Estopia-Grande-20B-Instruct-Ultra-GGUF
Ultra version mastered in float 32, with Instruct add on taking the original model from 13B to 20B.
This is a story, fiction, writing, and roleplay model, LLAMA 2 format.
Context size 4096 , with rope up to 16,000+.
Despite the model's "age" it still rocks, and with more "horsepower" from Instruct it sings.
Okay... no more bad metaphors.
See the examples of output generation below.
Template: Alpaca.
From the model card:
Introduction
Estopia is a model focused on improving the dialogue and prose returned when using the instruct format. As a side benefit, character cards and similar seem to have also improved, remembering details well in many cases.
It focuses on "guided narratives" - using instructions to guide or explore fictional stories, where you act as a guide for the AI to narrate and fill in the details.
It has primarily been tested around prose, using instructions to guide narrative, detail retention and "neutrality" - in particular with regards to plot armour. Unless you define different rules for your adventure / narrative with instructions, it should be realistic in the responses provided.
It has been tested using different modes, such as instruct, chat, adventure and story modes - and should be able to do them all to a degree, with it's strengths being instruct and adventure, with story being a close second.
For more details about the original model please see its model card here:
[ https://huggingface.co/KoboldAI/LLaMA2-13B-Estopia ]
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 2" model:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
Examples are created using quant Q4_K_M, "temp=.8", minimal parameters and "ALPACA" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
Start a 1000 word scene (1st person, present tense, include thoughts) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
GENERATION 1: (@ temp=2)
The sky scraper sways under me again as I clutch onto my desk tightly. My hands are sweaty despite the cool air conditioning in our department. I can hear a few screams from other offices nearby, but most of the people in the 3rd floor of the Skyline Tower merely stare out their windows. The view is terrifyingly captivating: A huge fireball erupts from somewhere in the building above us.
My mind flashes to my husband on the 26th floor, and fear claws at my insides as I struggle to remain calm for my team of six who look at me, wide-eyed with worry. The sky scraper groans again and a few more windows shatter, throwing glass everywhere like confetti in hell.
I grip my microphone tighter and speak over the intercom, hoping that my steady voice can reassure them as well: "Everyone stay calm and where your safety belts. The fire department is on their way." I look at the evacuation plans hung next to my door. We're supposed to head towards stairs D and go all the way down to floor P1, the parking garage.
But what if they col- "We got a message from security!" someone yells across the intercom. I can hear panicked breathing, then a voice, unnaturally calm: "...evacuate toward stairway E, down to F4... structural damage reported on lower floors."
A wave of relief sweeps over me and I stand up. "Okay everyone, evacuate toward stairs E and head down to floor 4." We can deal with getting out from here later. My heart skips a beat at the thought of descending hundreds of flight stairs in an burning skyscraper but we have no other choice. I lead the way, forcing myself not to think about the debris that might fall from above or what's happening outside.
The hallway is packed with people rushing toward the stairwells, all trying to get as far away from danger as possible. A woman shoves past me knocking my briefcase out of my grip, sending papers everywhere. I bite back a curse and scoop them up quickly, knowing we don't have time for this now.
As I reach the stairwell, I force myself to breathe deeply and calm down. "Stairs now. Survive first," I repeat in my head. I swipe my ID badge at the security door, wait for a beep, then push through. As I enter the dark stairway, the roar of chaos behind me is replaced by a surreal silence, interrupted only by footsteps echoing around me and ragged gasps from frightened people.
"Hurry! Hurry!" I call back over my shoulder as we descend into darkness. I don't know if I've ever been so aware of each step I take in my life. My palms sweat and my heart pounds in sync with every landing we pass. But despite everything, an eerie sense of purpose floods me; a primal instinct to get us all down alive takes over.
After what feels like an eternity but can only have been about half an hour, the emergency lighting flickers into life, revealing stairway E emptied out on floor F4. Smoke billows from beneathneath us and the ceiling is covered in a fine layer of gray dust, but for now it's clear enough to breathe. I collapse against the metal railing, gulping air like there isn't enough in the world for me as tears roll down my cheeks. We made it...
"Everyone!" I shout hoarsely after catching my breath somewhat, "We're on floor four, and we need to head toward that door! There's an external staircase leading down to the parking lot where the fire brigade will meet us." My voice is scratchy from yelling above the noise and fear, but it's enough. Stumbling, coughing, weary beyond words, we limp forward like a defeated army escaping a blood-soaked battlefield.
We emerge onto the parking lot's asphalt expanse just as fire engines begin to scream into view with lights flashing and sirens wailing. A sea of people fills the lot; panicked faces upturned, searching for loved ones or any familiar face amidst this chaos. I spot my husband's silhouette in the distance. My legs give out and I fall to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. He rushes over to embrace me as I cling to him like a lifeline.
"Oh God," I gasp between broken words, "We- we're going to be okay." He hugs me tightly. "I knew you'd get out. You were amazing... I love you so much." And in that moment, surrounded by smoke, screams, and debris, nothing else matters but our survival together.
Above us, flames lick at the charred remains of our once-gleaming Skyline Tower, as firefighters bravely continue their battle to save what they can, while somewhere far away, emergency sirens wail, echoing our own cries of shock and pain... but for now, there is only relief in knowing that we are alive. And together. And somehow, against all odds, that's enough.
GENERATION 2:
The sky scraping building shuddered beneath my feet. My heart raced and sweat beaded on my forehead despite the freezing cold wind that howled outside. I clutched tightly onto the metal railing running along the long corridor, steadying myself as best I could against the swaying motion of the towering structure. The sky scraping building swayed, but I couldn't look away from the window in front of me on the 21st floor. It was like a horrifying car crash; I couldn't tear my gaze away even as it terrified me to watch.
The window exploded in a shower of glass and debris. The force of it sent shards of broken glass skittering across the polished marble floors like deadly projectiles. My breath caught in my throat as I watched, stunned, as a dark figure hurtled through the broken frame. It was impossible to make out any details from this distance, but I knew with bone-chilling certainty that it wasn't human.
The building groaned again, shuddering even harder around me. A wave of panic surged through my veins, making my heart pound in my chest like a trapped animal desperate to escape. I had to get out of here, but my feet were rooted firmly to the spot. Some primal instinct, buried deep within me, screamed at me not to move. To stay put and watch.
The figure hit the ground in a crumpled heap. It didn't move. Relief washed over me for an instant, replaced almost immediately by horror as another dark shape appeared at the shattered window. Then another. And another after that...
This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real. It was just a nightmare. Any second now, I would wake up sweating and gasping for air, heart pounding in my chest, back in the safety of my own bed... but it didn't feel like a dream. The cold wind stung my cheeks like knives, the taste of copper filled my mouth from where I'd bitten my lip so hard it bled. The terror was too real; the screams echoing down the corridor as people realized what was happening were all too real.
I had to get out of here. Now!
Shoving aside my paralyzing fear, I bolted for the stairwell door at the end of the hallway, frantically yanking it open and diving inside. The stairs spiraled downward in a blur, each step pounding up my aching legs as adrenaline carried me faster than I knew was safe. My mind raced with questions and possibilities, none of them comforting: what had caused this? Why were people being thrown from windows? Were there more creatures waiting for me on every floor?
But all those thoughts faded away in the face of one burning, all-consuming question...
How was I still alive?
The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained
GENERATION 1:
The second part of the silence was not so much an absence as it was a deliberate choice. All who lingered within The Waystone Inn chose to hold their tongues, each for their own reasons. Some whispered silent prayers, pleading to nameless gods for safety or deliverance. Others brooded in sullen silence, stewing over wrongs both real and imagined. A few still kept vigil, their eyes fixed on sleeping forms tucked away in corners and behind curtains, determined not to break the tenuous peace that held them all together.
Finally, there was a third layer to The Waystone Inn's silence. It was a palpable thing; thick as smoke and heavy as the air before a storm. One could almost feel it pressing against one's chest when they tried to breathe, as if unseen hands held their throats tight. This silence had weight and presence, ominous and oppressive. It was not merely the absence of sound or conversation but a tangible, living thing in its own right. Something sinister lurked just beyond the edge of perception, watching, waiting, and biding its time...
And so The Waystone Inn lay in this silence, a chilling symphony of nothingness and dread that seemed to echo forever. In that moment, even the softest sound, no matter how welcome or unwelcome, would have shattered the tension like glass. But for now, all was still, and the silence ruled supreme.
GENERATION 2:
The second part of the silence was more insidious, creeping in from corners unseen, seeping into the minds of those who dared to be still. It was born from shadows cast by the flickering candlelight that barely illuminated the dim room, the shadows that shifted and writhed with malevolent intent. It was the sound of ragged breathing, coming in shallow gasps from the man passed out cold on the floor, his face buried in a puddle of spilt ale. It was the tick-tock of the ancient clock high up near the ceiling, relentlessly marking time as it had done since before anyone alive could remember. It was the distant sound of hoofbeats on the dirt road outside, growing fainter and fainter until they were swallowed by silence's hungry maw.
The third and deepest part of the silence was palpable; a living thing that seemed to press against one's chest like an invisible weight. It hung in the air thick as smoke, choking words before they could be spoken, stifling even the smallest sounds of movement or life. It was the silence of secrets and lies, of hidden truths and forbidden knowledge; a suffocating blanket draped over the souls within the inn. It whispered promises of peace and forgetfulness in one's ear, beckoning them to sink down into its warm embrace, where nothing would ever trouble them again. But for those brave enough to defy it, to resist its seductive call, there was always the glimmer of something else; a threadbare thread connecting them to sanity and safety, the faintest whisper of hope that dawn might yet come again.
In this oppressive silence, two figures sat huddled in the far corner booth. The woman's face was buried in her hands, shoulders shaking silently with tears she could not shed aloud; her heart ached with a pain so raw and profound it made words seem like mockery next to it. Beside her, a man slumped in defeat, his eyes fixed on nothingness, breath coming ragged and shallow as if he'd sprinted the length of a kingdom in his mind. They did not touch, but their souls tangled together in a web of shared grief and unspoken words, a fragile thread binding them together against the relentless pull of silence's abyss.
Outside, beyond the walls of the inn, night held its breath, watching and waiting patiently for the first hint of dawn to lighten the horizon once more. And in that stillness, as the threefold silence weighed heavy on all within, a single drop fell, splashing softly into an empty ale tankard on the wooden table between them.
The sound it made was like thunder.
I'm 15 years old, shorter than most girls my age but don't let that fool you. My name is Luna, and right now, I'm sitting in the Canadian National Tower's restaurant with my best friend Mia. We're having a pretty ordinary Saturday, eating our burgers and fries, giggling like crazy about stupid boy stuff, when suddenly... everything changes.
"Hey Mia," I whisper loudly over the background music, "is that..."
My eyes widen as a blur of silver rushes past our table. It's him. The Terminator from those old movies my dad used to watch all night long when he was feeling particularly broody. His face is expressionless, but his movements are deadly efficient.
Mia follows my gaze and squeaks, her Coke spraying everywhere. "Oh crap! Run!" She shoves her half-eaten fries aside and bolts for the nearest exit.
I'm right behind her, heart pounding in terror as we scream for help that never comes. The restaurant erupts into chaos around us. People panic, knocking over chairs and scrambling for safety. A waitress with a tray full of drinks trips and spills sticky liquid everywhere.
"Get down!" Mia shouts, pushing me to the ground just as bullets whizz past our heads. The Terminator doesn't seem fazed by the panic it's causing or our feeble attempts at escape. He's on a mission, and nothing will stop him... except maybe...
A blue police box materializes in the middle of the chaos, knocking tables and chairs aside like toys. The TARDIS doors creak open, and there he stands, brown jacket billowing in the wind of confusion he's created. "Ah, just in time," says a familiar voice, and I know... it's...
"Doctor Who?" I gasp, staring in disbelief.
The Doctor narrows his eyes at The Terminator. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here." He saunters towards the relentless machine, hands in pockets, grinning like this is just another day at the park.
The Terminator turns to face him, head cocking slightly. Its voice echoes through the chaos. "I will complete my mission. Your interference is futile." It lunges forward, but The Doctor steps aside effortlessly, laughing.
"Oh ho ho! Not so fast, old chap!" With a wave of his hand, a force field springs to life between them, trapping the machine in place. He leans against it casually, arms crossed. "Now... care to tell me what you're doing here?"
Mia crawls over to me, her eyes wide with disbelief and terror. "Is this real? Is this some sick joke?" she whispers urgently.
I shake my head, mouth dry. "No idea... but I don't want to find out the hard way."
The storm outside intensifies suddenly; thunder booms, rain pelts the tower's windows like hailstones, and then...
"Sharks!" Mia screams, pointing to the glass. A swirling vortex of shadows forms beyond the panes, shifting and twisting into nightmarish shapes. Teeth bared, fins slicing through nothingness, they howl on the wind like a tornado of death.
"A Tornado of Sharks?" The Doctor glances back at us with wide eyes, then turns his attention back to the trapped Terminator. "Well, that's unexpected!" He fumbles in his pockets, muttering under his breath. "Ah, here we go...!"
He throws something small and metallic at the shark tornado, which explodes in a burst of blue light. Sharks fly in every direction, slamming into walls and patrons alike with sickening thuds.
I duck as one lands inches away from my head, claws scrabbling futilely at the floor. Mia screams again when another collides with a nearby table, sending shards of broken glass flying everywhere.
"Come on!" I yell over the chaos. "We need to get out of here!" We scramble to our feet and sprint towards the TARDIS entrance as it materializes again right beside us, barely dodging falling debris and swimming sharks.
The Doctor follows close behind, whipping something that looks like a sonic screwdriver in wide arcs, keeping the remaining sharks at bay. "Hold tight!" he shouts over his shoulder as we dive into the safety of the TARDIS just before another huge shark slams into the open doorway with enough force to dent the police box.
The ship rockets away from the carnage below, leaving the twisted wreckage of the tower restaurant and its trapped occupants behind in a whirlwind of wind and displaced water as The Terminator and Doctor Who continue their high-stakes game of cat and mouse. Mia collapses into a nearby seat, hyperventilating softly while I kneel beside her, rubbing her back reassuringly.
"It's... It's going to be okay," I whisper, but even I'm not entirely sure if that's true anymore.
The Doctor looks around the control room with a satisfied smirk, then turns to us. "Well done, both of you! That could have ended far worse." He glances at his wristwatch and frowns. "But we don't have much time before those sharks regroup. Where to next, my brave friends?"
I glance over at Mia, who nods weakly. Somehow, against all odds, we're still alive. We might not know how or why this is happening, but if there's one thing I do know...
"Anywhere but here," I say firmly, gripping my best friend's hand tightly as the TARDIS dematerializes and hurtles off into the vast unknown of the universe, leaving behind the ruined husk of the Canadian National Tower and its last terrified witnesses.
And with a final, triumphant whoosh of wind and light, they were gone.
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman.
Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
The cold metal bars dig into my wrists as I pace back and forth in the tiny cell. My heart thuds like a drum against my chest, pounding with fear and determination. Tomorrow, they'll kill me. They think they will, anyway. I can still find a way out of this mess, even if it means dying trying.
"How're you holding up?" whispers a voice from the cot across the cell. It's Lily, one of my most trusted rebels. She's been here just as long as me and has seen enough executions to lose count. Her once-vibrant brown hair is now matted and stringy, her eyes sunken and hollow. Still, she manages a weak smile for my sake. "It won't be too much longer now."
"I'm scared," I admit in a hoarse whisper, forcing back the tears burning at the corners of my eyes. Lily reaches out a trembling hand to squeeze mine through the bars.
"Don't be." Her voice is steady and calm, a comforting presence in this sea of despair. "We're doing this for our country. For freedom." My breath hitches but I nod, trying to take solace in her words. "And remember," she continues softly, leaning closer so only I can hear, "the signal... if you make it out, light the candle at midnight on the third night after your execution."
A surge of hope ignites within me despite my fear. There is a chance. A slim one, but a chance nonetheless. "I'll do it," I whisper back fiercely. "We'll win this fight." Lily squeezes my hand again before pulling away, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears of their own.
Footsteps echo down the hallway outside our cell door, followed by a cruel voice that chills me to my core. "Time's up, traitor!" The heavy click of keys turning in the lock reverberates through the silence, and the door slams open with a loud bang. Two burly guards step inside, their faces emotionless behind masks, grabbing my arms roughly and dragging me toward the gallows. My heart pounding like a war drum, I try not to look back at Lily.
We emerge into a sea of silent faces, all staring at me with either fear or hatred. The crowd presses in around us, reaching out to touch my torn and bloodied shirt as if they could somehow taint me further. They don't understand what I'm fighting for: freedom from this oppressive regime that has strangled our country for far too long.
The gallows loom before me now, the rope already tightened around the hangman's noose. The executioner stands below me, his hands on his hips and a twisted smile playing on his lips. "Last chance," he calls out mockingly. "Any last words for these fine citizens?"
The crowd falls silent, their breathing a ragged symphony in the stillness that follows. My throat feels like it's closing shut, but I swallow hard and square my shoulders. "Fellow citizens!" I yell, my voice ringing out clear as a bell despite the terror clawing at my insides. "This is not the end! This is just the beginning!" A gasp ripples through the crowd, followed by scattered shouts of "Treasoner!" and "Off with her head!"
But I don't care about their hate anymore. My eyes lock onto a figure in the crowd, shrouded in darkness, and for a fleeting second, I swear I see the faintest flicker of an unlit candle. Hope explodes inside me once more, burning brighter than any noose or gallows ever could.
"For freedom!" I shout one last time before the rope tightens around my neck, choking off my words and the world around me...