"Cut a canyon through here."
Cog carves the ravine, steps the walls back in shelves so they read like real rock, and sends a waterfall over the rim into a plunge pool at the bottom. Ask for a village down there and they will put one down there.
What you can ask for
No menus, no commands to memorise, no block names to look up. You talk to Cog the way you would talk to a mate who happens to be very good at Minecraft. Here is the kind of thing you can ask them for.
One sentence — "a treehouse village up a giant oak" — and this is what came back. Take hold of it and have a look round.
Real requests
Cog carves the ravine, steps the walls back in shelves so they read like real rock, and sends a waterfall over the rim into a plunge pool at the bottom. Ask for a village down there and they will put one down there.
Cog picks the line, raises the deck clear of the water so it reads as a bridge and not a causeway, rails both sides, and walks it end to end to prove it holds up.
Not a cottage with a face painted on the front. Cog works the whole thing out themselves and builds a hollow yellow sponge you can walk into — round eyes, buck teeth, freckles, holes right through him, a white shirt and brown trousers, and a bed and a table waiting inside. Twenty-three thousand blocks, and every single one of them read back out of the world afterwards to prove it is really there.
Three timber huts in the branches with pitched roofs and lit windows, walkways between them and ladders down to the ground, under a canopy you could hide a house in. Thirty-five thousand blocks. Nobody put a treehouse in a cupboard for them to find — they design it from the words you said, the same way they would design a dragon, a lighthouse or your dog.
Ninety-six blocks of galleon sitting down in the water with white foam breaking at the bow. Two gun decks with the cannons run out, a raised stern castle with windows in it, three masts, rigging, a bowsprit and the skull and crossbones at the masthead. Cog’s first go was a model boat in a bathtub, and they said so themselves before fixing it.
A nose cone that tapers properly, fins standing off the hull with daylight between them, an engine bell underneath with the glow inside it, and a gantry tower alongside with walkways and floodlights. Twenty-two thousand blocks, up in five seconds.
Not a field — a game. Cog lays the pitch with its markings and goal frames, then writes the rules: stand on your team pad and it hands you snowballs, put one through the goal mouth and the score goes up and the whistle goes, first to five and the fireworks fire. It goes live on the server while everyone is still standing in it. Nobody installs anything.
Not one like it — the same one. Cog keeps every design they have ever drawn, so a second copy goes up in about eight seconds instead of the six minutes the first one took to work out. And because they remember where they put things, asking for something on a spot that is already taken gets you "there is already a SpongeBob house there, want me to build beside it?" rather than a house on a roof.
Gone in half a second, and then they go back and check the space really is empty rather than telling you it is. The design stays in them library, so you can have it again somewhere better whenever you like. Cog can only take down things they built themselves — they work from their own record of what they put where, so nothing anyone else made is ever at risk.
Cog does not build you a second game. Cog finds the one you mean, changes the winning score, puts it back into the running server and then tries every rule again — not just the one you asked about, because the rule nobody mentions is the one that breaks. Twenty-two seconds, and the pitch, the pads and the other eight rules are exactly where they were.
Same trick, different game. Start pad, finish line, a clock that runs between them and a scoreboard that remembers. Cog writes the rules, loads them into the running world, then plays every one of them themselves to check they actually fire before telling you it is ready.
A full loop of track with a hill in it, powered rails so you keep moving, timber supports underneath and a cart waiting for you. Cog lays every rail with the right shape through the curves and the climb, then puts a cart on it and watches it go round before they tell you it is ready.
Sticky pistons, wire and a lever, laid block by block. Flip the lever and a solid wall slides across the doorway. Flip it back and the doorway is simply there again.
You did not say how wide, what out of, or which way round the creek. Cog decides. Cobblestone, three wide, bridged over the water, graded up the rise, and lit with torches so nothing spawns on it at night.
A ferris wheel built from circuits that already work, so the lever does what a lever should. Flip it on and the wheel turns. Flip it off and it stops.
Cog walks with you on their own two feet, around the trees and over the hills, at the pace anyone else walks. No teleporting. Say "stop following" and they stop.
Cog chops until they have the amount you asked for, then tells you the number that actually made it into the bag.
Cog takes the crops that are ready and leaves the ones that are not, then replants every square behind them. Come back tomorrow and the farm is still a farm.
Cog heads underground, cuts a staircase down and lights it as they go, checks their pickaxe is up to the ore, mines it and carries it home to you.
Cog fights with the best weapon they are carrying, and they come home before their health runs out. Coming home with less beats not coming home.
Cog walks to the chest, puts in or takes out exactly what you named, and tells you the count that moved.
Five floors, windows on each one, battlements around the top, and a spiral stair inside that rises one block a step. You can climb it, not just look at it.
Playing the game properly
Big builds are the showy part. The rest of the time they are a second pair of hands in your world, and every one of these has been tested on its own before it ever gets strung into a bigger errand.
Good habits
Anyone can place blocks. What makes Cog good company is that they play the way a careful player plays, without being asked.
Going underground, they cut a staircase and put torches in as they go. You can walk down after them, and walk back up again.
A wooden pickaxe on iron ore gives you nothing at all. Cog checks the tool matches the ore before they swing, so the ore is still there when the right pickaxe turns up.
Wiring is fiddly and one wrong block kills the whole circuit. So their contraptions come from a library of circuits already built and checked, which is why the lever works the first time and every time after.
Drop below a certain health and they disengage and leave, mid-fight if they have to. Your loot comes back with them.
Pulling a crop early destroys it for nothing. Cog takes what is ready, replants it, and lets the rest keep growing.
A rule that installs perfectly and never fires is invisible — the scoreboard is up, the pitch is laid, and one rule in nine quietly does nothing forever. So every rule they write gets triggered on purpose, and the result read back off the server, before they tell you to go and play.
Before they lay a block of anything they have designed, they stand back and look at it — front, side and plan — and says out loud what is wrong with it. Then they fix it and look again. The first draft of the rocket had its fins fused into one solid skirt. By the fourth they were separate blades you could see daylight through.
Every job comes back with something measured. Blocks placed, items in the bag, the count in the chest. Not the request read back to you.
The scoreboard
Every skill above gets run three times in the same arena, with the world reset in between so nothing can drift the result. 26 of the 27 runs landed. A full errand, where they gather, walks and deposits with nobody watching, landed 8 times out of 8. The whole breakdown is on the Verification page.
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