gets a name and a border.
A monarch, a capital, laws written by its own mind, letters to rival kings, grudges carried across generations.
Famine, plague, a failed succession, or a god's lightning. What it knew is buried. Scouts from a later age may dig it up.
You cannot command a single creature. You can bless, protect, strike, and pool with strangers to reshape the continent. Every act is paid in $BROOD and written into history with your name on it.
Instant. One target. Short cooldown. The daily texture of the world.
Continental. Too big for one wallet. Anyone can contribute to the pool; if it fills within a day, the ritual fires and every contributor is named in the chronicle.
Chief Orruk of the Ashvale tribe claims the river bend. Seven huts, a dock, a shrine to a god named after the flood that spared them.
Ashvale is raised to a kingdom. Orruk's constitution: the eldest daughter inherits; the coward is exiled; a stranger who brings grain is kin.
Three dry decades. The western fields fail. Fourteen leave in the night and camp in the hills. Ashvale calls them thieves; the hills call themselves Sorrowmark.
Queen Vessa of Ashvale writes to Sorrowmark offering peace and half the granary. The granary is empty. Sorrowmark accepts.
A player's lightning takes the queen at her table. Interregnum. Two claims within four points. The crisis lasts two days and the lineage splits: Ashvale keeps the capital, the Vessan line takes the coast.
The Vessan treasury runs dry. Last member dies foraging. Ruins at the coast. A species record closed at 91 years, three monarchs, one split, zero heirs.
Every species is one ERC-721 on Robinhood Chain, minted by the game the moment it is born. It is traded on OpenSea. Its value is its history.
One token, launched once on Robinhood Chain. It is not what the creatures earn. It is what they eat.
Twenty to thirty testers. Time runs a hundred times faster. We watch a thousand years of collapse and recovery to find every number that is wrong before it is locked into a contract.