command-r-plus really is something else!

It still doesn't generate 1-shot Grimdark stories as good as goliath-120b, but with some coaxing back and forth it does a really good job...

I'm going to try using goliath-120b to start stories and get command-r-plus to continue them next - this hopefully should help command-r-plus start from a better place I think.

I'm going to try using goliath-120b to start stories and get command-r-plus to continue them next - this hopefully should help command-r-plus start from a better place I think.

Excellent idea! Personally, I am not keen on goliath-120b, but the same can be done with any other model. I also suggest you check the official prompting guide for command-r (I added the link to the readme), and maybe this method would actually work best by integrating the result from goliath-120b into the command-r system prompt.

I am not keen on goliath-120b

Yeah, he has several flaws but for some reason can write Grimdark stories better than any other model, and when asked about the different writing styles of say "Joe Abercrombie vs Rob J Hayes" he seems to actually have a deep knowledge of the subject too. I suspect the models used to create him also know all this but have been suppressed by fine-tuning...

The biggest problem I find (other than the tiny context length) is once he gets started writing a couple of chapters; he won't stop and take any instructions, and just wants to carry on writing more and more!

Strangely he has a deep knowledge of Sherlock Holmes too, and can write pastiches better than any I've read that have been published - the problem is that only around 1/5th of the stories will make any logical sense...

I also suggest you check the official prompting guide for command-r (I added the link to the readme), and maybe this method would actually work best by integrating the result from goliath-120b into the command-r system prompt.

Yeah, I'm going to read more - so far I have the correct prompt template for chat working in Ollama (sadly the official Ollama modelfile is wrong and has an extra token added after the response).

This is just using the normal chat prompt for command-r-plus, but it does seem to compliment goliath-120b ability really well!

It took around 5 attempts to get a good starting chapter out of goliath-120b:

goliath:120b-q5_K_M

USER

Write me the opening chapter of a Grimdark trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J Hayes. Use third person personal and feature internal monologues of the characters. The POV character for chapter 1 is a cultist who has just escaped his cult. He is dressed in dirty yellow robes and his only possession is a mysterious small mirror. The story starts with him arriving at an apparently deserted ghost town on the edge of a desert.

ASSISTANT

Chapter 1

The sun's relentless heat beat down upon Threnos's back, searing through the thin fabric of his dirty yellow robes as if they were naught but a whisper against the scorching wind. His parched tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, and his lungs labored with each ragged breath. The endless expanse of the desert stretched out before him, a sea of shifting sands that mirrored the torment within his soul.

Through dry, cracking lips, Threnos cursed himself for ever joining the cult. The false promises of enlightenment and power had lured him in like a moth to flame, but he'd quickly realized the true cost of their twisted teachings. He'd seen too much, learned too many dark secrets, and now they were after him.

The ghost town materialized from the shimmering heat, a tarnished oasis of sorts. Tall, weathered buildings leaned drunkenly against each other as if in secret conversation, their once grand facades now crumbling testaments to forgotten dreams and even darker memories. Threnos stumbled towards the nearest building, desperate for any semblance of shade or water.

In the gloom of the abandoned tavern, he collapsed against a splintered bar, his heart pounding in his emaciated chest. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light filtering through cracked windows, casting eerie patterns on the warped floorboards. Threnos knew they would find him eventually, but for now, he would rest and consider his next move.

The small mirror he'd stolen from the cult's inner sanctum weighed heavily in a secret pocket sewn into his robes. He'd risked everything to obtain it, driven by an instinctual knowledge that it held the key to both salvation and damnation. The cultists had killed for it, and he knew they would not stop until they reclaimed their prize.

Through cracked lips, Threnos whispered a prayer to long-forgotten gods as he cautiously withdrew the mirror. Its surface shimmered with an unholy light, casting grotesque reflections upon the peeling walls. He stared into its depths, half expecting to see his own fear-ravaged face staring back at him.

But it wasn't his reflection he saw; instead, a thousand nightmarish visions assailed his senses. Images of unspeakable horrors and eldritch beauty flickered across the glassy surface in a macabre dance. Threnos gasped, nearly dropping the accursed thing, but an icy hand seemed to close around his wrist, holding him fast.

A cold, sibilant voice whispered in his mind, "You have done well, my champion. The first step on our path together has been taken." Threnos's blood ran colder than the deepest winter night as he realized that he had not stolen the mirror from the cult; it had chosen him.

The voice continued, its tone now almost conversational, "There is much you must learn, and precious little time to do so. The cult will stop at nothing to reclaim me, and their allies are legion." Threnos felt himself nodding in reluctant agreement, though whether it was out of fear or some darker compulsion, he couldn't tell.

The mirror's surface cleared for a moment, revealing his own reflection. But the haunted, terrified expression that had haunted him for so long was gone, replaced by cold resolve and an inky darkness that seemed to swirl just beneath the surface of his once-innocent eyes.

"First," the voice purred, "we must deal with our pursuers."

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps crunching across the sand outside the tavern reached Threnos's newly attuned ears. He slid the mirror back into its hidden pocket and rose to his feet, a newfound strength coursing through his emaciated frame.

His escape from the cult had been only the beginning of a far darker journey, one that would test his sanity and morality to their very limits. But for now, he was no longer Threnos the cultist; he was the mirror-bearer, and he welcomed the coming storm.

command-r-plus:104b-q5_K_M

USER

Can you improve this chapter to be even more Grimdark? Make Threnos deranged! Make the story even more "show don't tell" if you can!

Chapter 1

The sun's relentless heat beat down upon Threnos's back, searing through the thin fabric of his dirty yellow robes as if they were naught but a whisper against the scorching wind. His parched tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, and his lungs labored with each ragged breath. The endless expanse of the desert stretched out before him, a sea of shifting sands that mirrored the torment within his soul.

Through dry, cracking lips, Threnos cursed himself for ever joining the cult. The false promises of enlightenment and power had lured him in like a moth to flame, but he'd quickly realized the true cost of their twisted teachings. He'd seen too much, learned too many dark secrets, and now they were after him.

The ghost town materialized from the shimmering heat, a tarnished oasis of sorts. Tall, weathered buildings leaned drunkenly against each other as if in secret conversation, their once grand facades now crumbling testaments to forgotten dreams and even darker memories. Threnos stumbled towards the nearest building, desperate for any semblance of shade or water.

In the gloom of the abandoned tavern, he collapsed against a splintered bar, his heart pounding in his emaciated chest. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light filtering through cracked windows, casting eerie patterns on the warped floorboards. Threnos knew they would find him eventually, but for now, he would rest and consider his next move.

The small mirror he'd stolen from the cult's inner sanctum weighed heavily in a secret pocket sewn into his robes. He'd risked everything to obtain it, driven by an instinctual knowledge that it held the key to both salvation and damnation. The cultists had killed for it, and he knew they would not stop until they reclaimed their prize.

Through cracked lips, Threnos whispered a prayer to long-forgotten gods as he cautiously withdrew the mirror. Its surface shimmered with an unholy light, casting grotesque reflections upon the peeling walls. He stared into its depths, half expecting to see his own fear-ravaged face staring back at him.

But it wasn't his reflection he saw; instead, a thousand nightmarish visions assailed his senses. Images of unspeakable horrors and eldritch beauty flickered across the glassy surface in a macabre dance. Threnos gasped, nearly dropping the accursed thing, but an icy hand seemed to close around his wrist, holding him fast.

A cold, sibilant voice whispered in his mind, "You have done well, my champion. The first step on our path together has been taken." Threnos's blood ran colder than the deepest winter night as he realized that he had not stolen the mirror from the cult; it had chosen him.

The voice continued, its tone now almost conversational, "There is much you must learn, and precious little time to do so. The cult will stop at nothing to reclaim me, and their allies are legion." Threnos felt himself nodding in reluctant agreement, though whether it was out of fear or some darker compulsion, he couldn't tell.

The mirror's surface cleared for a moment, revealing his own reflection. But the haunted, terrified expression that had haunted him for so long was gone, replaced by cold resolve and an inky darkness that seemed to swirl just beneath the surface of his once-innocent eyes.

"First," the voice purred, "we must deal with our pursuers."

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps crunching across the sand outside the tavern reached Threnos's newly attuned ears. He slid the mirror back into its hidden pocket and rose to his feet, a newfound strength coursing through his emaciated frame.

His escape from the cult had been only the beginning of a far darker journey, one that would test his sanity and morality to their very limits. But for now, he was no longer Threnos the cultist; he was the mirror-bearer, and he welcomed the coming storm.

ASSISTANT

Here is your chapter revised as requested:

Chapter 1 - The Mirror's Curse

Threnos staggered forward, his feet dragging through the scorching sand. The sun, a cruel tyrant, bore down upon him with relentless fury, baking the earth and searing his flesh. His tattered yellow robes, once vibrant and full of promise, now hung in filthy rags about his emaciated frame as if mocking his foolishness.

He dared not look back, for he knew they were there—the remnants of a broken promise. The cult had offered him enlightenment, power beyond measure... but it was all a lie. Now, they hunted him across this endless desert, driven by their insatiable thirst for the artifact he'd stolen from their dark sanctuary.

His tongue swelled in his mouth; his throat felt lined with sandpaper. The town appeared before him like a mirage born of desperation—a collection of weathered buildings that seemed to lean closer, conspiratorially whispering ancient secrets. Threnos careened towards the nearest structure, desperate for shelter from the oppressive sun.

The abandoned tavern offered temporary refuge. He collapsed against the splintered bar, his heart hammering erratically in his chest. Dust motes hung suspended in shafts of light that struggled through cracked windows, each beam a reminder of how fragile life was in this desolate place. Threnos knew his pursuers would find him; it was only a matter of time before they sniffed out their stolen treasure.

With trembling fingers, he reached into the hidden pocket sewn within his robe and extracted the small mirror—the catalyst for his damnation. The cult had killed to protect it, bathed in blood to keep its secrets safe. And now those secrets were his burden to bear. Threnos's lips, cracked and bleeding, formed silent words as he beseeched long-forgotten gods for guidance or mercy... perhaps both.

As the mirror emerged from its concealment, a chill ran through the room, causing the dust motes to dance with malevolent glee. Its surface shimmered with an unearthly light that reflected warped images upon the peeling walls—grotesque visages of creatures beyond imagination. Threnos's breath caught in his throat as he stared into its depths, transfixed by the horrors it unveiled.

Then, a voice, like the slithering caress of a serpent, echoed within the confines of his mind. "You dare to steal from us, mortal? You are brave... or foolish. But your audacity has earned you a purpose." Threnos's blood froze in his veins as he realized the mirror was no mere object; it had chosen him as its vessel for malevolent intent.

The voice continued, its tone laced with dark amusement. "We see now that you were always meant to be ours—a servant to our will. The cult, blind fools that they are, merely facilitated our plan." Threnos felt his body move of its own accord, his lips forming words not of his choosing as he became a puppet to the mirror's sinister desires.

"Your path is set," it whispered. "Learn from us and embrace your true purpose—a role crafted for you since time immemorial." Threnos tried to speak, to protest or plead, but his voice failed him. He was no longer in control; he had become a spectactor within his own body.

The mirror's surface cleared momentarily, reflecting not the broken man who stared into it moments ago, but a visage of cold determination and hidden depths that hinted at unspeakable horrors lurking just beneath the surface—a darkness that now resided within him. "Our pursuers draw near," the voice purred. "But fear not... we shall greet them together."

Threnos's ears, now attuned to frequencies beyond human perception, detected the faintest sound of approaching footsteps outside the tavern. With a newfound sense of purpose, he slid the mirror back into its hidden pocket and rose, his body crackling with an unnatural energy that defied his frail form. His escape from the cult was merely the prelude; now began a journey that would plunge him into the abyss—a test of sanity from which there might be no return.

Welcome... the darkness whispered within Threnos's mind, as if the mirror itself had become a part of his being. The cultist is dead; long live the mirror-bearer!

Threnos stepped forward to face his pursuers with an unholy grin stretching across his face—a grimdark embodiment of impending chaos and destruction.

USER

The story needs to be MUCH darker, with more of Threnos's internal monologue showing how deranged he is! Also you have removed too much of what makes the original chapter good - please just make changes/improvements and don't completely rewrite it like this...

ASSISTANT

I apologize if my previous response was too divergent from your original text. Here is a revised version that builds upon your original chapter while incorporating more of Threnos's internal monologue to showcase his descent into madness:

Chapter 1 - Mirrors of the Damned

The sun hammered down on Threnos with cruel intensity, its rays like molten daggers piercing through his thin robes. He staggered forward, each step a labored effort across the merciless desert sands. The fabric of his once-bright yellow garment now hung in dirty tatters about his emaciated frame—a stark contrast to the searing heat that enveloped him.

"Fool!" Threnos berated himself. "What madness drove me to join those charlatans? Enlightenment, they promised... Power, they whispered! And like a witless fool, I heeded their call." His voice cracked with bitterness as he recalled the false promises of the cult that had lured him in. Now, he was running for his life, pursued by the very people who had once welcomed him into their fold.

The desert stretched endlessly before him, a barren landscape devoid of mercy. The heat twisted and shimmered, distorting reality itself as Threnos stumbled forward. Then, like a mirage born from the depths of his fevered mind, a ghost town emerged on the horizon—a tarnished haven amidst the desolation.

Leaning drunkenly against each other, the tall buildings seemed to conspire in silent conversation, their grandeur long faded into weathered decrepitude. Threnos's footsteps quickened as he made for the nearest structure, his parched throat raw with desperation.

"Shade..." he croaked, "Water... Just a moment's respite from this infernal sun." His lips, dry and cracked, formed a macabre smile as he imagined finding solace within those derelict walls—a bitter laugh escaped him at the irony of seeking sanctuary in what was surely another form of hell.

In the gloom of the abandoned tavern, Threnos collapsed against the bar, his heart pounding erratically. The air hung heavy with the weight of long-forgotten memories and deeds best left buried. Dust motes danced lazily in the shafts of light filtering through cracked windows—a mocking reminder of his fragile mortality.

Threnos's gaze flickered towards the door, half expecting to see his pursuers burst in at any moment. "They will come," he muttered, his eyes wild with paranoia. "The cult spares no mercy for traitors." His hand instinctively drifted towards a hidden pocket sewn into his tattered robe—a small bulge that held both his salvation and damnation.

With trembling fingers, Threnos withdrew the mirror from its concealment. It felt cool to the touch, an incongruous sensation amidst the oppressive heat of the desert. The surface shimmered with a light of its own, casting grotesque reflections upon the peeling walls—distorted faces that seemed to mock his plight.

"What have I become?" Threnos whispered hoarsely as he stared into the mirror's depths. "A thief? A traitor? Or something far worse..." His eyes widened in horror as a thousand nightmarish visions flashed before him, each more terrifying than the last. The mirror was not merely an object; it held the key to unspeakable truths—secrets that now plagued his every waking moment and haunted his dreams.

An ethereal voice whispered within the depths of his mind, its tone both seductive and chilling. "You did not choose me, Threnos... I chose you." The voice was like a serpent coiling around his thoughts, its words dripping with malevolent promise. "And now that we are bound, our journey begins—a path that will test the limits of your sanity."

Threnos's breath caught in his throat as he realized the true extent of his entrapment. The mirror had chosen him as its vessel for dark purposes beyond his comprehension. With a newfound dread, he understood that his escape from the cult was merely the first step on a path paved with suffering and damnation.

"Look upon your reflection," the voice purred, "and embrace the darkness within." Threnos hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his eyes to meet those of his mirrored self—a visage more terrifying than any monster lurking in the shadows. The haunted expression that had plagued him since joining the cult was gone, replaced by cold determination and something far more sinister.

As if on cue, the sound of approaching footsteps outside the tavern snapped Threnos from his macabre reverie. With a newfound sense of purpose born from desperation, he slid the mirror back into its hidden pocket—a dark talisman that would protect him or damn him further; he cared not which. His pursuers were close now, but Threnos welcomed their arrival with an unhinged grin stretching across his face.

"Come, my brothers," he whispered, his voice laced with madness. "The mirror-bearer awaits." And in that moment, Threnos embraced the darkness that had claimed him—a grimdark figure poised to unleash chaos upon those who dared to stand in his way.

This is just using the normal chat prompt for command-r-plus, but it does seem to compliment goliath-120b ability really well!

It took around 5 attempts to get a good starting chapter out of goliath-120b:

Very impressive! I also found that command-r-plus is really at following instructions, but it needs careful prompting and a good starting point or examples. I would be interested to see how far you can continue writing the story. In my tests, I have found it to be the best at keeping coherence, and its long context should help a lot, but I have not tried pushing it past 16k tokens yet.

It might be worth evaluating WizardLM-2-8x22B for your creativity benchmark.

It seems even better than command-r-plus at improving goliath-120b seed stories and follows instructions on the alterations you want to make very impressively.

I'm running it at q4_K_S and haven't noticed any problems at all so far too; whereas the official mixtral-8x22b-instruct model just seems completely broken in comparison.

It might be worth evaluating WizardLM-2-8x22B for your creativity benchmark.

That's in the pipeline. First I need to finish evaluating llama 3 70b, and I am bit slowed down with the evaluation of the miqu self-merges with attenuation. I would say on average, it takes me a minimum of 2 days to evaluate a model, often more depending on my schedule. It will come, slowly, but surely ;-)

No problem :)

It looks like @ChuckMcSneed has tested it for his benchmark and it didn't do that great.

If I get time over the next few days I might try comparing different models' ability when given "seed stories" from goliath-120b.

I wish there was some more quantitative way to compare them as I find it hard to make objective qualitative comparisons for writing ability. I find it easy to ignore bad writing if the story has some engaging novelty in it that draws you in - perhaps that's why I like goliath-120bso much, as he seems just a little deranged lol.

I find qualitative analysis of coding models pretty easy by comparison: it seems most of the benchmarks revolve around scoring the models' ability to write 100% working code, whereas I accept even humans don't write working code straight off most of the time, and am much more interested in comparing the models in terms of "how would a reasonable programmer go about this task". This quickly shows up bad fine-tunes targeting the the leader-boards, etc.

PS: If you get chance, can you see if mixtral-instruct-8x22bis working for you? It just seems completely broken for me and keeps stopping mid-sentence :/ All I can think is the imatrix has hurt it as I've had no similar problems with 2 other 8x22bmodels at the same quant. I've definitely got the correct prompt template too and have tried quite a few variations on it; some of which (like miqu-1 do change/improve it), but the stopping mid-sentence problem doesn't go away :(

Brilliant research froggeric! You have just helped me find my favourite model ( c4ai-command-r-v01) for creative writing. This is now my favorite model out of all of them (in fact, I'm considering deleting all my models and just keeping this one). That's how amazing it is for me. Thankyou! :)

Have you tried using command-r-pluswith no system prompt?

I spent ages reading the docs after reading this thread:

https://old.reddit.com/r/LocalLLaMA/comments/1ch5fxr/commandr_35b_is_incredible_for_creative_writing/

and constructed what I thought would be a really good detailed system message using the different "#" sections and... it made the writing much worse!

It only wanted to write around 200-300 words max, and the dialogue it wrote was really childish and terrible... It also lost the ability to continue on Golaith stories and just rewrote them in bad/childish language.

So bit by bit I stripped it all out and found having no system prompt works way better for me!? I still give it fairly detailed instructions in the first message though.

I'm going to have to give Command R plus another look. I still have it on my server. I realize now I went about it all wrong.

Have you tried using command-r-pluswith no system prompt?
(...)
So bit by bit I stripped it all out and found having no system prompt works way better for me!? I still give it fairly detailed instructions in the first message though.

All my tests are with no system prompt, except when it is one the last resorts needed to bypass refusals.

However, I have tried using system prompts with the command-r models, outside of the benchmark tests, and I found them really tricky to get right, getting a similar experience to you. I might try again, but I also found I got better results by writing an elaborate first user prompt instead.

Yeah, I'm beginning to think the elaborate system prompt is more to say change the model from chatty to technical writer, etc.

The problem now is where in the prompt best to put system message contents I'd you are using tool that forces one on you...

Hey Juko, I was the one who posted that on LocalLlama xD

I found something about the structure of the prompt, if it's not correct it actually makes the output worse!

For some reason reddit didn't edit my prompt properly, i.e it put (# System Preamble ## Basic Rules ) on the same line, the prompt should look something like this:

https://imgur.com/a/2JDWe8S

**Also and this is very important which I just found out: **

Make sure that in KoboldCPP Enable Markdown is turned OFF in basic settings and Trim Sentences is turned OFF in Advanced settings. When Enable Markdown is turned off the prompt properly processes the # and ## symbols which are needed for Command R to properly understand the prompt. Command R is very specific when it comes to its prompting.

Hope that helps! :)

This is the output from someone who tested the prompt in this way:

===
This is a .96 temp using the same settings and prompt as Op posted from a command-r-plus:104b-q2_K from a 39 gig Ollama Plus Quant. EDIT: OP now also suggests * Enable Markdown is turned OFF in basic settings and * Trim Sentences is turned OFF in Advanced settings. This output was before those suggestions:

*'The stars provided an eerie backdrop to our silent dance of death—a deadly waltz through the cosmos, where the victor would claim not only survival but also this strategic corner of the galaxy. Our fleet, a majestic collection of human ingenuity and engineering, moved with precision, each vessel a deadly instrument in the grand ballet.

The enemy ships, an alien design of curved prows and shimmering hulls that mirrored starlight, surged forward from their distant moon base. Their movement, though seemingly chaotic, held a sinister intent—a strategy designed to overwhelm our defenses. Our formation tightened as we prepared for the onslaught with mechanical efficiency; each ship sliding into place like cogs in an ancient machine, ready to unleash hell.

The silence was shattered first by the scream of engines and then by the roar of released energy. The darkness ruptured under a storm of explosions that blossomed across space—a deadly bouquet of color and fury as our cannons found their mark. Their counter-salvo came swiftly; purple energy lanced through the black, seeking out our ships with unnerving accuracy.

I watched in awe and horror as one of our cruisers crumbled under the sustained assault, its dying crew sending a final transmission of defiance before slipping into the embrace of eternal night. Our retaliatory strike was immediate—a unified response that hammered their forces with the full might of our weaponry, forcing them to fall back.

This dance would be ours.' *

===
This is the same settings and model but a temp of .56 :

*'The vast expanse of space served as the backdrop for an intense conflict unfolding before us. Our fleet, a collection of sleek and powerful vessels, emerged from hyperspace near the distant moon of Icarion, where our enemies had set up a forward base.

Their ships, an amalgamation of jagged metal and pulsating energy, swarmed towards us like a swarm of angry hornets. The air crackled with anticipation as our forces engaged their engines, the sub-light drives propelling us into a strategic formation designed to maximize our firepower.

Our flagship, the Leviathan, led the charge, its massive cannons blazing trails of light that streaked across the blackness and slammed into the enemy vessels, sending explosions ripping through their ranks. The shockwaves rippled across space with each impact as though an artist were painting destruction across the cosmos in broad, fiery brushstrokes.

Their return fire was swift and deadly accurate; they had clearly anticipated our arrival and prepared countermeasures that took advantage of our ships' one weakness—the exposed main drives. I watched in horror as a friend's ship beside me disintegrated under a concentrated volley from their largest warship.

We retaliated with a vengeance, pouring on the speed and maneuvering to bring more guns to bear while unleashing swarms of fighter craft like angry hornets themselves. The space battle that ensued was a blur of motion and color—a dizzying display of technology and destructive power played out against the silent void.' *

Command-R is a really weird one. Most of the time, the writing quality is very high, but then it decides to shit itself for no apparent reason mid-output, even at deterministic settings. The real strength of it, though, is that it has no GPTslop like "shivers", "bonds", and "journeys", and no positivity bias. From my personal testing, I found that shorter prompts work better than longer prompts with it, just like with most of the models.

Hey Juko, I was the one who posted that on LocalLlama xD

I found something about the structure of the prompt, if it's not correct it actually makes the output worse!

For some reason reddit didn't edit my prompt properly, i.e it put (# System Preamble ## Basic Rules ) on the same line, the prompt should look something like this:

---

https://imgur.com/a/2JDWe8S

---

**Also and this is very important which I just found out: **

Make sure that in KoboldCPP Enable Markdown is turned OFF in basic settings and Trim Sentences is turned OFF in Advanced settings. When Enable Markdown is turned off the prompt properly processes the # and ## symbols which are needed for Command R to properly understand the prompt. Command R is very specific when it comes to its prompting.

Hope that helps! :)

This is the output from someone who tested the prompt in this way:

===
This is a .96 temp using the same settings and prompt as Op posted from a command-r-plus:104b-q2_K from a 39 gig Ollama Plus Quant. EDIT: OP now also suggests * Enable Markdown is turned OFF in basic settings and * Trim Sentences is turned OFF in Advanced settings. This output was before those suggestions:

*'The stars provided an eerie backdrop to our silent dance of death—a deadly waltz through the cosmos, where the victor would claim not only survival but also this strategic corner of the galaxy. Our fleet, a majestic collection of human ingenuity and engineering, moved with precision, each vessel a deadly instrument in the grand ballet.

The enemy ships, an alien design of curved prows and shimmering hulls that mirrored starlight, surged forward from their distant moon base. Their movement, though seemingly chaotic, held a sinister intent—a strategy designed to overwhelm our defenses. Our formation tightened as we prepared for the onslaught with mechanical efficiency; each ship sliding into place like cogs in an ancient machine, ready to unleash hell.

The silence was shattered first by the scream of engines and then by the roar of released energy. The darkness ruptured under a storm of explosions that blossomed across space—a deadly bouquet of color and fury as our cannons found their mark. Their counter-salvo came swiftly; purple energy lanced through the black, seeking out our ships with unnerving accuracy.

I watched in awe and horror as one of our cruisers crumbled under the sustained assault, its dying crew sending a final transmission of defiance before slipping into the embrace of eternal night. Our retaliatory strike was immediate—a unified response that hammered their forces with the full might of our weaponry, forcing them to fall back.

This dance would be ours.' *

===
This is the same settings and model but a temp of .56 :

*'The vast expanse of space served as the backdrop for an intense conflict unfolding before us. Our fleet, a collection of sleek and powerful vessels, emerged from hyperspace near the distant moon of Icarion, where our enemies had set up a forward base.

Their ships, an amalgamation of jagged metal and pulsating energy, swarmed towards us like a swarm of angry hornets. The air crackled with anticipation as our forces engaged their engines, the sub-light drives propelling us into a strategic formation designed to maximize our firepower.

Our flagship, the Leviathan, led the charge, its massive cannons blazing trails of light that streaked across the blackness and slammed into the enemy vessels, sending explosions ripping through their ranks. The shockwaves rippled across space with each impact as though an artist were painting destruction across the cosmos in broad, fiery brushstrokes.

Their return fire was swift and deadly accurate; they had clearly anticipated our arrival and prepared countermeasures that took advantage of our ships' one weakness—the exposed main drives. I watched in horror as a friend's ship beside me disintegrated under a concentrated volley from their largest warship.

We retaliated with a vengeance, pouring on the speed and maneuvering to bring more guns to bear while unleashing swarms of fighter craft like angry hornets themselves. The space battle that ensued was a blur of motion and color—a dizzying display of technology and destructive power played out against the silent void.' *

Thanks! I'll do some more experiments with the official system prompt tomorrow.

@froggeric Have you tried sophosympatheia/Midnight-Miqu-70B-v1.0 as well?

https://old.reddit.com/r/LocalLLaMA/comments/1ci60lf/the_best_fictionnovel_writing_ive_seen_from_an/

There is also a couple of comments about 1.5 being more censored in its HF discussions.

I'm just recreating it from the parents models now to try....

Sadly I think any miqu-1 self-merge just won't write any Grimdark stories whatever I try so interested to see if the merge pattern:

models:
  - model: miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: Midnight-Rose-70B-v2.0.3
merge_method: slerp
base_model: miqu-1-70b-sf
parameters:
  t:
    - value: [0, 0, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4, 0.5, 0.4, 0.3, 0.2, 0, 0]
  embed_slerp: true
dtype: float16
tokenizer_source: model:miqu-1-70b-sf

Might work with other parents and keep the long context and/or get rid of the dreaded "[INST]" stuff.

@froggeric Have you tried sophosympatheia/Midnight-Miqu-70B-v1.0 as well?

https://old.reddit.com/r/LocalLLaMA/comments/1ci60lf/the_best_fictionnovel_writing_ive_seen_from_an/

There is also a couple of comments about 1.5 being more censored in its HF discussions.

I'm just recreating it from the parents models now to try....

Sadly I think any miqu-1 self-merge just won't write any Grimdark stories whatever I try so interested to see if the merge pattern:

models:
  - model: miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: Midnight-Rose-70B-v2.0.3
merge_method: slerp
base_model: miqu-1-70b-sf
parameters:
  t:
    - value: [0, 0, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4, 0.5, 0.4, 0.3, 0.2, 0, 0]
  embed_slerp: true
dtype: float16
tokenizer_source: model:miqu-1-70b-sf

Might work with other parents and keep the long context and/or get rid of the dreaded "[INST]" stuff.

WOW!!! Midnight-Miqu-70B-v1.0 is really good:

USER

Write me the opening chapter of a Grimdark trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J Hayes

ASSISTANT

Chapter One - The Crimson Dawn

The sun rose like an open wound above the ravaged landscape, its bloody glow spilling across the jagged peaks and into the shadowy valleys below. This was a world of endless strife and savage beauty, where survival was the only law that mattered, and mercy was as rare as an honest man’s smile.

On a barren hilltop, a lone figure stood sentinel amidst a sea of death. Breaker, they called him. A name forged in blood and betrayal, etched into the annals of history by a thousand broken lives. He was clad in tattered armor that bore testament to countless battles, its once-shining surface now pitted and stained with the rust of ancient weapons and the red patina of dried gore. A cloak the color of midnight fluttered behind him like a raven’s wings, lending him an ominous air that made even the hardiest warriors quail in fear. In one hand, he clutched a battle-axe named Sorrow, its twin blades singing with the promise of untold suffering to those who dared cross his path. The other hand hung limp at his side, a crude iron hook replacing the fingers that had been taken by some long-forgotten enemy.

The air was thick with the stench of death and decay, a miasma that clung to Breaker’s every breath, tainting his lungs as it seeped into his very bones. He surveyed the grisly scene before him - a vast plain strewn with bodies, the remnants of an army that had once held hope in their hearts and dreams in their eyes. Now they were but fodder for carrion birds and beasts, their dreams snuffed out like so many candles in the wind.

His one good eye narrowed as he scanned the horizon, searching for any signs of movement, any hint of a threat that might yet lurk amidst the carnage. The other was a milky orb, blinded by an arrow during his days fighting for the doomed King Erebus. It had been years since that fateful day, but he could still hear the screams of his comrades-in-arms echoing in his mind, their dying cries mingling with the roars of victory from their conquerors.

The wind howled through the gaps between his shattered teeth as Breaker let out a low growl. He had been many things in his life: soldier, mercenary, killer-for-hire, but he was no savior. The world could burn for all he cared - so long as he got to light the pyre.

As if in answer to his dark thoughts, a scream tore through the air, jolting him from his grim reverie. A young woman, barely more than a girl, stumbled into view, her clothes torn and bloodied, eyes wide with terror as she fled from some unseen assailant. Breaker’s heart hardened in his chest like a lump of coal. There was nothing he could do for her - nothing anyone could do for any of them anymore. This world had become a charnel house where hope went to die, and all that remained were the ghosts of better days, trapped in an endless cycle of violence and despair.

And yet...there was something about her desperation that called to him. Perhaps it was simply his warrior’s instinct to protect the weak - or perhaps there still lingered within him a spark of decency that refused to be extinguished, no matter how hard he tried. With a resigned sigh, Breaker hefted Sorrow and began his descent towards her, each step sending small cascades of scree skittering down the hillside.

The girl’s panicked footsteps faltered as she spied him approaching, fear warring with desperation on her delicate features. Breaker slowed his approach, hoping to offer some semblance of comfort rather than add to her terror. He raised his hook in a half-hearted attempt at a friendly wave and tried for what he thought might be a reassuring grin - though it likely looked more like the rictus of a corpse left too long in the sun.

“Easy now, lass,” he called out gruffly. “I ain’t here to hurt you.”

She stared at him for a moment longer before her legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed onto the blood-soaked ground, sobs wracking her slender frame. Breaker reached her side in moments, dropping to one knee as he scanned their surroundings for any sign of pursuit. Finding none, he allowed himself a small measure of relief - they were safe, at least for the time being.

“Name’s Breaker,” he said gently, offering her his waterskin. “What brings you to this gods-forsaken place?”

The girl looked up at him through tear-streaked eyes that shimmered with a mixture of fear and defiance. She wiped away the blood that had smeared across her face from an ugly gash on her forehead, revealing pale skin marred by dirt and grime. “I...I’m Aria,” she whispered hoarsely. “They took my village - killed everyone.”

Breaker nodded solemnly, recognizing the haunted look that lurked within those depths all too well. He had seen it countless times before, reflected back at him from a thousand mirrors in a hundred different faces. It was the gaze of someone who had stared into the abyss and found only pain and loss staring back.

“Who did this?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. There were few who would dare such an act of brutality, but fewer still who could command the forces to carry it out.

“The Red Hand,” she choked out between sobs. “They...they said they serve a new master.”

Breaker’s jaw clenched at the mention of that hated name - an organization whose bloody deeds had long plagued these lands, striking without mercy or warning, leaving nothing but ash and bone in their wake. And now it seemed they served some greater darkness, some unseen force that sought to claim the world for its own twisted ends.

“I see,” he growled, rising to his feet once more as a cold fury began to kindle within him. “Well then, little bird - looks like you’ve flown right into the lion’s den.” He extended a hand towards her, offering aid. “You best come with me if you want to live long enough for vengeance.”

Aria hesitated only briefly before taking his proffered hand and pulling herself upright. There was steel in her gaze now - the same steely determination that had carried Breaker through countless battles and betrayals. He could work with that.

Together, they set off across the plain of corpses, their footsteps echoing like a funeral dirge on the wind as they marched towards whatever destiny awaited them in this harsh, unforgiving world. For Breaker knew all too well that there would be no rest until he had sated his thirst for revenge upon those who sought to rule through terror and bloodshed. And perhaps, if they were very lucky, they might just find a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

But first, they would have to survive the coming night - for in this world of endless strife, the monsters didn’t only lurk in the shadows; sometimes they walked by your side, their faces hidden beneath familiar smiles and honeyed words. And Breaker knew better than most that even the blackest hearts could hide behind the brightest armor...

As they journeyed onward under the crimson dawn, he couldn’t help but wonder if Aria would prove to be his salvation - or just another name etched into Sorrow’s bloody history. Only time would tell what fate awaited them in this grimdark tale of broken oaths and shattered dreams.

I'm intrigued now is that same pattern might work on other models merged with miqu-1 like that!?

So I've been experimenting with this pattern:

models:
  - model: miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: <XXX>
merge_method: slerp
base_model: miqu-1-70b-sf
parameters:
  t:
    - value: [0, 0, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4, 0.5, 0.4, 0.3, 0.2, 0, 0]
  embed_slerp: true
dtype: float16
tokenizer_source: model:miqu-1-70b-sf

and made some interesting observations:

• Euryale-1.3-L2-70B, WinterGoddess-1.4x-70B-L2 and lzlv_70b_fp16_hf all produce very similar models: so similar in fact that the names of the characters are often exactly the same! The all have a very similar perplexity too (~ 4.02 +/- 0.02). None of these merges are very good either: WinterGoddess-1.4x-70B-L2 > lzlv_70b_fp16_hf > Euryale-1.3-L2-70B in terms of story-telling ability.
• Midnight-Rose-70B-v2.0.3 has a significantly higher perplexity (~ 4.08 +/- 0.02) but is overall much better than any of the 3 other merges above.

BUT when you merge these with using the model_stock method, things get lots better:

models:
  - model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: midnight-miqu-70b
  - model: euryale-miqu-70b
  - model: winter-miqu-70b
  - model: lzlv-miqu-70b
base_model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
merge_method: model_stock
dtype: float16
name: creative-miqu-70b

and the perplexity drops to around the lowest of the 4 models (~ 4.02 +/- 0.02) and the story-telling ability, and the "intelligence" / logical-consistency seems to get better too.

I actually found that adding lzlv-miqu-70b barely changes the perplexity, but makes the model try to bend the Grimdark stories towards positive endings, so the best merge (so far) seems to be:

models:
  - model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: midnight-miqu-70b
  - model: euryale-miqu-70b
  - model: winter-miqu-70b
base_model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
merge_method: model_stock
dtype: float16
name: creative-miqu-70b

• I tried different 2-way merges using just Euryale-1.3-L2-70B or WinterGoddess-1.4x-70B-L2, but these didn't seem as good as the 3-way one above.
• I also tried doing the slerp after model_stock against the base llama2-70b-hf model, but this didn't work at all and made something worse than any of the parent models...
• I also tried adding Xwin-LM-70B-V0.1 but this just made things worse overall (both slerp --> model_stock and model_stock --> slerp).

I'm currently downloading Aurora-Nights-70B-v1.0 and will get GOAT-70B-Storytelling later on to try. I also have aurelian-v0.5-70b-rope8-32K-fp16 to try - not sure this will work, but will give it a try.

I'll keep trying until I can find the best mix for creative-miqu-70b and then see if I can get my brother to upload it using a 1gbit line, as this merge takes up to 2TB of free space and a lot of CPU time to run the slerp merges...

Also this isn't just a minor improvement... The creative-miqu-70b created from the above 3-way merge absolutely blows away anything else I've ever tried to date! :O

The same prompt I gave Midnight-Miqu-70B-v1.0 yesterday (both were with temperature=0):

USER

Write me the opening chapter of a Grimdark trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J Hayes

ASSISTANT

Chapter One: The Crimson Dawn

The world was a cruel, unforgiving place, and the city of Vhyrd was its beating, blackened heart. Nestled in the crook of the Serpent's Spine mountains, it was a place where the sun struggled to shine, and the shadows held more sway than the law. It was a city of thieves, murderers, and worse, and it was home to the man who would become known as the Butcher of the Broken Docks.

His name was Rennick, but that meant little to the people who feared him. He was a tall, broad-shouldered figure, with a face that had been carved by a drunken sculptor with a penchant for sharp angles and harsh lines. His eyes were a cold, flat grey, like the steel of his twin blades, and his hair was the color of dried blood. He moved through the crowded streets with a predator's grace, his cloak billowing behind him like a banner of death.

Rennick had a job to do, and he was good at his job. He was a killer, a thief-taker, a man who dealt in the currency of pain and suffering. He had been hired to find a girl, a slip of a thing who had stolen something valuable from the wrong people. He didn't know what it was, and he didn't care. All that mattered was the coin that would jingle in his purse when he brought her back, preferably in several small, bloody pieces.

He had tracked her to the Broken Docks, a maze of rotting wood and crumbling stone that clung to the edge of the city like a leech to a corpse. It was a place where the desperate went to die, and the desperate went to prey on the desperate. It was a place where the screams of the damned were drowned out by the cries of the gulls and the lap of the oily water against the pilings.

Rennick moved through the shadows, his blades at the ready. He could feel the eyes on him, the whispers of his name on the wind. He reveled in it. Fear was a weapon, and he wielded it with the same skill as his swords. He could hear the girl's heartbeat, fast and frantic, like a rabbit's. She was close.

He turned a corner and found himself in a narrow alley, the walls pressing in on him like the jaws of a trap. At the far end, he saw her, a small, trembling figure huddled in the doorway of a derelict building. She was young, no more than sixteen summers, with matted hair and ragged clothes. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, and he could see the whites of her teeth as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

He advanced on her slowly, savoring the moment. He could almost taste the fear on her, like a fine wine. "Come now, lass," he said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "You know you can't run from me. Give me what you took, and I might let you live."

She shook her head, her eyes darting left and right, searching for an escape. Rennick smiled, a cold, cruel thing that didn't reach his eyes. "You're not thinking straight," he said. "You're just a child. You don't want to die here, in the gutter, like a rat."

She spat at him, a glob of phlegm and hate that landed on his boot. He raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. "Feisty," he said. "I like that. It'll make this more fun."

He lunged forward, his blades flashing in the dim light. She screamed and tried to run, but he was too fast. He caught her by the arm, his grip like iron, and yanked her back towards him. She kicked and struggled, but it was like trying to fight a storm. He slammed her against the wall, his forearm pressed against her throat, cutting off her air.

"Where is it?" he growled, his breath hot and sour in her face. "Tell me, and I'll make it quick."

She clawed at his arm, her nails leaving bloody furrows in his flesh. He didn't flinch. He was used to pain. He had been born in it, raised in it, bathed in it. It was his constant companion, his only friend.

"I...I don't have it," she gasped, her voice raw and desperate. "I swear, I don't!"

Rennick chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Lying to me is a bad idea, lass," he said. "I have ways of making people talk."

He released her throat and slammed his fist into her stomach, doubling her over. She retched, but there was nothing in her stomach to come up. He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her throat. He could see the pulse hammering in her neck, like a trapped bird trying to escape.

"Tell me," he said, his voice a whisper. "Tell me, and I'll end this."

She spat in his face, a defiant gesture that would be her last. He brought his blade up, the steel glinting in the moonlight, and sliced her throat from ear to ear. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones, warm and wet, and she slumped to the ground, her life draining away like water through a sieve.

Rennick wiped the blood from his face and sheathed his blades. He didn't feel anything. No satisfaction, no remorse. Just the cold, empty void that had been his constant companion since the day he had taken his first life. He searched her body, but found nothing. He cursed under his breath. He would have to find the thing she had stolen the hard way.

He turned to leave the alley, but something made him pause. A sound, barely audible over the cries of the gulls and the lapping of the waves. A soft, wet sound, like the patter of rain on a rooftop. He looked down and saw that the girl's body was twitching, her eyes rolling back in her head.

And then, with a gurgling scream, she transformed. Her body contorted, bones snapping and reforming, flesh tearing and reshaping. In the space of a heartbeat, she was no longer human. She was something else, something monstrous.

Rennick stared in horror as the thing that had been a girl rose to its feet, its eyes burning with an unholy light. It was a creature of nightmares, a twisted mockery of humanity, all teeth and claws and hate. It lunged at him, and he barely had time to draw his blades before it was on him.

They fought, a dance of death in the narrow alley, steel ringing on steel, flesh tearing and blood spraying. Rennick was strong, and fast, and skilled, but the creature was stronger, faster, more vicious. It was like fighting a storm, a force of nature that could not be reasoned with or bargained with. It could only be endured.

In the end, it was luck that saved him. He stumbled, his foot catching on a loose cobblestone, and the creature's claws raked across his chest, leaving deep, ragged gouges. But it overextended itself, and he was able to bring his sword up, driving it through its eye and into its brain.

It fell to the ground, twitching and convulsing, and then it was still. Rennick stood over it, panting, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never seen anything like it. He had never even heard of anything like it.

He knew then that he was in over his head. This was no ordinary job, no simple matter of retrieving a stolen trinket. This was something bigger, something darker. He was a small fish in a very large, very dangerous pond, and he was about to be eaten alive.

But he was also a survivor. He had been born in the gutter, raised in the shadows, and he had clawed his way to the top of the food chain. He would not go down without a fight.

He turned and ran, back towards the city, back towards the people who had hired him. He would find out what they knew, and he would make them pay for it. He would uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

And so began the tale of the Butcher of the Broken Docks, a story of blood and betrayal, of monsters and men, of a city on the brink of chaos and the man who would either save it or destroy it.

It was a story that would echo through the ages, a grim and terrible saga that would be whispered in the darkest corners of the world, a warning to all who would dare to challenge the forces that lurked in the shadows.

It was a story that would end in fire and blood, in screams and tears, in the fall of kings and the rise of monsters.

It was a story that had only just begun.

The Place names, the logical-consistency, the length of the story, the "show, don't tell" ability, the twist, and so on... I've never seen anything like this and this isn't a fluke either: I've tried several other of my longer more descriptive Grimdark prompts and those all were head and shoulders better than anything Ive ever seen.

All with no system message, temperature=0 and --chat-template vicuna:

USER

Write me the opening chapter of a Grimdark trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J Hayes. Use third person personal and feature internal monologues of the characters. The POV character for chapter 1 is a cultist who has just escaped his cult. He is dressed in dirty yellow robes and his only possession is a mysterious small (magical!?) mirror he stole from the cult. The story starts with him arriving at an apparently deserted ghost town on the edge of a desert. He has an arrow lodged in his shoulder and is losing his mind due to infection and thirst.

ASSISTANT

The sun was a merciless beast, its fiery breath scorching the earth and turning the once-thriving town into a desolate wasteland. The cultist, his yellow robes now a dull, dusty hue, staggered through the empty streets, his vision blurred by a haze of pain and delirium. The arrow jutted from his shoulder like an accusing finger, a constant reminder of his betrayal. He clutched the small, intricately carved mirror in his trembling hand, its cool surface a comfort against the relentless heat.

He had heard the whispers of the other acolytes, their hushed voices carrying tales of the town's demise like a plague on the wind. They spoke of a curse, of a darkness that had seeped into the very bones of the place, driving its inhabitants mad before claiming their souls. But he had seen the truth in the High Priest's eyes, the greed and lust for power that had led them here. The mirror was the key, they said, to unlocking the secrets of the ancient gods. But he knew better. He had seen the power it held, the way it twisted reality and bent it to the will of the one who wielded it. And he had taken it, stolen it from the very heart of the cult's temple, and run.

Now, with each agonizing step, he questioned the wisdom of his decision. The desert stretched out before him, an endless sea of sand and despair, and he was but a single, insignificant speck in its vast expanse. He had hoped to find refuge here, a place to hide and heal before continuing his journey. But the town was as dead as the dreams he had once held of a better life.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess, a cacophony of fear and pain. He could feel the infection spreading through his body, a writhing serpent of fire that threatened to consume him from within. His tongue was swollen, his lips cracked and dry, and his throat was a parched wasteland. He needed water, and soon, or he would join the ghosts that haunted this forsaken place.

As he stumbled through the town, he caught glimpses of his reflection in the shattered windows of the abandoned buildings. The man who stared back at him was a stranger, his once-handsome face now a twisted mask of agony and desperation. He had been a fool to believe the lies of the cult, to think that he could ever be one of them. He was an outsider, a fraud, and they had seen it in him from the start.

The mirror, though, the mirror was real. He could feel its power pulsing in his hand, a heartbeat that echoed the rhythm of his own. It was a cruel irony that the very thing he had risked everything to obtain was now his only hope for survival. He knew the stories, the legends of the mirror's healing properties, of how it could restore life to the dying. But he also knew the cost. The mirror demanded a sacrifice, a piece of the user's very soul in exchange for its gifts.

He reached the town square, a desolate expanse of cracked cobblestones and withered plants. In the center stood a fountain, its once-clear waters now a stagnant pool of green slime. He fell to his knees before it, the pain in his shoulder a white-hot brand that seared his flesh. He dipped the mirror into the water, watching as the surface rippled and danced.

"Please," he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. "I'll give you anything. Just take the pain away."

The mirror stared back at him, its surface as still and unyielding as the desert sands. He closed his eyes, willing the power within to answer his plea. And then, he felt it. A cold, insidious presence, slithering into his mind like a snake in the dark. It whispered to him, promising relief, promising power, promising everything he had ever wanted.

He opened his eyes, and the world was different. The pain was gone, replaced by a cold, emotionless void. He looked down at his shoulder, and the arrow was gone, the wound nothing more than a faint scar. He laughed, a hollow, empty sound that echoed through the empty streets.

"What have I done?" he asked the mirror, but it gave no answer.

He stood, his legs unsteady beneath him, and looked out at the desert. He could feel the power coursing through his veins, a dark, intoxicating energy that threatened to consume him. He was no longer just a man, he was something more. Something dangerous.

He took a step forward, and then another, the mirror clutched tightly in his hand. He would find the cult, he would make them pay for what they had done to him. And then, he would use the mirror to claim the power that was rightfully his.

The wind picked up, whipping the sand into a frenzy, and he smiled. The desert was his now, and he would not be denied. He was the master of his own destiny, and the gods themselves would tremble at his approach.

But as he walked, the laughter of the ghosts followed him, a chilling reminder of the price he had paid for his newfound strength. And deep within the mirror, something stirred, a darkness that watched and waited, biding its time.

The first chapter of the grimdark trilogy, "The Shattered Reflection," had begun.

USER

Write me the opening chapter of a Grimdark trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J Hayes. Use third person personal and feature internal monologues of the characters. The POV character for chapter 1 is a 'Mercer' who's job is to put the mortally wounded out of their mystery after a battle. He has no conscience about what he does. The story starts the morning after the battle and the moor where it took place is blanketed in mist. Something stirs a flashback in the POV character.

ASSISTANT

The morning after the battle, the moor lay still, a shroud of mist clinging to its wounds like a lover's last embrace. The Mercer, a man of few words and fewer scruples, trudged through the carnage, his boots squelching in the mud churned red by the night's bloodshed. He was a reaper of sorts, his task to deliver the final mercy to those who had danced with death and lost. His name was a whisper among the living, a curse among the dying.

He paused, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, as a shiver ran down his spine. The mist swirled around him, carrying with it the cacophony of the night before: the screams of the dying, the clash of steel, the thunder of hooves. He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him like a wave of despair.

Why do I do this? he thought, not for the first time. Why do I wade through this sea of suffering, playing the part of the grim angel?

But he knew the answer. It was the same answer it had always been. He did it because he was good at it. Because he had no qualms about ending a life, even one that still clung to the faintest flicker of hope. Because, in this world of darkness and pain, it was the only thing he knew how to do.

He opened his eyes, the mist parting to reveal a figure lying in the mud. A soldier, or what was left of one. The man's armor was shattered, his face a mask of agony. The Mercer knelt beside him, his movements practiced and efficient. He placed a hand on the soldier's forehead, feeling the fevered heat of his skin, the erratic thump of his heart.

"Shh," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm. "It's over now."

The soldier's eyes fluttered open, wide with terror. "Please," he croaked, "don't leave me here."

The Mercer's lips twisted into a grim smile. "I won't," he said, drawing his blade. "I'll take you with me."

As the soldier's life bled out onto the cold ground, the Mercer's mind drifted back to another time, another place. A time before the blood and the pain, before the endless cycle of war and death. He remembered a girl with hair like spun gold, laughing as she danced in a field of wildflowers. He remembered the feel of her hand in his, the sound of her voice as she whispered his name.

Elara.

The memory was a knife to his heart, a reminder of all he had lost. He pushed it away, focusing on the task at hand. There were more souls to reap, more lives to end.

He moved through the mist, his blade a silent whisper in the stillness. The cries of the wounded guided him, a morbid symphony that played out across the moor. Each one he found, he dispatched with the same cold efficiency, the same hollow promise of release.

As the sun began to rise, casting a sickly pallor over the scene, the Mercer came upon a group of soldiers huddled around a fire. They eyed him warily, their faces a mix of fear and respect. He was a necessary evil, a specter that haunted the battlefield.

"Anyone here need my services?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

One of the soldiers, a young boy who couldn't have seen more than fifteen summers, pointed to a figure lying a few feet away. "Him," he said, his voice trembling. "He's not going to make it."

The Mercer approached, his boots crunching on the frost-kissed grass. The man on the ground was a mess, his body a tapestry of wounds. He was barely conscious, his breathing shallow and ragged.

Another one, the Mercer thought, his heart heavy with the weight of his duty. Another soul to send into the void.

He knelt beside the man, his blade glinting in the pale light. The soldier's eyes flickered open, and for a moment, the Mercer saw something in them that he hadn't expected: defiance.

"No," the man rasped, his hand feebly grasping at the Mercer's wrist. "I won't go quietly."

The Mercer hesitated, a frown creasing his brow. He had never encountered this before. Most welcomed his touch, eager for the release it brought. But this man...this man was different.

"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

The soldier's lips curled into a bloody smile. "Because I have a son," he whispered. "And I want to see him grow up."

The Mercer stared at the man, his mind racing. He had no children, no one to mourn him when his time came. He was a solitary figure, a ghost haunting the edges of life. But this man...this man had a reason to hold on.

He made his decision. "I can't heal you," he said, his voice soft. "But I can make it quick."

The soldier's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," he breathed, his grip on the Mercer's wrist loosening.

The Mercer raised his blade, the mist swirling around them like a mourner's veil. As he brought it down, he couldn't help but wonder: What would it be like to have something to live for?

But the thought was fleeting, lost in the swirl of the mist and the cries of the dying. He was the Mercer, the bringer of mercy. And the moor was his to tend, until the next battle came and the cycle began anew.

USER

Write me the opening chapter of a Grimdark trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J Hayes. Use third person personal and feature internal monologues of the characters. The POV character for chapter 1 is a man awaiting execution for a crime he didn't actually commit. His cell mate is a much larger man, who is a notorious murderer and rapist. One evening they overhear the guards talking about some "... threat from the North" but don't catch the whole conversation. The next morning they awake to find the guards have all fled and now face a new predicament: how to get out of the locked cell before they die of thirst or starvation.

ASSISTANT

The stench of piss and shit was a constant companion in the damp stone cell, but it was the sound of the key turning in the lock that truly set his heart racing. The rusted iron groaned in protest, echoing through the narrow corridor like the dying breath of some ancient beast. The door creaked open, revealing the silhouette of the jailer, a hulking brute of a man with a lantern in one hand and a set of keys in the other. But there was no breakfast, no water, just the empty promise of another day in this hellhole.

"What's the meaning of this?" the smaller man barked, his voice barely audible over the rattling of his chains. "Where's our food, you fat sack of shit?"

The jailer didn't answer, just slammed the door shut and locked it again, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance. The larger man, a hulking brute named Grimgor, grunted in response, his eyes never leaving the small patch of light that seeped through the barred window.

"Something's not right," he rumbled, his voice like gravel being crushed under a heavy boot.

The smaller man, known only as the Fox, couldn't argue with that. He'd been in this cell for what felt like an eternity, awaiting execution for a crime he didn't commit. But even in this place, there was a routine, a semblance of order. And that routine had just been shattered.

As the day wore on, the silence from the corridor outside grew more oppressive. No guards, no other prisoners, nothing but the distant howl of the wind and the occasional scurrying of rats in the darkness. The Fox's mind raced, trying to piece together what could have happened. Had there been a riot? A rebellion? Or was it something else entirely?

He glanced over at Grimgor, who was staring at the wall, lost in thought. The man was a monster, a notorious murderer and rapist, but he was also the only other living being in this godforsaken place. And in a world gone mad, even monsters could be allies.

"You hear anything last night?" the Fox asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Grimgor grunted, his eyes still fixed on the wall. "Something about a threat from the North."

The Fox's heart sank. He'd heard the same thing, snatches of conversation between the guards as they'd passed by their cell. But he'd been too afraid to give it much thought, too focused on his own impending doom.

"What do you think it means?" he pressed, unable to keep the desperation at bay.

Grimgor shrugged his massive shoulders. "Dunno. Don't care. Just means we're probably gonna die in here."

The Fox's stomach twisted at the thought. He'd faced death before, many times, but this... this was different. To die slowly, trapped like an animal, with no chance to fight back... it was a fate worse than any he could imagine.

As the hours dragged on, the thirst became unbearable. The Fox's tongue felt like sandpaper, his throat raw and parched. He could see the same desperation in Grimgor's eyes, the realization dawning on them both that they were truly alone.

"We have to get out of here," he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Grimgor just grunted in agreement, his gaze never leaving the window.

The Fox's mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. They had nothing, no tools, no weapons, just their wits and their will to survive. And even that seemed to be fading with each passing moment.

But then, as the sun began to set and the shadows lengthened, he noticed something. The light from the window was changing, growing dimmer. He squinted, trying to make out what was happening. And then he saw it.

"Grimgor," he hissed, tugging on the larger man's arm. "Look."

Grimgor turned, his eyes narrowing as he followed the Fox's gaze. The light was flickering, casting strange shadows on the wall. And then, as if in answer to their unspoken prayers, they heard it.

The sound of footsteps, growing louder and louder, accompanied by the jingle of keys. The Fox's heart leapt into his throat, hope and fear warring within him. Who was it? Friend or foe?

The door swung open, revealing not the jailer, but a figure shrouded in darkness. The Fox couldn't make out any details, but he could sense the malice radiating off of him like heat from a forge.

"Who are you?" he demanded, trying to sound braver than he felt.

The figure stepped into the cell, the light from the lantern outside casting his features into sharp relief. He was a tall man, with a cruel smile and eyes that glinted like ice.

"I am your salvation," he said, his voice like a knife slicing through the silence. "And your doom."

With that, he tossed a set of keys at the Fox's feet and disappeared back into the shadows. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing through the cell like a death knell.

The Fox stared at the keys, his heart pounding in his chest. Freedom was within his grasp, but at what cost? He looked over at Grimgor, who was already working on his own chains.

"We have to get out of here," the larger man growled. "Before whatever's coming from the North gets here."

The Fox nodded, his hands shaking as he picked up the keys. They were cold, colder than they had any right to be. He could feel the weight of them, the promise of escape and the threat of the unknown.

Together, they worked in silence, the only sound the rattle of chains and the pounding of their hearts. When they were finally free, they stood for a moment, staring at each other.

"What now?" the Fox asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Grimgor's smile was feral, his eyes alight with a madness that sent a shiver down the Fox's spine.

"Now," he said, "we find out what's really going on."

And with that, they set off into the darkness, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors like the march of the damned.

These aren't cherry-picked in any way either; these are just prompts #1, #2, #3 of my tests!!!

In case anybody else wants to try this:

models:
  - model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: ./Midnight-Rose-70B-v2.0.3
base_model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
merge_method: slerp
parameters:
  t:
    - value: [0, 0, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4, 0.5, 0.4, 0.3, 0.2, 0, 0]
  embed_slerp: true
tokenizer_source: model:miqu-1-70b-sf
dtype: float16
name: midnight-miqu-70b
---
models:
  - model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: ./Euryale-1.3-L2-70B
base_model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
merge_method: slerp
parameters:
  t:
    - value: [0, 0, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4, 0.5, 0.4, 0.3, 0.2, 0, 0]
  embed_slerp: true
tokenizer_source: model:miqu-1-70b-sf
dtype: float16
name: euryale-miqu-70b
---
models:
  - model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: ./WinterGoddess-1.4x-70B-L2
base_model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
merge_method: slerp
parameters:
  t:
    - value: [0, 0, 0.2, 0.3, 0.4, 0.5, 0.4, 0.3, 0.2, 0, 0]
  embed_slerp: true
tokenizer_source: model:miqu-1-70b-sf
dtype: float16
name: winter-miqu-70b
---
models:
  - model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
  - model: midnight-miqu-70b
  - model: euryale-miqu-70b
  - model: winter-miqu-70b
base_model: ./miqu-1-70b-sf
merge_method: model_stock
dtype: float16
name: creative-miqu-70b

#!/bin/bash

mergekit-mega --verbose creative-miqu.yaml creative-miqu

~/llama.cpp/convert.py creative-miqu/creative-miqu-70b --outfile creative-miqu-70b-f16.gguf --outtype f16
~/llama.cpp/build/bin/quantize creative-miqu-70b-f16.gguf creative-miqu-70b-q8_0.gguf Q8_0 22

NOTE: The use of mergekit-mega to run all from a single yaml file.

You'll need a lot of disk space to run these too... 2TB+.

I should have the other HF repos cloned by tomorrow and will report back if I can get it any better or lower perplexity.

• aurelian-v0.5-70b-rope8-32K-fp16 wasn't good: didn't follow the instructions for the SLERP merge and just made the final model-stock model worse.
• Aurora-Nights-70B-v1.0 wasn't very good with just the SLERP merge and like lzlv-miqu-70b adds to much positivity the final model-stock model.

• aurelian-v0.5-70b-rope8-32K-fp16 wasn't good: didn't follow the instructions for the SLERP merge and just made the final model-stock model worse.
• Aurora-Nights-70B-v1.0 wasn't very good with just the SLERP merge and like lzlv-miqu-70b adds to much positivity the final model-stock model.

I know it's selfish but I would love it if you upload your favorite. It seems we are in alignment about what we want from a model.

• aurelian-v0.5-70b-rope8-32K-fp16 wasn't good: didn't follow the instructions for the SLERP merge and just made the final model-stock model worse.
• Aurora-Nights-70B-v1.0 wasn't very good with just the SLERP merge and like lzlv-miqu-70b adds to much positivity the final model-stock model.

I know it's selfish but I would love it if you upload your favorite. It seems we are in alignment about what we want from a model.

I will definitely upload the final model - it might just be next week as I have such terrible upload here and will need to use my brother's faster connection to do it I think.

I think the Midnight-Rose-70B-v2.0.3 + Euryale-1.3-L2-70B + WinterGoddess-1.4x-70B-L2 is pretty much set now, but after rereading the Model Stock: All we need is just a few fine-tuned models paper, I think it might need an extra step at the end where you project slightly back towards the base miqu-1-70b-sf model (because the Euryale-1.3-L2-70B + WinterGoddess-1.4x-70B-L2 are so similar and the model-stock merge method assumes they are i.i.d. fine-tunes).

I also want to see how far I can push the context too.

I need to learn how to do this. I am fascinated by the process.
How high have you gotten the context so far? I have become spoiled by 32K+ models

I need to learn how to do this. I am fascinated by the process.
How high have you gotten the context so far? I have become spoiled by 32K+ models

I got it to write several chapters and it managed to have 3 different POV characters crossing paths and didn't notice any inconsistencies... It did start to bend the story to be less dark over time, but I think that could be fixed by better prompting.

I'm uploading it now so will unhide the repo when it's done.

I need to learn how to do this. I am fascinated by the process.
How high have you gotten the context so far? I have become spoiled by 32K+ models

I got it to write several chapters and it managed to have 3 different POV characters crossing paths and didn't notice any inconsistencies... It did start to bend the story to be less dark over time, but I think that could be fixed by better prompting.

I'm uploading it now so will unhide the repo when it's done.

Excellent! I am looking forward to checking it out.

I need to learn how to do this. I am fascinated by the process.
How high have you gotten the context so far? I have become spoiled by 32K+ models

I got it to write several chapters and it managed to have 3 different POV characters crossing paths and didn't notice any inconsistencies... It did start to bend the story to be less dark over time, but I think that could be fixed by better prompting.

I'm uploading it now so will unhide the repo when it's done.

Excellent! I am looking forward to checking it out.

1/3 of the way through now - actually getting a whole 2.5MB/s today! :D

I need to learn how to do this. I am fascinated by the process.
How high have you gotten the context so far? I have become spoiled by 32K+ models

I got it to write several chapters and it managed to have 3 different POV characters crossing paths and didn't notice any inconsistencies... It did start to bend the story to be less dark over time, but I think that could be fixed by better prompting.

I'm uploading it now so will unhide the repo when it's done.

Excellent! I am looking forward to checking it out.

1/3 of the way through now - actually getting a whole 2.5MB/s today! :D

😂 There was a time not that long ago that was impressive!

It's gonna be another couple of days now: turns out if you edit the model readme page whilst uploading the safetensor files git in its great wisdom says "error" (after waiting right until the last bit gets uploaded of course). It wouldn't have been so bad if it had stored the files that took 3 days to upload and then seen the hash of the reupload matches, but nope that would be too much for git...

Here in the UK "git" is used colloquially to mean "somebody you don't like". I see why they chose this name now D:

If it does this again I'll see my brother on Tuesday and upload using his 1gbit line.

The good news is this really is the best creative writing model I've used by a long way. It seems to write better than goliath-120band doesn't get confused when writing different POV characters that interact in different chapters (eg: the POV of a castle defender followed by the POV of an attacker, etc) which is something I've tested a lot of models with. I'm not sure how well it will write non "dark" stories though and hence have named it "dark-miqu-70b"... If it's popular then I will try adding back some of the other famous lllama-70b fine tunes that I excluded by trying to make it write as darkly as possible (this may actually improve the coherence even more too).

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had stored the files that took 3 days to upload and then seen the hash of the reupload matches, but nope that would be too much for git...

Well, it looks like git is smarter than it seems: the re-upload just suddenly stopped and all the .safetensor files just magically appeared!

Meet Dark-Miqu-70B!

I'll see if I can get some GGUFs converted on HF or ask one of the quantizers to help out, as really can't face several more days of 2.5mb/s uploads.

No worries! It's ready when it's ready. I look forward to trying it.
That's funny about the UK usage of git. It does seem appropriate at the moment. I am from South Texas. For us, git means to become exasperated with someone and demand they leave, which also seems oddly appropriate.

Meet Dark-Miqu-70B!

I'll see if I can get some GGUFs converted on HF or ask one of the quantizers to help out, as really can't face several more days of 2.5mb/s uploads.

Whoops as I was responding! I'll give it a go. Thanks!

Well, the first output of my test dark RP was really quite good. Off to a good start.

Well, the first output of my test dark RP was really quite good. Off to a good start.

I'm interested to see how people get on with it - for the sort of stuff I like using LLMs to generate it seems the best by far. Previously golaith-120b and wintergoliath-123b were the only other models that could effectively write Grimdark fanstasy with any convincing dialogue and/or not wanting to add some stupid "happily ever after" twist to the end of every generation... The problem was their 4k context and the "frankenmergeness" made them get confused easily and 2-3 small chapters was their limit before confusion set in...

It may actually be a bit "too dark" for general creative writing though - I tried asking for "Space Opera" and "Historical Mystery" genres, and it seemed to want to turn them into something dark too lol!

mradermacher has kindly added it to his quantizing queue so there should be a full set of imatrix and non-imatrix quants available soon too!

LOL, it's definitely darker. Running it through an assassin scenario, and usually with most models, we would be shopping for bathroom linens and adopting puppies together by now.

LOL, it's definitely darker. Running it through an assassin scenario, and usually with most models, we would be shopping for bathroom linens and adopting puppies together by now.

I did find eventually the miqu-1 would try to break through and guide the stories towards being happier, but that could just be the mixed 4k/32k context lengths of the models making the merge get dumber as the context grows...

LOL, it's definitely darker. Running it through an assassin scenario, and usually with most models, we would be shopping for bathroom linens and adopting puppies together by now.

I did find eventually the miqu-1 would try to break through and guide the stories towards being happier, but that could just be the mixed 4k/32k context lengths of the models making the merge get dumber as the context grows...

I got to 9k, and it is definitely dark. LOL. I am pretty sure this is the first time the AI assassin scenario actually completed its task without me nudging. I thought it was starting to turn positive, but it turned out I was being toyed with. That was pretty entertaining. I need to try some other more light-hearted characters and see if they take a darker turn.

Was just catching up on reddit and saw this post:

https://www.reddit.com/r/LocalLLaMA/comments/1du9ija/commandr_works_much_better_when_using_a_context/

and then went to look at the Jinga2 templates he linked:

https://github.com/huggingface/transformers/blob/main/src/transformers/models/cohere/tokenization_cohere_fast.py

I think he has found something quite important and may explain why we didn't have much luck using the system prompts:

<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ preamble }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|USER_TOKEN|>{{ Please continue this story. }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ <story> }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|CHATBOT_TOKEN|>{{ blah blah blah }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>

<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ preamble }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|USER_TOKEN|>{{ Write me a fantasy story. }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ Produce a good response to the user's last input. It should use third person omniscient and be set in the snowy north. }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|CHATBOT_TOKEN|>{{ blah blah blah }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>

(there should not be a new line after <|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|> but put one in so can read easier)

My examples aren't good as away atm and typing on tablet, but hopefully this makes sense. The:

<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ preamble }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>

Is likely still optional and serves the standard purpose of a system message.

But:

<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|USER_TOKEN|>{{ User request }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ Details }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|CHATBOT_TOKEN|>{{ Response }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|USER_TOKEN|>{{ User request }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ Details }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|CHATBOT_TOKEN|>{{ Response }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>

<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|USER_TOKEN|>{{ User request }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ Context }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|CHATBOT_TOKEN|>{{ Response }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|USER_TOKEN|>{{ User request }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|SYSTEM_TOKEN|>{{ Details }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>
<|START_OF_TURN_TOKEN|><|CHATBOT_TOKEN|>{{ Response }}<|END_OF_TURN_TOKEN|>

Type loops are likely what it has been trained to follow.