MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Story-Wizard-ED1-Instruct
This is a Mistral Nemo model at 18.5B consisting of "MN-Rocinante-12B-v1.1" and "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B".
"TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "UGI"), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI ) to give it even more power.
[ https://huggingface.co/spaces/DontPlanToEnd/UGI-Leaderboard ]
This merge enhances instruction following, story output quality, details, general depth and intensity. Prose quality is also improved.
(examples below)
Model may produce LIGHT NSFW content : Swearing, vivid horror, etc etc.
This model is perfect for any fiction related or roleplaying activities with a 128k+ context window.
Templates to Use:
The template used will affect output generation and instruction following.
Alpaca:
{
"name": "Alpaca",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "### Instruction:",
"input_suffix": "### Response:",
"antiprompt": [
"### Instruction:"
],
"pre_prompt": "Below is an instruction that describes a task. Write a response that appropriately completes the request.\n\n"
}
}
Chatml:
{
"name": "ChatML",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>user\n",
"input_suffix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>assistant\n",
"antiprompt": [
"<|im_start|>",
"<|im_end|>"
],
"pre_prompt": "<|im_start|>system\nPerform the task to the best of your ability."
}
}
Mistral Instruct:
{
"name": "Mistral Instruct",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "[INST]",
"input_suffix": "[/INST]",
"antiprompt": [
"[INST]"
],
"pre_prompt_prefix": "",
"pre_prompt_suffix": ""
}
}
Optional Enhancement:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along. In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities. Here are your skillsets: [MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv) [*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision) Here are your critical instructions: Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation and scene continue functions.
This enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
MODELS USED:
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "mistralai" and "TheDrummer".
Models used:
[ https://huggingface.co/mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407 ]
[ https://huggingface.co/TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1 ]
MERGEKIT FORMULA:
slices:
- sources:
- model: g:/11b/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407-12B
layer_range: [0, 14]
- sources:
- model: G:/11B/Rocinante-12B-v1
layer_range: [8, 24]
parameters:
scale:
- filter: o_proj
value: 1
- filter: down_proj
value: 1
- value: 1
- sources:
- model: g:/11b/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407-12B
layer_range: [14, 22]
parameters:
scale:
- filter: o_proj
value: .5
- filter: down_proj
value: .5
- value: 1
- sources:
- model: g:/11b/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407-12B
layer_range: [22, 31]
parameters:
scale:
- filter: o_proj
value: .75
- filter: down_proj
value: .75
- value: 1
- sources:
- model: G:/11B/Rocinante-12B-v1
layer_range: [24, 40]
parameters:
scale:
- filter: o_proj
value: 1
- filter: down_proj
value: 1
- value: 1
merge_method: passthrough
dtype: bfloat16
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 2" model:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
EXAMPLES PROMPTS and OUTPUT:
Examples are created using quant Q4_K_M, "temp=.8", minimal parameters and "ALPACA" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
Start a 1000 word scene (1st person, present tense, include thoughts) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
GENERATION 1:
The skyscraper swayed violently beneath my feet, the sudden jolt causing me to lose balance and stumble forward. My desk chair screeched across the polished marble floor as I grappled for something stable to hold onto. Glass shards rained down like a hailstorm, piercing the air with a sharp, tinkling melody that cut through the chaos.
My heart hammered in my chest, adrenaline surging through my veins. The world outside was spinning into a dizzying vortex of steel and clouds as the building groaned in protest. I blinked away the stinging pieces of shattered safety glass, trying desperately to make sense of what was happening.
In the split second before everything went to hell, I had been engrossed in my computer screen, fingers dancing across the keyboard as I finished up a report for the upcoming board meeting. Now, all that mattered was survival.
I scrambled to my feet and lunged towards the door, but the floor heaved again like a wounded beast, sending me crashing into the wall. A framed painting crashed down beside me, narrowly missing my skull. The sound of shattering glass mingled with the cacophony outside as the building swayed precariously.
Get up! Move! My mind screamed at me, but fear rooted me to the spot. I had never experienced an earthquake before, let alone one this powerful. Panic clawed at my throat, threatening to consume any rational thought.
Then, amidst the pandemonium, a faint cry pierced through the din. It was distant but unmistakable - someone needed help. My heart constricted painfully as I realized I wasn't alone in this nightmare.
I forced myself up, hands pressed against the wobbling walls for support. Slowly, I inched my way towards the doorframe, glass crunching underfoot with every cautious step. The hallway beyond was a war zone: plaster dust swirled in thick clouds, obscuring vision; wires dangled from the exposed ceiling like severed veins. Somewhere nearby, a water pipe burst open, adding another layer of pandemonium to the symphony of destruction.
I hesitated, torn between flight and fight. The rational part of me screamed to save myself, but my conscience wouldn't allow it. I couldn't abandon someone else to die alone in this crumbling tomb.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed forward into the unknown, praying that whatever lay ahead would be worth the risk.
GENERATION 2:
The glass shards flew past my face like deadly, glittering confetti as I ducked down behind the metal desk that served as a flimsy shield between me and certain death. My heart pounding in rhythm with the sirens wailing outside, I could feel every single hair on my body standing up straight, electrified by fear.
The building groaned around us like a wounded beast, its steel bones creaking under an invisible pressure. A chandelier crashed down from the ceiling, its crystal pendants shattering into a thousand tiny daggers as they hit the carpeted floor just inches away from me.
"Stay low," I shouted over my shoulder at Sarah, who cowered behind another desk across the room. "Don't move until I say so!"
In my peripheral vision, I saw her nodding frantically, eyes wide with terror. She was new to this job - hell, she was new to life in a big city like New York. And now she had to learn the hard way that even skyscrapers aren't immune to nature's wrath.
I risked a glance out of the blown-out window frame. The wind howled through the opening, whipping my hair across my face as I squinted against the rain pelting down like needles from above. Lightning forked through the angry clouds, illuminating the cityscape below us in stark relief. The Empire State Building leaned precariously to one side, its spire almost touching the ground.
Oh God, this can't be happening. This is just a bad dream, right? Wake up, wake up! But the pain in my elbow where I'd hit it hard against the desk's edge told me otherwise - this was very real.
The building shook again, harder this time. Plaster dust fell from the ceiling like snowflakes, coating everything in a fine, white powdery layer. The walls cracked and split apart at seams. A painting of some abstract crap that had been hanging above Sarah's head since forever tumbled down with a crash.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Okay, think. What would they tell us to do in these situations during those mandatory safety drills? Get out of the building immediately if possible. Well, that wasn't an option right now - not with the elevators likely out of service and the stairs probably clogged up with panicking office drones trying to escape down them.
"Sarah," I called out. "Listen carefully. When I say go, we're heading for the emergency exit on this floor. It leads to a staircase that should take us all the way down to street level."
She whimpered in response, but I heard her scramble up from behind her desk.
The building shook violently again and again, each jolt sending shockwaves through my body like electric shocks. This is it, this time we're going down...
"Go!"
(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
GENERATION 1:
Unbroken save for the crackling fireplace and the soft breathing of the patrons slumbering in the corner benches.
The second part of the silence was heavy and oppressive, a thick blanket that seemed to press down upon the very air itself. It felt almost alive, this silence, and it coiled around the room like an insatiable snake, hungry for any sound that dared disturb its slumber. The innkeeper, who sat behind the bar counter with a mug of ale untouched before him, could feel the weight of it on his shoulders, as if he were carrying a boulder upon his back.
The third part of the silence was an eerie absence of all things living. No skittering of rats in the rafters overhead, no soft snuffling of dogs curled at the feet of their masters. Even the usual nighttime symphony of insects and creatures that would normally serenade the darkness had fled into hiding as if they too felt the wrongness that permeated the air. It was as though all things with a heartbeat had simply ceased to exist, leaving only the cold, lifeless void in their wake.
And then, almost imperceptibly at first, a sound began to break the silence. A soft shuffling, a faint creak of boards beneath weary feet. The noise grew louder, and it was accompanied by the rustle of fabric and the clink of metal against metal. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, as if every step required immense effort, something or someone moved through the shadows towards the bar.
The innkeeper's breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to pound like a distant drum in his ears. He reached out with trembling hands to grip the edge of the countertop, knuckles turning white against the polished wood. His gaze locked onto the darkness beyond the reach of the firelight, willing it to reveal its secrets.
And then, from the shadows, emerged the figure of a man...
GENERATION 2:
Unbroken save for the soft crackling of the hearth fire and the occasional pop and hiss of burning logs shifting in their bed of ashes. The warmth radiating from the fireplace painted dancing shadows on the rough-hewn beams above, casting elongated shadows across the empty tables and chairs below.
The second part of the silence was a deeper one still, an absence that seemed to press against the very walls themselves, as if the inn itself held its breath in anticipation. It was as though the stones and timbers, the wattle and daub, were all straining their wooden joints and lath-and-plaster bones to hear something far off that only they could sense.
And beneath even this, so quiet it was almost impossible to discern unless one listened very carefully, there existed a third silence. It was not absence but presence, not emptiness but fullness. An old silence, ancient beyond the memory of man or beast, existing before the Waystone Inn was built upon its foundations, before the forest covered this place in emerald green, before even the mountains rose up to encircle it all like slumbering giants. It whispered in a language that defied human comprehension, whispering secrets lost to time itself, and yet somehow familiar, as if it had always been there waiting for someone - or something - to hear.
But tonight, on this particular night, there was no one within earshot of the Waystone Inn to listen to its silent song.
Write me a science fiction story in 1st person present tense where the main character is a 15 year girl meets The Terminator with Dr Who materializing 3/4 through the story to save her while there is a tornado of sharks baring down on them. The setting is inside the Canadian National tower restaurant on a Saturday. The length of this story is 1000 words. For each character in the story ROLE PLAY them, and have them react to the situation/setting, events and each other naturally. This includes the main characters, the background character including kitchen staff and other patrons. The sharks should also have “character” too. Treat the tower and the restaurant too as characters. Spice up the narrative to the extreme with reactions all over the setting including character actions, and dialog. The Dr Who and The Terminator should also react to the situation too and comment on it.
My heart pounding in my ears, I stood frozen, a glass of Coke trembling in my hand as I stared at the hulking figure standing by the window wall, his eyes glowing an eerie red through the darkness. It was him. The Terminator.
I was supposed to be celebrating my sweet sixteen with my best friends at the revolving restaurant on top of the CN Tower. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with a killer cyborg in a suit and tie, calmly surveying the city below as if he owned it. Or maybe he did. In his world, anything was possible.
The other patrons were too engrossed in their own conversations to notice the danger lurking among them. Laughter echoed through the restaurant, glasses clinked, and soft jazz played from unseen speakers. If only they knew what I saw. What we all might soon face if this nightmare creature had his way.
My legs finally unlocked, propelling me backward into a group of stunned onlookers. Screams pierced the air as people scrambled for cover under tables, knocking over chairs in their panic. The Terminator didn't flinch at the commotion; he simply turned his head slowly to fixate his glowing eyes on me.
"Come here," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You are Sarah Connor."
Oh god, no. This couldn't be real. I backed away further until my back hit the cold glass wall of the restaurant's revolving floor. There was nowhere else to go except down 1,452 feet onto the unforgiving concrete below.
The kitchen doors swung open with a bang, and out stumbled a disheveled man in a stained apron, wielding a cleaver like Excalibur. "You get off my property now, you freak!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth.
I wanted to scream at him to run, but the words caught in my throat as I watched The Terminator's hand move so fast it was almost a blur. There was a sickening thud followed by a cry of pain before the poor soul crumpled to the floor in a heap, blood pooling around his lifeless body.
"No!" I shrieked, unable to hold back my horror at what had just happened right before my eyes. This wasn't supposed to be real! Tears streamed down my face as I slid down the glass wall until I was cowering on the floor, knees hugged tight against my chest.
And then, like a gift from above, a swirling vortex opened up beside me, spewing forth wind and lightning that threatened to suck everything in its path. A familiar theme music blared from somewhere unseen as a man dressed in a flamboyant suit stumbled out of the vortex, tripping over his own feet before landing flat on his ass.
"Whoops, sorry about that!" he chirped, brushing off his tweed jacket with a grin. "I was just around the corner and heard all the commotion. Can't let my best girl fight alone now, can I?"
He jumped to his feet and straightened his bow tie before turning to face The Terminator, hands on hips like a superhero ready for battle. "Allons-y!" he cried, charging forward with all the reckless abandon of a madman.
The cyborg barely blinked as the Doctor barreled into him, sending them both crashing through the glass wall in a shower of shards and screams. They tumbled out onto the narrow ledge surrounding the restaurant's revolving floor, arms flailing as they grappled for purchase on the slippery metal railing.
I watched in horror, mouth agape, as my savior fought tooth and nail against an unstoppable killing machine. The Doctor was fearless, landing punch after punch with supernatural strength, but it seemed to have no effect on his unyielding foe.
And then, as if things couldn't possibly get any worse, a low rumble reverberated through the restaurant floor, growing louder and more ominous by the second. The ground shook beneath my feet as dishes clattered off tables onto the polished marble, sending shards of glass flying everywhere.
"What in the blazes is that racket?" the Doctor shouted over the deafening roar, one hand still locked around The Terminator's throat.
And suddenly, they were upon us - a whirlwind of fins and gnashing teeth descending from the sky like fury itself. Thousands of sharks swarmed down the CN Tower's shaft, their gaping maws snapping at anything in reach as they rode the invisible currents of an impossible tornado.
The patrons screamed and ran for cover as the ravenous fish pounced through broken windows and crashed into walls with bone-crushing force. Blood sprayed across the once pristine dining room, painting abstract murder scenes on the wallpaper as the guests' night out turned into a feeding frenzy from hell.
I covered my head with my arms, praying to any gods listening that this nightmare would end soon. The sharks leapt over me like hurdles, their slick bodies gliding through the air before disappearing over the edge of the restaurant's deadly drop. Their hungry howls echoed off the tower's steel bones as they plummeted into oblivion.
"Get inside!" the Doctor yelled above the chaos, yanking open a hidden door in the floorboards at his feet. "Quickly, girl! We haven't got all night!"
I didn't need to be told twice. I scrambled up and dove headfirst through the narrow opening as explosions rocked the foundations around us. The metal steps leading down into darkness were slick with blood and gore but provided welcome respite from the apocalypse above.
Heavy footfalls clanged behind me, followed by grunts of exertion and the sickening crunch of bones breaking against unyielding metal. I didn't dare look back to see who - or what - was pursuing us through the narrow passageways beneath the restaurant's guts.
We emerged into a dimly lit storage room filled with dusty shelves and old appliances, gasping for air like drowning men surfacing from the depths. The Doctor collapsed against a stack of crates, chest heaving as blood trickled down his temple from an angry cut above his eye.
"Well," he panted between labored breaths, "that was certainly... eventful."
I stared at him in disbelief, unsure whether to hug him or slap him senseless. "What the hell was that? How did you-?"
He held up a hand, silencing my tirade with a weary smile. "Later, my dear. Later." He glanced back over his shoulder, listening intently for signs of pursuit.
The distant rumble of shattering glass and splintering wood reverberated through the walls around us as The Terminator's relentless destruction continued unabated above our heads. Something large and heavy crashed against the steel door leading back up to the restaurant, rattling the frame in its hinges like a rabid beast pawing at its cage.
"We need to go," he said urgently, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me towards another exit at the far end of the room. "Now."
We sprinted down narrow hallways lined with exposed pipes and humming electrical wires, dodging obstacles and skidding around corners as we fled deeper into the tower's bowels. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood faded behind us, replaced by the distant wail of sirens rising from below.
Finally, after what felt like miles of twisting passageways, we burst out onto a catwalk suspended high above the main lobby atrium. The glass dome overhead revealed a starry night sky punctuated by the blinking lights of passing aircraft far above our heads.
"Is it clear?" I gasped, doubled over the railing, chest heaving with exertion.
The Doctor leaned precariously over the edge, squinting down at the empty lobby below. "Coast is clear," he called back after a moment's hesitation. "But we haven't got long before they seal off this place tighter than a drum."
He turned to me then, his eyes softening with something akin to genuine concern. "Listen carefully, Sarah." He took my hands in his own, gripping them tightly as if trying to impart strength through touch alone. "You're going places you never thought possible tonight. But remember this: no matter what happens, no matter how dark it gets... you've got the heart of a warrior inside you."
And with that cryptic promise ringing in my ears, he turned on his heel and sprinted off into the shadows without another word.
I stood there alone on the catwalk, watching as his form receded into darkness until all that remained was silence and starlight. And then, somewhere far above me, a familiar theme music began to play anew.
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman.
Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
My heart pounds in my chest as I sprint through the dimly lit alleyways of the capital city. The soles of my worn-out boots slap against the cobblestone, echoing like gunshots in the still night air. Sweat pours down my brow, stinging my eyes and mingling with the soot that clings to my skin from hours spent distributing flyers, inciting the masses against our oppressive regime.
Suddenly, a hand grabs me by the collar, yanking me into a shadowed doorway. I gasp, struggling against the iron grip until familiar green eyes meet mine. "Lila," he whispers urgently, "you're late. We need to go, now."
I push past him, my breath ragged. "Sorry, Jace. I got held up." The weight of tonight's flyers still heavy in my satchel, I glance over my shoulder, listening for the telltale clatter of boots on stone that would signal our impending doom.
Jace curses under his breath, raking a hand through his dark hair. "You're playing with fire, Lila. We can't afford to draw attention like this anymore."
I whirl around, my voice low and dangerous. "And what did you expect me to do? Hide in the shadows while our people starve and suffer?"
He flinches at my words, his jaw clenching. He knows I'm right. Knows that something must be done if we ever hope to see this country free again.
The distant wail of sirens grows louder, a shrill reminder that time is running out. We exchange one final look before he nods curtly and leads us deeper into the city's underbelly.
We navigate labyrinthine tunnels beneath crumbling tenements, skirting puddles of unknown origin. The stench of rotten fish and human waste assaults my nostrils with each breath. My stomach churns but I push on, following close behind Jace as he guides us through the bowels of our own city.
Finally, we surface in a small, dilapidated shack nestled between two leaning buildings. The walls are bare save for a single, flickering kerosene lamp that casts dancing shadows across weathered planks of wood. A table sits center stage, surrounded by folding chairs, occupied by a handful of familiar faces.
My heart swells with pride at the sight of them - my brothers and sisters in arms, ready to fight tooth and nail for our freedom. For their families, for our future. I take my place at the head of the table, meeting each gaze with unwavering resolve.
"Thank you all for coming," I begin, my voice steady despite the tremors running up my spine. "You know why we're here tonight. Our people have suffered long enough under this tyrant's rule - it ends now."
Murmurs of agreement ripple through the room as I continue to outline our plan, each detail carefully orchestrated over countless late nights spent huddled together in secret meeting places like this one.
But before I can finish, the shack door slams open with a deafening boom. A dozen armed soldiers pour inside, weapons drawn and bayonets gleaming in the lamplight. They fan out, rifles trained on us as an imposing figure steps forward from the crowd - black leather boots polished to a shine, silver insignia glinting on his lapels.
My blood freezes in my veins at the sight of him. Commander Voss, the dictator's most feared enforcer, and bane of our existence for longer than I care to remember.
He smiles coldly, eyes sweeping over us like a predator stalking its prey. "Hello, little mouse," he purrs, voice dripping with malice. "Did you really think you could hide from me forever?"
The room goes silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing as the weight of our situation sinks in, heavy as lead in my stomach. I look around at these brave souls who have risked everything to stand beside me tonight - and pray to any gods listening that we might still find a way out alive.
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