Iknow5/Text_Adventures huggingface dataset:
When in doubt, flay 'em like a trout. Swift as a cat hopped up on methamphetamines you draw your sword, spin around, and hack off Organa Mel Fy's head. Magic may not be dope, but you sure are.


What didn't you know? Magic is a stimulating drug. That's why even the best wizards are twitchy and half-cracked in the head. Shit's addictive, man.


Whoa, what the hell is going on? Organa Mel Fy's body and freshly decapitated head melt into what appears to be water and seeps into the ground. That is not normal. Perhaps now would be a good time to get out of here. You are still feeling funny from the magic and can swear you are being watched as you clamber up out of the dell. In fact, your feet are moving in a flurry, but it does not seem like you are getting anywhere. You definitely passed that big ass maple like five times already.


You whirl around and brandish your sword. "Ok, what the fuck gives? Will the mysterious magic bitch or bastard please stand up?"


"If you insist." A mysterious magic bitch with bountiful breasts appears before you out of thin air wearing low-cut red robes. She reeks of magic and virility.


"Listen, err, lady, my day's been one odious load of shit, so unless you want me to wrap you up in the stink, I suggest you bugger off."


The woman's lips curl into a seductive smirk. "Aren't you curious as to whom I am, or what I am going to offer you?"


"At this point, I really don't give a damn."


"Perhaps you should."


"Perhaps you should suck my dick."


"If that is what you truly desire, that may be arranged. But for now, you will listen to my proposal like a good puppy." The woman raises her hand, immobilizing your body with her magic. "Now then-"

You spit in her face.

Spitting isn't exactly heroic, unless you're a cowboy. Unfortunately for you, you are not a cowboy.


You hack a glob of spittle onto the woman's face. "I'll cut your fucking heart out. Bitch."


"Interesting, I'd love to see you try." The woman wipes your saliva from her face, as you remain helplessly immobilized. "Yes, that's what I thought. Though I imagined you had a little more sense in you than that. You are not the vessel I am looking for. That is clear to me now. Still, I can use your corpse as a fine minion. And you gave me such a wonderful idea of how to kill you."


The mysterious magic bitch magics up a dagger and proceeds to cut out your heart, which she then consumes. You watch in horror as the last moments of your life fade away. Perhaps, antagonizing your captor was not the best of ideas.


Sadly, you cannot even enjoy peace in death, as the mysterious magic bitch reanimates your corpse to do her bidding, trapping your soul within your decaying body. The tasks she orders you to perform are humiliating and degrading, but there is nothing you can do. You are hers, now and forever.
In your eagerness to fight at Jon's side, you forget the most important lesson of your training: always dodge.


A troll whips a horse leg in your direction. Off balance and off guard, you cannot avoid the hurling limb as the hoof nails you in the shoulder, severing your sword arm. Blood spouts like a geyser from your body as you crumple to the road.


"Bowie, help Jon!" Samwellington shrieks. "I've got the kid." Samwellington stumbles to your side and rolls you onto your back. "Hang in there little buddy. It's going to be alright."


Blood loss is making you delusional. It is the only way to explain what is happening. Samwellington draws his dagger and sticks himself in the gut. He drags the blade across his stomach, slips his hand into the incision, and pulls out a chunk of his own fat. He smacks the lard on your wound and it sticks in place, stemming the blood flow.


"Can you walk?" asks Samwellington.


"Can I walk? Can I walk! I just had my fucking arm cleaved off. What the fuck do you think?"


"Yeah, an arm, not a leg. Don't be a baby."


"Sam we could really use your fat ass over here," shouts Bowie. "Any motherfucking time!"


You hear a gurgle and a gasp just before Bowie's head goes sailing through the air. Samwellington gulps and scurries away to hide behind the wreckage of the wagon. What a coward. Oh well, at least he saved your life.


Leaning against your sword, you stagger to your feet. One of the trolls ravages Bowie's headless corpse. The crunching and snapping of bones sickens you, and you fight the urge to hurl as bile tickles your throat. Jon appears to be holding his ground against the other troll, but once his friend finishes devouring Bowie's corpse, even Jon won't be able to fend off their combined savagery. You have to do something quick or all of your worthless lives will be over.

You charge into the fray.

You throw caution and sanity to the wind and charge into the fray.


Well, charge is a kind term. You mostly stagger along the blood-slicked road, swaying from side to side, until you topple over and slam your head against the cobblestones. Your sword flies from your grasp and slides beyond your reach. Adjusting to missing limbs takes time.


Both trolls look up, and in your blurred vision, you swear they are laughing at you.


Mocked by a troll, you think, how embarrassing.


Jon takes advantages of your momentary distraction and hacks his troll in the legs, sending the beast to its knees. The troll roars. Jon drives his blade into the troll's open mouth and out the back of its throat. One down.


The second troll grabs the remnants of Bowie's body and rushes toward you. The troll stands above you and squeezes the juices from what used to be Bowie, taking care to cover every inch of you in Bowie juice. The stink is agonizing.


"Oh my god," Samwellington cries, "He's marinating you!"


"Just kill me you son of a bitch," you sputter as you spit some of the vile goop from your mouth.


The troll grips you by the shoulders and bares his teeth. The tip of a blade tears through the troll's chest. Troll blood and the sweet smell of apples descend upon you. And the troll's lifeless corpse… which crushes you.
The wintry winds howl a horrible wail, whipping white watery snow against the weathered watchtower's westernmost wall. Yes, it is indeed a dark and stormy night, but darker and stormier and maybe just a tad more purple than your run-of-the-mill dark and stormy night.


Somewhere deep in the forest a unicorn frolics in a magical glade, as elves watch and scamper amongst the trees, polishing their bows with the blood of dwarves.


"Killed a big fat one today, Elfrond," says Elfmoor. "Bastard was trying to chop down a cherry tree. Can you believe it, a fucking cherry tree? Sacrilege."


"Have you ever wondered why we hate the dwarves so much?" asks Elfrond.


"What do you mean? They're fucking dwarves! And this one chopped down a tree. A cherry tree. Only thing that rivals my love of trees are cherries. And music. And song. And like five other things."


"Yeah, I've just been thinking lately. How did we get these sweet bows, if we didn't chop down a tree to shape them. And how do we burn fires without firewood? And why exactly do we hate the dwarves?"


"It's canon. Don't ask questions."


"What's a cannon?"


Suddenly, the elves quit bickering. Something that only happens once in a thousand years occurs. The glade explodes with magical aura as the unicorn releases its legendary rainbow fart. Magical anomalies, such as this, signal only one thing: the birth of a hero.


Elfmoor takes a big whiff of the magical aroma. "B. E. A. Utiful. Times like this make life worth living."


Elfrond shakes his head. "Elfmoor, we're immortal. I've seen this like ten times already. And every time this happens, it means something evil is about to come afoot."


"But the hero always wins."


"Have you ever heard the term collateral damage?"


"Is that a sword?"


And there you have it. The magical unicorn fart that marks your birth. How exciting! I wonder what type of hero you will grow up to be.

You are Vegeta, prince of all saiyans!

No teaser here, but you wouldn't actually get to play as Vegeta, just an angsty prince with a dead father.
The wintry winds howl a horrible wail, whipping white watery snow against the weathered watchtower's westernmost wall. Yes, it is indeed a dark and stormy night, but darker and stormier and maybe just a tad more purple than your run-of-the-mill dark and stormy night.


Somewhere deep in the forest a unicorn frolics in a magical glade, as elves watch and scamper amongst the trees, polishing their bows with the blood of dwarves.


"Killed a big fat one today, Elfrond," says Elfmoor. "Bastard was trying to chop down a cherry tree. Can you believe it, a fucking cherry tree? Sacrilege."


"Have you ever wondered why we hate the dwarves so much?" asks Elfrond.


"What do you mean? They're fucking dwarves! And this one chopped down a tree. A cherry tree. Only thing that rivals my love of trees are cherries. And music. And song. And like five other things."


"Yeah, I've just been thinking lately. How did we get these sweet bows, if we didn't chop down a tree to shape them. And how do we burn fires without firewood? And why exactly do we hate the dwarves?"


"It's canon. Don't ask questions."


"What's a cannon?"


Suddenly, the elves quit bickering. Something that only happens once in a thousand years occurs. The glade explodes with magical aura as the unicorn releases its legendary rainbow fart. Magical anomalies, such as this, signal only one thing: the birth of a hero.


Elfmoor takes a big whiff of the magical aroma. "B. E. A. Utiful. Times like this make life worth living."


Elfrond shakes his head. "Elfmoor, we're immortal. I've seen this like ten times already. And every time this happens, it means something evil is about to come afoot."


"But the hero always wins."


"Have you ever heard the term collateral damage?"


"Is that a sword?"


And there you have it. The magical unicorn fart that marks your birth. How exciting! I wonder what type of hero you will grow up to be.

You bonus Material

Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.

You play as an Elf

Elves are certainly cliché. But I'm a species-ist. That means while I have no problem with humans be they white, orange, green, blue, black, yellow, pink, purple, brown, grey, indigo, crimson, maroon, cream, peach, pie… wait where was I going with this. Oh, right. I have a deep hatred of other species. We humans are superior and everyone else must bow down to our supremacy. Don't judge me. It's a disease. Now excuse me while I enslave this squirrel.
Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.

You play as a Dwarf

Game of Thrones changed the world for dwarf kind forever. Are they a species or are they people? The species-ist in me is skeptical. Judgment shall be reserved.
Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.

You play as a Warrior-Cat

You ran out into the road and got trampled by a runaway carriage, and your corpse was devoured by a pack of dogs. The End.
Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.

You play as a Dark Elf

Have you not read Eternal? Go read Eternal. Then come back and tell me how heroic dark elves are.
Thanks for playing. Enjoy the troll blood.

You play as a Sparkly Vampire

Really, you want to be a sparkly vampire? What kind of writer do you think I am? I have standards after all. Do you really want to be a sparkly vampire, or are you just trying to piss me off?

You you're sorry. You'll pick something more appropriate.

That's right young lady. No hero of mine is going to be some sissified vampire. My heroes have pretty blue eyes, long blonde hair and flawless pearly whites. Manliness.
Really, you want to be a sparkly vampire? What kind of writer do you think I am? I have standards after all. Do you really want to be a sparkly vampire, or are you just trying to piss me off?

You sparkly Vampire!

Stephanie, I hate you.


Fine, you want to be a sparkly vampire, go ahead.


Once a pompous little lordling living in the south of Spainland you not only had the misfortune of being bitten by a vampire while having sex with your sister, but also getting gene spliced with a unicorn by the hands of a genre-bending – and seriously twisted – wizard from the future called a Brony. The magic involved with this transformation goes far beyond my comprehension of the arcane, but I assure you it was incredibly painful. On the positive end, however, you now fart bubblegum and shit figgy pudding.
You make a mental note to thank the dragon for providing you with the recipe for his death at his funeral as you yank the first magic sword you find from the mountain of plunder. The sword shines a brilliant blue-gold and has a queer hourglass shape carved into the blade: yep, definitely magic. Though, something feels awful familiar about this. Oh well, you can worry about that later. You have a dragon to kill.


"Your day of reckoning has come, dragon!"


"No, you fool," the dragon rasps. "Put that down. Hasn't anyone ever told you not to meddle with magic you don't know how to use?"


"Nope."


The dragon breathes fire at you, but you knock it away with a swing of the sword. The resulting fireball explodes in the treasure hoard. Molten gold and silver splatter everywhere. Droplets burn into your arms and chest, but you struggle through the pain and raise the magic sword for the killing blow.


"You'll doom us all," the dragon pleads.


Not that it's my place, but I think you should listen to the dragon.


What do you expect me to do, negotiate a treaty?


I would endorse that.

You you're killing him.

"You'll doom us all," the dragon pleads again.


"No, just you." And you hammer the sword into the dragon.

You deja vu

"You'll doom us all," the dragon pleads again.


"No, just you." And you hammer the sword into the dragon.
You resent that the rest of the village is so quick to agree to such an idea without bothering to consult you first, but these creatures carried off your sister and they are going to have to pay for that.  Besides, this shit has to stop.  You inform Brandolf that you agree and he smiles warmly. 

 
"Thank you young one, you are certainly bold to undertake such a suicidal mission."

 
"Well, what choice do I have right?"

 
He hands you the vial of poison, a short sword, a longbow, and a quiver of basic iron arrows.  For once, some of the people of the village actually look at you with respect but then you realize that they are commenting on how stupid you must be under their breath.  The ingrates!  Still, you need to focus on the task at hand.  Brandolf reminds you that the Craxil will be larger that the other creatures and that you should seek to evade rather than engage its underlings.  At this point, you realize you have a problem...

 
You stink!  The stench of swine manure spreads forth like body odor of a sweaty fat girl and you realize you are going to have to do something about this if you expect to succeed in your quest.  The council members may be used to it as this is a farming community, but the creatures almost certainly will not be.  You are going to have to consider how you are going to go about dealing with this issue.

You roll Around In Mud And Grass So You Smell More "Earthy"... Like The Monsters Do

You reason that many of the monsters that come down from the mountainside smell a bit "earthy" so you try rolling around in the mud and grass to try and acheive that same smell for yourself.  Unfortunately, it doesn't mask the stench of the hog manure that still stains your pants and boots.  It isn't long before the humunculi are aware of your presence.  The villagers got to see their hero pounced on and torn apart before he even got out of sight range.  Too bad.

 

 
THE END
You grab the rock you noticed earlier almost immediately, then go back to blocking your opponents attacks.  The enemy is attacking fast and furious and it takes all your concentration to block.  Even so, you only manage to block most of its attacks and take a few slashes.  Nothing major, but you are losing blood.  Eventually you see your opening and you ram the rock into the creature's skull with the full force of your adrenaline infused arm.  You hear a satisfying crack as the front of the skull crumbles and the creature stumbles back.  Realizing how brittle this thing must be, you grab its wrist before it can regain composure and bring the rock down again, taking off its sword arm at the elbow.  Another crack at the spine for good measure and you are confident the creature is dead.  The other four look on angrily and scream but the bars prevent them from doing anything about it, so you decide to move on deeper into the cave in hopes of finding another way out of here.

 
The cave only gets darker and darker as you go in deeper and you find it odd that there are no other inhabitants in this region... until you see a pair of large white eyes staring back at you from the darkness in the next cavern.  It doesn't appear willing to leave the chamber in pursuit of you, but you cannot return the way you came as the skeletons are still banging on the bars you left behind.  Studying the creatures behavior a little more, you begin to suspect it is a grue.

 

 
You've heard stories of grues from nearly every adventurer you've ever met.  These things are the leading cause of death amongst those in the adventuring profession.  Even higher than dragons, vampires, and Lindsay Lohan.  In fact, while grues are believed to be organic and corporeal, no adventurer has ever actually killed one before.  You struggle to remember what the adventurers told you when dealing with a grue.  It has a certain weakness, but for the life of you you simply cannot remember what that is...  You're going to have to guess.

A Grue's Weakness Is Noise, you Shout Loudly As you Enter

Of course!  Many creatures are frightened by loud noises, grues must be too!  You march into the chamber singing "FRIDAY FRIDAY" as well as "MY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD..." certain that this will scare the creature.  Sadly, despite your frightening choice in music, the creature does not appear to be phased.  

 
You were eaten by a grue.

 
THE END
You grab the rock you noticed earlier almost immediately, then go back to blocking your opponents attacks.  The enemy is attacking fast and furious and it takes all your concentration to block.  Even so, you only manage to block most of its attacks and take a few slashes.  Nothing major, but you are losing blood.  Eventually you see your opening and you ram the rock into the creature's skull with the full force of your adrenaline infused arm.  You hear a satisfying crack as the front of the skull crumbles and the creature stumbles back.  Realizing how brittle this thing must be, you grab its wrist before it can regain composure and bring the rock down again, taking off its sword arm at the elbow.  Another crack at the spine for good measure and you are confident the creature is dead.  The other four look on angrily and scream but the bars prevent them from doing anything about it, so you decide to move on deeper into the cave in hopes of finding another way out of here.

 
The cave only gets darker and darker as you go in deeper and you find it odd that there are no other inhabitants in this region... until you see a pair of large white eyes staring back at you from the darkness in the next cavern.  It doesn't appear willing to leave the chamber in pursuit of you, but you cannot return the way you came as the skeletons are still banging on the bars you left behind.  Studying the creatures behavior a little more, you begin to suspect it is a grue.

 

 
You've heard stories of grues from nearly every adventurer you've ever met.  These things are the leading cause of death amongst those in the adventuring profession.  Even higher than dragons, vampires, and Lindsay Lohan.  In fact, while grues are believed to be organic and corporeal, no adventurer has ever actually killed one before.  You struggle to remember what the adventurers told you when dealing with a grue.  It has a certain weakness, but for the life of you you simply cannot remember what that is...  You're going to have to guess.

A Grue's Weakness Is It's Reflection, you Hold Up A Reflective Surface As you Enter

Upon reflection you decide that a mirror would be your best bet against this creature.  Grues are afraid of their reflection right?  You go back and find an old iron shield half buried under dirt.  It is mostly caked with crud and rust, but still operable as a ghetto-esque mirror.  You hold the mirror in the direction of the grue and move along the wall looking for the next passage.  Suddenly you realize the stupidity of your mistake.  It's pitch black down here, how is this thing even gonna see its reflection in the first place?!?  Sadly, you learn all to late that your new concerns are well founded.

 
You were eaten by a grue.

 
THE END
You aren't going to be able to outrun them if they have horses so you take the only option you got and jump.  You are scared out of your mind but you successfully grapple the hanging branch and the two riders can do nothing but glare down at you and growl.  The tricky part is getting down from here.  You have never really been afraid of heights but you are REALLY high up.  The nearest ledge is almost halfway down the canyon and the rockface isn't easily climbable.  Still, you don't have much of a choice so you try anyway.

 
You make it most of the way down until one of the groves you were holding onto comes out and you fall.  Thankfully, you land on the ledge and you were already most of the way there so aside from knocking the wind out of you and hurting like hell you are pretty much alright.  Its possible you might have a broken rib but you have no way of knowing and it isn't precluding you from going on even if it is broken.  After taking time to recover a bit and catch your breath, you look around a bit and find a clear way to climb down to the bottom of the canyon and downward you go.  Fortunately, you make it to the bottom of the canyon without further incident.

 

You have now reached the bottom of the canyon and you know the entrance to the Craxil's chasm must be around here somewhere, but it is a massive canyon to explore.  You spent almost 7 hours down there until you come across three bizarre looking doors.  One is red and bears the emblem of a bear.  The next is green and bears the emblem of a spider.  The last is blue and bears the emblem of a wolf.  This whole ritual gets even more bizarre when you notice a rabbit approach and stand beside the red door as if to beckon you in that way.  A squirrel approaches the green
door and stands atop the frame as if to endorse that one, and an owl flies down to a rock near the blue door.  Its times like these you wish you were a druid so you could better understand what the hell these critters are trying to tell you.  Still, you have a decision to make and your instincts (whatever they are worth) are telling you that you only get one shot at this.

 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
~Hint:  Depending upon the path you took to get here, you may or may not have seen one or both of the creatures on the correct door already.  If not, you are just going to have to guess.~

You enter The Green Door With Spider Emblem, Endorsed By The Squirrel

You choose the green door with the spider emblem, endorsed by the squirrel.  After all, what is more trustworthy than a cute little squirrel?  You enter and immediately thereafter the door slams shut behind you and locks in place.  It seems you haven't much of a choice but to move forward down the passageway.  It is exceptionally dark down here, but given that you are a sneak that is actually a good thing.  You suddenly find yourself stuck and after fidgeting around for a while you come to the sudden realization what it is that has trapped you and why the door has a spider emblem on it.  It seems you aren't the only one that enjoys sneaking around in the dark...

 
THE END