Iknow5/Text_Adventures huggingface dataset:
"You can use the grindstone and I'll give you some whetstones and polishing cloth. Still, you will need a dagger and a polearm of some kind. You look like you would fancy a heavier weapon. Take a look at the wall. I've got a poleaxe that I've recently finished; it's the perfect length for you. Let me get it."

You stare at the walls again, this time at one filled with pole weapons, some leaning against the wall, some packed on shelves, some in actual weapon holders. There are the long pikes that take down calvary lined on shelves at the top. Other weapons have spikes, tongs, flat ends for hammering, large and small points, curved blades, and any combination thereof. The choice between weapon types is dizzying, and even among the individual types there are more variables; weight, length, thickness, curve, even the way the shaft and tip are joined.

You carefully pick up a weapon or two and try them out, a swing, a thrust, a step and a turn. They are unsurprisingly heavy, much heavier than your smaller sword. You place them back, making sure they are not going to fall and cause an avalanche of weapons. You look around a bit. You manage to pick out a few weapons that look good.

The Blacksmith walks back in carrying one of the heavy weapons in one hand like it's nothing and places it on a weapon rack.

Including the weapon the Blacksmith just brought in you've narrowed it down to three: a halberd about your height, with an end that has a long spike at the tip, a small axe on one side and a hook on the opposite, all mounted on a thick and sturdy wood pole; a slightly smaller warhammer with small but brutal looking spike on one side and the flat end for crushing, all on a mix of metal of wood; and the Blacksmith's weapon, a longer glaive, with a long curved blade on the tip and a small hook, on heavy dark wood.

You warhammer

You hold the war hammer in your holds and turn it over. Heavy, but that's the point. The hammer itself is completely flat and even, smaller than you'd imagine, but that only concentrates the damage you'd guess. There's a metal grip on it, with a pattern to make it easier to hold.

"Ah, the hammer. Brutal thing, that is. Just around the right size for you though." After placing the glaive he brought in on a rack the Blacksmith points to the hammer. "It doesn't matter if someone's wearing armour. With this, a single whack and it'll smash through a helmet, and even if it doesn't, it can still break bones, cause concussions, and at the very least give a very nasty bruise. The hook can rip through armour too, though usually a good set of platemail can block it. It's good for taking down calvary. The hook can tear at the legs of a horse, get the man off his mount, and the hammer can crush the horse's legs."
"You can use the grindstone and I'll give you some whetstones and polishing cloth. Still, you will need a dagger and a polearm of some kind. You look like you would fancy a heavier weapon. Take a look at the wall. I've got a poleaxe that I've recently finished; it's the perfect length for you. Let me get it."

You stare at the walls again, this time at one filled with pole weapons, some leaning against the wall, some packed on shelves, some in actual weapon holders. There are the long pikes that take down calvary lined on shelves at the top. Other weapons have spikes, tongs, flat ends for hammering, large and small points, curved blades, and any combination thereof. The choice between weapon types is dizzying, and even among the individual types there are more variables; weight, length, thickness, curve, even the way the shaft and tip are joined.

You carefully pick up a weapon or two and try them out, a swing, a thrust, a step and a turn. They are unsurprisingly heavy, much heavier than your smaller sword. You place them back, making sure they are not going to fall and cause an avalanche of weapons. You look around a bit. You manage to pick out a few weapons that look good.

The Blacksmith walks back in carrying one of the heavy weapons in one hand like it's nothing and places it on a weapon rack.

Including the weapon the Blacksmith just brought in you've narrowed it down to three: a halberd about your height, with an end that has a long spike at the tip, a small axe on one side and a hook on the opposite, all mounted on a thick and sturdy wood pole; a slightly smaller warhammer with small but brutal looking spike on one side and the flat end for crushing, all on a mix of metal of wood; and the Blacksmith's weapon, a longer glaive, with a long curved blade on the tip and a small hook, on heavy dark wood.

You glaive

You look at the glaive that the Blacksmith brought in. The wood is smooth, balanced and strong, and the blade looks like it craves blood. You pick it up and its just as heavy as you expected. It's simple compared to the other weapons; no intricate patterns or designs, but it's lovely nonetheless.

"The glaive? Ah, a good choice. I knew it'd be the weapon for you, just the right size." The Blacksmith stands beside you. "It may seem simple, but I made it with the care all my weapons deserve. Of course, the wood work isn't mine, but all metal has been forged by my hands."
You take the black belt and bands out of his hands and try to hold as little of them as possible, with a forced smile. The Tanner smiles back at you, oblivious of your disgust.


Ophelia takes your arm. "We have to go now."


The Tanner smiles at you. "Come backs to visit. And if yous wants armours, I cans make it. But laters." His tail wags and he waves at Ophelia.


Ophelia pulls you out of the room and walks off quickly, then runs after reaching the corner.


"I'm sorry. I just can't stand it. He's just so pitiful. I want to hate him, I really do, but I also feel an overwhelming sense of sorrow for him." Her face is white and her hold is gripping your arm so hard it hurts. Her face says not to talk about it anymore, but you have a feeling there's something that she's not telling you.


The smell diminishes as you get farther from the tannery. Once you reach the lift again you put on the belt and bracers, if just to buy some time before you have to step back on it. To your surprise the solution that the Tanner used actually seems to have worked. In fact, they have a slight leather smell, but otherwise are devoid of any discernible smell.


You're about to step back on the lift. If you want to ask Ophelia about the Tanner, now is the time.

You keep quiet

You close your mouth. She obviously doesn't want to talk about it and you still have things to do before Zaren... Does whatever Zaren does.


You play with the folds of your belt and you and Ophelia stand in silence for a moment.


"Thank you... I just... I'll explain it later. We've things to do now. I understand that things must be confusing for you -- it was for me, and even I had some experience with The Court before I joined it. It just... I've never done this before." Ophelia is quiet with this last sentence. "Zaren has people for this. I don't understand why he told me to help you. Then again, I don't understand why he does anything he does."


The lift starts to move again.


"Where to next?"
"Oh yes. I told you about the "fight" Zaren had. He got rid of all the doors in The Court, except for the large front doors to the palace. Apparently they "took his side". Without doors we lacked privacy, but Zaren didn't care. Probably didn't eve occur to him. But after a few years he had his brilliant idea; fake walls. No one had any idea he could do something like that, but I don't think it surprised anyone. That's why we check the walls. He can build them anywhere he wants, so we must be vigilant, vigilant always. It's tiring at first but you build up a habit eventually."

"Doesn't it... Freak you out?"

"At first it was a little strange, but after a year or two you don't even think about it anymore. You start to forget what doors look like."

You tailor

"The Tailor? He's been here a very long time, longer than me, longer than most.... He used to be like us. I just barely remember it. He had another name too, but it's so far off I don't have an inkling what it could have been. Anyway he always had a talent for clothing, but he's had a lot of time to perfect his craft as well. Zaren decided he wanted to change The Court to something more like what you see now. He made the Tailor into what he is now so that he could... Well, so that he could be the Tailor. Zaren rubs off on people. He places the seeds of madness in our minds. The Tailor's soul was more fertile than most, but he still retained the appearance of reason. So he gladly accepted his changes and new role. He's happy with it, I think. One of few, but he has a long history here, and a possibly longer future."


"What... Is he?"


"Oh... That's your question. He's a silk worm. Part silk worm at least. At least he used to be a silk worm. I guess he's a moth now."


You don't really want to think about him anymore.
The heavy blade is laying on the ground.

Your heart beats.

You survey the fight.

It's a giant mass of men screaming in a variety of different emotions. Joy here, fear there. You can see spectres spectating, watchers watching, and shadows spectating as well, because what else would they do? Be serious.

With all the chaos, if you crouched you could conceivably have more cover. A lower center of gravity would also be a benefit. A quick roll would provide more cover and speed, but lack the same control. The ground, while littered with weapons and bodies, has a clear path to your weapon. You could try to crawl there. This would provide the most cover, but you risk being stepped on, and what you gain in cover you give up in speed.

Beat.

Move now, or risk danger for another look around.

You crawl

The muscles holding you up loosen and you fall down.

Beat.

Your knees hit the sand and throw up little flecks. You hear a whistling sound.

Beat.

The rest of you falls forward, hands moving in position to cushion your fall.

Beat.

An arrow, bright and deadly, glides over you.

Beat.

You catch the ground and embrace it, pushing forward with your legs.

Beat. Beat.

The battle rages. Hand and elbow crawl forward as you make your way slowly to your weapon. Someone steps backwards into your path. You punch their leg and they fall out of the way. There is no mercy in this moment. Someone else tries to step backwards, but trips over you and falls. Almost there. Your hand is on your weapon now.

Beat. Beat. Beat.

You jump up and swing the blade around. You catch someone just barely on the back of their arm; you run them through and cleanly pull out the blade. In this small space no one can respect the length of the sword, so you kick a few people to clear a space. Something catches you in the side of your head and you fall down and... is that.... bloood.....
The heavy blade is laying on the ground.

Your heart beats.

You survey the fight.

It's a giant mass of men screaming in a variety of different emotions. Joy here, fear there. You can see spectres spectating, watchers watching, and shadows spectating as well, because what else would they do? Be serious.

With all the chaos, if you crouched you could conceivably have more cover. A lower center of gravity would also be a benefit. A quick roll would provide more cover and speed, but lack the same control. The ground, while littered with weapons and bodies, has a clear path to your weapon. You could try to crawl there. This would provide the most cover, but you risk being stepped on, and what you gain in cover you give up in speed.

Beat.

Move now, or risk danger for another look around.

You look

Your eyes flicker and see everything on the battlefield.

Beat. Beat.

Recognition flashes for but a brief moment, as you see the sun shining on the arrow that procedes to catch your throat and rip through flesh to find sweet death. Blood spurts out and you drift into blackness. It feels like an eternity but some part of you knows it's only a beat or two before you die.

Beat. Beat.

Now death is all that is left in your eyes as all traces of you meld into the sands and you are swept away from existence.
The man next to you screams and whacks a corpse on the ground with your simple battle axe. He smiles and pulls himself up to grip the weapon with two hands and bring it down over the head of another distracted man.

Your heart beats.

You spare a quick glance over the rest of the battlefield.

Men fight all around you, clanging metal and shrieking warriors ringing in your ears. There's laughter, joy, fear, and hatred in those screams. Shadows stand all around the raised edge of the arena, perfectly still.

You need a weapon in your hands, something to defend yourself against this writhing mass of life and death. You need your axe; it's yours. It fits perfectly in your hand and bites at the flesh of your enemies like a loyal dog. There is no question: you must get it back.

Beat.

The man is chopping here and there and everywhere. He's not even holding your axe right.

Beat.

Attack him now and rely on your skills, or sneak up behind him?

You sneak up on him

You quickly move around a few fights and dodge a few weak attacks, making your way to the man.

Beat.

He's still whacking into a corpse, though a different one now. His back is to you... It's the perfect time to strike.

Beat.

You lift your hands and go flying into his body, slamming him forward.

Beat. Beat. Beat.

Before he can respond your arms are wrapped around his neck from behind. The fool drops your axe on his foot so he can claw at your arms. Chokes and screams are stuck in his throat and there's a wheezing sound; the only air he can get out, and none of it goes back in. You give another squeeze. He beats against your body with one hand, but lacks to strength to do any damage, already fading.

Suddenly, something hits you in the leg. You collaspe onto the man and look to it. An arrow is sprouting from your leg like a plant in the dirt. At the sudden shock of it you let go of the man and he tries to turn around. Before either of you realize what's happening your hand is on the axe and the axe flying to towards his head... And then his head is flying off by itself. The warm blood hits you like a geyser. You roll around and sit up.

Another arrow grows in your shoulder. You aren't sure when that happened. You can barely feel it now, barely feel anything. A gurgle and a giggle are swallowed by blood in your mouth, when you realize there's another arrow there. You fall back, trying to laugh and just barely managed to make a sound. You're drowning now... Drowning in your own blood... And losing to much of it... And...

It's... Funny. Funny. Haha funny. And then it's nothing, nothing but black.
She's watching the Tailor as he measures your body. You look at her stunning eyes, bright but deep, as they follow the Tailor's hands. They are framed by thin eyebrows, bunched forward as if in intense thought. Her light cheekbones are high in her face and her cheeks thin. Her strong chin leads into weak jaw lines, disappearing in the thick black hair that caves over her thin shoulders and covers the neck of her grey dress.

Her dress is long, covering everything from her wrists to her ankles, but tight around her torso, while loose at her legs. It's not meant to be a showy thing, but the way it fits against her skin reveals her beauty better than the poofy gold decorations that she carries under her right arm now.

 The Tailor starts feeling the width of your legs from the calves down and you resist the urge to squirm in... it's?... grasp.

Ophelia looks back at you.

You turn away

You turn away. You're not exactly at your most confident while you're naked and some... moth thing is poking you all over. You can't build up the nerve to look at the Tailor either, so you just stare into space while he plies his trade.

A slight buzzing comes from the Tailor's... lips? He turns his head and looks at you from different angles.

"Hold your arm up. Yes. Please. Okay. Good... I think I have an idea now. Hmm. Something red would look wonderful on you... What do you think? What is your favourite colour? Style? We're in a lull in proper style currently." He speaks fast and leaves no space to answer his questions. "Good for creative expressions, it looks rather silly I think, but Zaren..." The Tailor's face falls. "Nevermind."
Year 378 of the Second Era


Sure you've done crazy things in the past, but this is no time to try and accomplish the utterly insane. Especially when the chances of success are so very low. Better to live and keep your chance of saving Liliana alive rather than to throw it away on the unlikely chance that you'll be able to save some random nobody.


Despite this fact, you still wince when you see the wyvern's mouth snap down on the griffins hindquarters. The scene turns into a bloody mess, and you can't help but look away as the griffin (or at least what's left of it) and its rider plummet down to the battle below. 


You feel a pang of guilt, but you push it away by telling yourself you couldn't have done anything anyway. Yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, you don't believe this. 


Not too long after that you are dropped off on the ramparts you were originally guarding. Much is different. Several chunks of the wall are missing, and many soldiers lie dead on the ramparts. The wall you once guarded no longer carries that symbol of boredom and ease in your mind. It is readily replaced with the memory of blood spilt, and comrades dying. 


Over half of division two is either dead or incapacitated. Division on was doing better, but the griffin that was killed only moments before plummeted right into their line. That turned out to be the turning point in the kobold's favor, and now division one is slowly being pushed back against the wall. The griffins are locked in a very deadly battle with the rest of the wyverns, and don't seem at all in a position to help the human forces on the ground. 


You aren't sure what you could do to help in this situation, for it looks like your defeat is inevitable. The griffins won't be able to kill the wyverns fast enough to help division one avoid getting slaughtered, which division one is mere minutes away from. This leaves you with a few honorable choices and one dishonorable choice.

You stay here and support division one with arrows

Year 378 of the Second Era


The Griffin knights are living legends. They don't need your 'support,' and they definitely don't need you shooting stray arrows and accidentally hitting one of them. Division one, however, does need your help, but leaving the wall at this point would be foolish. You'd likely be an easy target for a kobold archer in the back. Instead you decide that your best option is to stay on the ramparts and pick your shots. 


Thus, you act. You find a bow lying beside a dead body, along with a few arrows, and immediately set to work. You focus on the easy targets, the ones away from the forefront of the battle. Those, and the kobold archers. You loose arrow after arrow into the enemy force, and bring many a kobold down, but it simply isn't enough. Your contribution isn't enough to turn the tide of battle at all, but, unfortunately for you, it is enough to garner the attention of the kobold archers. You manage to keep from being hit for quite a while, but eventually a kobold gets a lucky shot and you fall dead onto the ramparts with an arrow lodged in your throat.
Year 378 of the Second Era


You aren't going to flatter yourself. You firing a few arrows into the kobold horde below won't change anything, except perhaps where you die. Fighting on the forefront of the battle won't change anything either, and will almost definitely lead to your gruesome death. No, you aren't that powerful of an individual. 


There is only one thing left. If you can manage to hit even just one of your shots on one of the kobold riders, then you could very well change the course of this battle. Killing a few kobold on the ground won't make that much of a difference, but if you can manage to help take down the wyverns, then the griffin knights will be free to help division one on the ground. At this point, victory relies on those knights. You only hope that you can help expedite that process.


You find a bow lying among the dead on the ramparts, along with a few arrows. The only thing left to decide is what you will aim at.

You aim at the wyverns

Year 378 of the Second Era


Wyverns are beasts bred for killing and war. You don't think they'll simply abandon this instinct just because their riders die. No, if you're going to attempt to help the griffin knights, then the best way to do so is to take out a wyvern. Even if you only manage to take out one of them, it would help a significant amount. 


You cast your thoughts back to your youth. Your mother would tell you stories of the beasts in the Lost Realm, and of the heroes whom bested those beasts. You're sure you remember something about a wyvern being vulnerable in its underbelly? Or maybe it was its wings? You can't remember for sure, but you don't have any other ideas.

You aim for the stomach

Year 378 of the Second Era


 Maybe you're certain that wyverns are weak in the stomach, or maybe it's just a wild guess. Whatever the reason, you decide to try hitting the wyverns' stomach. 


Sweat forms on your brow as you notch an arrow and take aim. You raise your bow at the wyvern closest to you, whom is being chased by a pair of griffin knights, and loose your arrow. Your aim is true, but the arrow merely glances off the strong hide. Apparently your hunch was wrong. The stomach is not a weak point for a wyvern. This fact, however, doesn't keep you from trying.


You enter a state of pure focus. Arrow after arrow is loosed from your bow, and when you run out of arrows you search for more. You will kill one of these blasted beasts even if it takes every arrow in this realm, this wyvern will fall. Fortunately for you, you don't have to wait too long before one of your arrows finds a weak point in the wyverns scales. The wyvern roars in pain, and for a moment you think you've succeeded, but the wyvern keeps flying. 


There is one thing that changes, however, and that is that the wyvern now targets you. Apparently it didn't appreciate your lucky shot. The griffin knights are not quick enough to save you this time, and you end up learning how sharp a wyvern's teeth are firsthand.