Update README.md

README.md

@@ -225,6 +225,10 @@ Number of experts used is TWO, unless otherwise stated.
 
 Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in <B>BOLD</B>.
 
+IMPORTANT: 
+
+Higher quants / imatrix quants will have much stronger generation - words, sentences, ideas, dialog and general quality.
+
 ---
 
 <B><font color="red">WARNING:</font> NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED. </B>
@@ -380,6 +384,104 @@ With a trembling hand, I pick up the capsule and shove it into my pocket. There'
 
 The clock is ticking. Literally. The Dictator's time is running out. And so is mine.
 
+---
+
+<B>
+(continue this scene:)
+The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
+
+The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained
+
+(all generations here are 4 experts for this prompt)
+
+</b>
+(generation #1 - 4 experts)
+
+The second part of the silence was a stiller quiet that seemed to come from the very walls and floorboards themselves. It was as if the wood was tired, worn out by years of laughter and argument, of boots scraping and chairs scraping, of countless nights of warmth and light that had finally gone out.
+
+And the third part of the silence was the quietest quiet of all. This was the quiet of the night itself, when the world seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of something that never came. It was the quiet that comes just before dawn, when the stars are fading and the sky is still dark enough to hide the sun’s face.
+
+So it was that the silence hung over the Waystone Inn like a curtain of black silk, thick and heavy and unbroken by even the softest of sounds. No owl hooted in the trees outside; no dog barked in its sleep inside; no mouse stirred in the rafters above. The silence was so profound that it seemed almost to have a life of its own, as if it were some great creature that had settled here to sleep for the night.
+
+And it was into this silence that South came, walking slowly up the road towards the inn. His feet made no sound on the gravel outside the door; even the hinges of the door itself were silent as they swung open to admit him. He wore a hood over his face and he carried a staff in one hand. Even the soft fall of his cloak was muffled by the stillness around him.
+
+Inside the inn, the fire burned low and blue. It cast a weak glow over the room, hardly strong enough to illuminate the faces of the men who sat there drinking. There were only four of them. One was an old man with a long white beard that fell over his cloak like a waterfall of snow. Another was a young man whose eyes gleamed with the light of adventure and whose jaw was set tight as if he were preparing himself for battle.
+
+The third was a man who looked as if he had been born under a different sun altogether, his skin as black as coal and his hair as bright and wild-looking as any flame. He wore a great hat shaped like a bird’s wing, and he leaned back in his chair with his boots propped up on the table before him.
+
+The fourth was a woman who looked old enough to have seen the world change completely, but her eyes were sharp as daggers and her hands were quick as a cat’s. She had gray in her hair but it was not the gray of age; it was the gray of powder and it was mixed with the black of night.
+
+There was another figure hunched in the corner of the room, though he was hidden by shadows and the firelight made his face seem like nothing more than a dark silhouette. He wore a long coat that was dusty and worn and there were tears in its fabric; his boots were old and cracked and looked as if they had been walked across half the world.
+
+There were no other patrons in the inn, and the four who were already there were silent men who drank silently. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of old ale and the quiet was so profound that it seemed almost to have a life of its own.
+
+South came quietly into the room, his eyes flicking over the faces of the drinkers until they settled on the oldest of them all, the white-bearded man who sat closest to the fire. There was a moment of silence before South spoke in a voice as soft as the rustling of leaves and about as loud as a mouse’s squeak.
+
+"Who is it that sits there drinking alone?" he asked. His tone was polite but it was edged with something that sounded almost like challenge.
+
+The old man looked up from his drink and regarded South through eyes that were ancient and weary. They were the eyes of a man who had lived so long that he had seen everything there was to see, and yet they still held a spark of curiosity.
+
+"Who but Loweni?" he replied in a voice that was like the creaking of old leather.
+
+South inclined his head slightly in respect. "I am South," he said quietly.
+
+"And who comes to us at this late hour?" asked Loweni, his eyes never leaving South’s face.
+
+"I come to hear the truth," South said simply, his eyes never wavering from Loweni’s.
+
+<B>
+(generation #2 - 4 experts)
+</B>
+
+The second silence was a silence of anticipation. It was as if the very air itself held its breath in expectation of what might occur. It was tense and tight and almost painful in its stillness. It was as if the night itself were leaning forward over the road to catch every word, every step, every movement that would come from the Waystone Inn.
+
+The third silence was a silence of fear. It was an unshakable dread that gripped the heart in a cold, clammy hand. It was as if the darkness itself was afraid, and was cowering behind the trees and the shadows. It was afraid that it might not be enough to keep things at bay.
+
+Inside the inn, there were only two people left: the old man with no name and a hooded stranger who was known only as the Southwester. They sat at a small wooden table by the fire, their faces cast in its glow like two ancient masks. The stranger had removed his hood, revealing thick, dark hair growing down to his ears. His eyes were the deepest shade of blue imaginable.
+
+"What's your name, friend?" asked the old man.
+
+"I am called Three," replied the stranger.
+
+"Three," repeated the old man. "I've not heard that one before. Most folks have a name by the time they're grown enough to shave."
+
+The stranger shrugged. "It was given me by the guild. It suits."
+
+The old man nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed it does. There's something in you that makes me think 'three'. Something complete, whole."
+
+Three leaned back in his chair and studied the flames. He could not help but wonder what lay behind those ancient eyes, staring into the heart of the fire.
+
+"I am old enough to know I have seen all there is to see," said the old man finally.
+
+"And I," said Three softly, "am young enough to know there's still much to come."
+
+The silence between them was thick with unasked questions. The night outside seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of what might unfold in those flickering flames and those two faces. But neither man spoke again as the night wore on, leaving behind only the echoes of their words like scattered autumn leaves blown away by the wind.
+
+
+<B>
+(generation #3 - 4 experts)
+</B>
+
+The second part of the silence was as soft and quiet as a mouse’s footsteps. It was the silence that fell over people when they didn’t want to be heard. It was the pause that occurred in conversations when something awkward had been said. It was the stillness that seemed to descend whenever a secret was being whispered or a lie was being spun.
+
+And the third part of the silence was as harsh and biting as a winter wind. It was the silence of fear. The sort that comes when you’re walking through a dark alley alone, or when you hear a strange noise in your house at night. It’s the silence that grips you by the throat when you realize you’re not as safe as you thought.
+
+All three parts of the silence filled the Waystone Inn like a cold breath on the back of your neck, making you want to shiver and pull your cloak tighter around you even though you weren’t actually cold. It was the sort of silence that made you want to fill it with noise – to yell at the top of your lungs, or laugh until your sides hurt, or bang your spoon against the table in sheer bloody-minded defiance.
+
+But there was no noise. Just the three parts of the silence, sitting on top of each other like layers in a cake. And then another silence joined them, a silence that was almost alive. It was as if the room itself had grown quiet, as if it had sucked all the noise out of the air and swallowed it whole.
+
+This was the silence of Patience herself, the innkeeper, sitting at a small table by the fire with her back to the door. She didn’t seem to notice the silence at all. In fact she seemed not to notice anything except for the book in her hands and the flames dancing in the hearth in front of her.
+
+She read in silence, turning page after page with an expression on her face that was as empty as the silence around her. The fire crackled softly every so often and the shadows danced around the walls like dark, living things.
+
+It seemed as if she had been sitting there forever and ever, lost in her book as much as the inn was lost in its silence. As if nothing could disturb her, no matter how loud the knocking on the door or the shouting in the street might be outside.
+
+But Patience was not as oblivious as she seemed. She had ears that picked up every sound and saw with eyes that noticed everything, no matter how small or quiet. She just chose to ignore most of it, preferring instead to lose herself in the words on the page.
+
+For Patience knew that silence was sometimes a more potent weapon than any amount of noise. And she knew that if you stood still long enough, the silence would often reveal more to you than all the shouting and commotion in the world ever could. So she sat by the fire, reading her book in silence, waiting for the dawn to come and put an end to the night’s stillness. And as she read, the shadows on the wall seemed to grow closer and closer, as if they were leaning in to listen too. But Patience didn’t notice them at all. She just read on, lost in her book and the silence that surrounded her like a cloak.
+
+
+
 ---
 
 <B>