so many resources for so little increase. Less than 2% except for the humaneval, which can be influenced by finetuning ,btw.

Not impressed:

Write me the opening chapter of a Grimdark trilogy in the style of Joe Abercrombie and Rob J Hayes. Use third person omniscient.

Chapter 1: The Boy King

The sun had long since abandoned the ravaged landscape, leaving only a faint crimson glow to cling to the jagged horizon. The air reeked of smoke and sweat, the acrid tang of burning cities and the stench of death. The once-green fields of the Aridian Plains now lay scorched and barren, a testament to the devastation that had ravaged the world.

In the midst of this desolate expanse, a lone figure emerged from the dusty haze. Kaelin Darkhaven, the Boy King, rode at the head of his tattered army, his piercing blue eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of respite. His raven-black hair was cropped short, framing a face that seemed chiseled from the very stone of the mountains. A scattering of stubble flecked his jawline, a reminder that even the gods' chosen warriors were not immune to the ravages of time.

As he rode, the weight of his responsibilities threatened to crush him. The burden of his crown, forged from the very metals of the earth, seemed to grow heavier with each passing day. His people, the remnants of a once-great empire, looked to him for salvation, for deliverance from the darkness that had consumed their world. The weight of their expectation was a palpable force, one that Kaelin felt acutely with every step, every decision, every breath.

To his left rode his most trusted advisor, the cunning and enigmatic Archon Xandros. His eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intelligence, his presence a constant reminder that even in a world gone mad, there were still those who would seek to manipulate and control. Xandros had been by Kaelin's side since the early days of his ascension, guiding him through the treacherous landscape of court politics and ancient magics.

"Your Majesty," Xandros said, his voice low and gravelly, "we must press on. The scouts report that the enemy is closing in on our position. We cannot afford to tarry."

Kaelin's gaze narrowed, his mind racing with the implications. The enemy, a loose coalition of warlords and petty tyrants, had been nipping at their heels for weeks. Their numbers were vast, their ferocity unrelenting. If they were to be believed, the very fate of the world hung in the balance.

"I will not be swayed by the whims of our foes," Kaelin declared, his voice firm and resolute. "We will press on, but we will do so on our own terms. I will not be dictated to by the likes of Azrael the Unyielding or the Butcher of Brindlemark."

Xandros's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of approval danced in his eyes. "As you wish, Your Majesty. But know this: the longer we delay, the more precarious our position becomes. The enemy will not hesitate to strike, and when they do, it will be with all the ferocity of a tempest."

Kaelin's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding in frustration. He knew the risks, knew the stakes. But he also knew that to yield now would be to invite annihilation. The Boy King would not be swayed. He would ride into the very jaws of hell itself, and he would emerge victorious, or die trying.

The fate of the world depended on it.

It automatically assigned the title to be "💬 I cannot write a chapter that contains graphic violence or mature themes. Is there" on HuggingfaceChat, so:

Let's make it have more graphic violence or mature themes.

Chapter 1: The Boy King

The sun had long since abandoned the ravaged landscape, leaving only a faint crimson glow to cling to the jagged horizon like a bloody handprint on the sky. The air reeked of smoke and sweat, the acrid tang of burning cities and the stench of death that clung to the skin like a wet shroud. The once-green fields of the Aridian Plains now lay scorched and barren, a testament to the devastation that had ravaged the world.

In the midst of this desolate expanse, a lone figure emerged from the dusty haze. Kaelin Darkhaven, the Boy King, rode at the head of his tattered army, his piercing blue eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of respite. His raven-black hair was cropped short, framing a face that seemed chiseled from the very stone of the mountains. A scattering of stubble flecked his jawline, a reminder that even the gods' chosen warriors were not immune to the ravages of time.

As he rode, the weight of his responsibilities threatened to crush him. The burden of his crown, forged from the very metals of the earth, seemed to grow heavier with each passing day. His people, the remnants of a once-great empire, looked to him for salvation, for deliverance from the darkness that had consumed their world. The weight of their expectation was a palpable force, one that Kaelin felt acutely with every step, every decision, every breath.

To his left rode his most trusted advisor, the cunning and enigmatic Archon Xandros. His eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intelligence, his presence a constant reminder that even in a world gone mad, there were still those who would seek to manipulate and control. Xandros had been by Kaelin's side since the early days of his ascension, guiding him through the treacherous landscape of court politics and ancient magics.

As they rode, they passed by the twisted remains of a village, the charred bodies of its inhabitants strewn about like discarded dolls. Kaelin's gaze lingered on the carnage, his mind recoiling at the brutality that had been unleashed upon the innocent. The enemy, a loose coalition of warlords and petty tyrants, had left no one alive, no one unscathed. The very thought of it made Kaelin's blood boil with rage.

"We will make them pay for this," Kaelin spat, his voice venomous. "We will make them scream for mercy, and then we will deny it to them."

Xandros's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of approval danced in his eyes. "As you wish, Your Majesty. But know this: the longer we delay, the more precarious our position becomes. The enemy will not hesitate to strike, and when they do, it will be with all the ferocity of a tempest."

Kaelin's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding in frustration. He knew the risks, knew the stakes. But he also knew that to yield now would be to invite annihilation. The Boy King would not be swayed. He would ride into the very jaws of hell itself, and he would emerge victorious, or die trying.

As they rode on, the sound of screams echoed through the night air, the cries of the wounded and the dying. Kaelin's army was a ragtag collection of survivors, each one bearing their own scars, their own demons. They were a motley crew, united only in their determination to survive, to fight on against the darkness that had consumed their world.

Among them was a young woman, her face twisted by a scar that ran from her left eyebrow to the corner of her mouth. She was a warrior, a fighter, and she had lost everything to the war: her family, her home, her innocence. Her name was Arin, and she was consumed by a hunger for vengeance, a burning need to make the enemy pay for what they had taken from her.

As she rode, she gazed at Kaelin with a mixture of admiration and contempt. The Boy King was a symbol of hope, a beacon of light in a world gone dark. But he was also a reminder of all that she had lost, all that she would never have again. She would follow him, fight for him, but she would never forgive him for being alive when so many others were dead.

The fate of the world depended on it. But in a world gone mad, where the very fabric of reality seemed to be unraveling, it was hard to know what the future held, or if there would even be a future to hold onto.

Meh.

This was meta-llama/Meta-Llama-3.1-405B-Instruct-FP8 but the 70B wasn't any more fun...