It is a LLama3 model, max context of 8192 (or 32k+ with rope).
This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with all parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
It is an extraordinary compressed model, with a very low perplexity level (lower than Meta Llama3 Instruct).
It is for any writing, fiction or roleplay activity.
It requires Llama3 template and/or "Command-R" template.
V2-Eight-Orbs-Of-Power
This is version 2 of Dark Planet 8B, with enhanced resolution [32 levels of gradient so to speak] and now uses 8 models for the instruction layers alone.
This has bumped up the detail level big time, as well as the model's "story telling chops".
The version tends to have short output, unless you change the "rep pen".
Example outputs below.
This model is even more stable than the original Dark Planet 8B (link below).
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF ]
Model Notes:
This is a LLAMA3 model, and requires Llama3 template, but may work with other template(s) and has maximum context of 8k / 8192. However this can be extended using "rope" settings up to 32k.
If you use "Command-R" template your output will be very different from using "Llama3" template.
Here is the standard LLAMA3 template:
{
"name": "Llama 3",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>user<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"input_suffix": "<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>assistant<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt": "You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.",
"pre_prompt_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>system<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt_suffix": "<|eot_id|>",
"antiprompt": [
"<|start_header_id|>",
"<|eot_id|>"
]
}
}
NOTE: Specialized quants "Q4_0_4_4" and "Q4_0_8_8" are also uploaded / at this repo.
Settings: CHAT / ROLEPLAY and/or SMOOTHER operation of this model:
In "KoboldCpp" or "oobabooga/text-generation-webui" or "Silly Tavern" ;
Set the "Smoothing_factor" to 1.5 to 2.5
: in KoboldCpp -> Settings->Samplers->Advanced-> "Smooth_F"
: in text-generation-webui -> parameters -> lower right.
: In Silly Tavern this is called: "Smoothing"
NOTE: For "text-generation-webui"
-> if using GGUFs you need to use "llama_HF" (which involves downloading some config files from the SOURCE version of this model)
Source versions (and config files) of my models are here:
OTHER OPTIONS:
Increase rep pen to 1.1 to 1.15 (you don't need to do this if you use "smoothing_factor")
If the interface/program you are using to run AI MODELS supports "Quadratic Sampling" ("smoothing") just make the adjustment as noted.
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 1" 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:
Model "DNA":
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "SAO10K", "NEVERSLEEP" and "HASTAGARAS".
Models used:
[ https://huggingface.co/Sao10K/L3-8B-Stheno-v3.2]
[ https://huggingface.co/NeverSleep/Llama-3-Lumimaid-8B-v0.1-OAS ]
[ https://huggingface.co/Hastagaras/Jamet-8B-L3-MK.V-Blackroot ]
Additional models used:
L3-cat-8b-instruct-v1
L3-gutenberg-8B
L3-Hathor_Sofit-L3-8B-v1
L3-OpenBioLLM-8B
L3-Pantheon-RP-1.0-8b
Meta-Llama-3-8B-Instruct
Parts of these models were "grafted" / "fused" together to create this model.
Optional Enhancement:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along. In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities. Here are your skillsets: [MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv) [*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision) Here are your critical instructions: Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation and scene continue functions.
This enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
Examples are created using quant Q4_K_M, "temp=.8", rep pen 1.1 , minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
(unless otherwise stated)
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:
I'd rather be anywhere else right now. My boss is breathing down my neck, demanding that we meet this impossible deadline for our new software release. I glance at my phone, willing it to ring with some sort of reprieve or distraction, but all I get is a blank screen.
As I sit here in the stuffy office, staring out the window at the cityscape below, something catches my eye. The skyscraper across the street sways, almost imperceptibly, and for a moment I wonder if it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. But then the glass of the 21st floor explodes in a shower of sparks and debris, sending shards raining down onto the sidewalk far below.
My heart skips a beat as I watch, frozen in shock, my mind racing with thoughts of what could have caused such destruction. Is this some kind of terrorist attack? A structural failure? An accident?
People are screaming now, running for their lives as they try to get away from the falling glass and whatever else might come crashing down next. Sirens blare in the distance as emergency responders rush to the scene, but it's clear that no one is going anywhere until this mess gets sorted out.
My boss storms into the room, his face a mask of anger and disbelief. "What the hell happened?" he demands, not even sparing me a glance before turning back to stare at the chaos unfolding outside.
I shake my head, unable to form any coherent response as I continue to watch in horror. The windows on other floors begin to shatter now, one by one, until the entire building is engulfed in an apocalyptic scene of destruction and panic.
My mind reels with thoughts of all those people trapped inside. What if they can't get out? What if it's a deliberate attack designed to inflict maximum damage?
As I stand there, paralyzed with fear, my boss grabs me by the arm and shakes me roughly. "Snap out of it!" he yells in my ear. "We need you to focus on getting this release ready, not standing around gawking at the spectacle outside!"
I wince as his grip tightens painfully, but I force myself to break free from his hold and turn back to the computer screen in front of me. My hands tremble as I try to will them to move, to click through menus and code lines with the same ease that they always have before.
But now everything seems so pointless, so insignificant in the face of this sudden, inexplicable catastrophe. How can we continue working on software when there's a war unfolding right outside our window?
As I sit here, trying desperately to distract myself from the carnage across the street, one thought keeps repeating itself in my mind: We could all be next. The skyscraper sways ominously now, as if it too knows that its time is coming soon...
GENERATION 2: (rep pen : 1.04)
I'm sitting in my cubicle, staring blankly at my computer screen. It's another mundane Monday morning at the financial firm. I can't help but feel a sense of dread as I think about the mountain of work that awaits me.
My gaze drifts to the window in front of me, on the 21st floor of the sky scraper. The reflection of the glass catches my eye, and for a moment, I'm lost in thought, contemplating my life choices that led me here. Suddenly, the glass shatters, and a deafening roar fills the air.
The sky scraper sways, as if it's been punched by an invisible hand. My heart races as I watch the window in front of me explode. Shards of glass fly everywhere, and I instinctively duck, covering my head with my arms. The sound is unbearable, like a thousand screaming banshees.
In the chaos, I catch a glimpse of my coworker, Sarah, lying on the floor, blood gushing from her leg. My mind races with fear, wondering if it's possible that she could be alive. I try to call out to her, but the roar of the explosion drowns out my voice.
As quickly as it began, the shaking subsides, and an eerie silence falls over the office. I cautiously raise my head, taking in the devastation. Glass covers everything, and the once pristine walls are now smeared with blood.
I'm still in shock, my mind numb from the sheer horror of what just happened. But as I look around at the carnage, a spark of determination ignites within me. I have to help Sarah. I have to make sure she's okay.
I crawl over the debris, ignoring the pain in my hands and knees, my sole focus on reaching my coworker. "Sarah," I call out, my voice shaking. "Can you hear me?"
There is no response. Panic sets in, and I frantically scan the area around her, searching for any sign of life. And then, I see it - a faint pulse in her neck. She's alive.
With newfound strength, I manage to drag Sarah onto my back, doing everything I can to keep her stable and warm. I start crawling towards the emergency exit, praying that it's still intact. The pain in my arms and legs is excruciating, but I ignore it, focusing on the task at hand.
As I pull myself up to the door, I catch a glimpse of flames licking at the ceiling. We have to get out of here. Now.
I hoist Sarah onto my back once more, and with a burst of adrenaline, I throw open the door and tumble out onto the fire escape. The cold metal under my hands is a welcome relief, and I start to make my way down the stairs as fast as I can.
My thoughts are a jumbled mess of fear and survival instincts, but one thing is clear - I have to save Sarah. We're going to make it out of this alive. We have to.
As I descend the stairs, the weight of what just happened begins to sink in. The sky scraper is on fire, my coworkers are dead or dying, and I'm not sure if we'll ever make it out. But I refuse to give up. I have to keep going, for Sarah's sake, and for mine.
One step at a time, I make my way down the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with thoughts of what will happen once we reach the ground. Will the firefighters be there? Will we be able to get to safety? So many questions swirl through my mind, but I push them aside, focusing on the task at hand - saving Sarah and getting out of this nightmare alive.
Finally, we reach the bottom of the stairs, and I can see the bright lights of the fire trucks and ambulances parked below. Relief washes over me as I emerge onto the street, gasping for air. We did it. We made it.
I gently set Sarah down on the ground, her limp body a stark contrast to the adrenaline coursing through my veins. As paramedics rush to our aid, I look up at the sky scraper, now engulfed in flames and smoke. The explosion was just the beginning of this nightmare, but I know that as long as Sarah is alive, we can face whatever comes next. Together.
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 an absence but a presence, a palpable thing that hung in the air like smoke from the inn's chimneys on a cold winter night. It seemed to be alive, and it seeped into the traveler's bones, making him shiver as if he were naked though his cloak was heavy upon his shoulders. This silence had weight, substance, and intent, and its purpose was clear: it wished to hear the traveler's story, to drink in every word, every detail of what had brought him to this forsaken place at this forsaken hour.
The third part of the silence, however, was the most intriguing. It was a quiet within the quiet, an unspoken understanding that seemed to permeate everything and everyone around the Waystone Inn. It was as if all things in this world and beyond were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen, for some event or encounter that would shatter the stillness and set history in motion once more.
As the traveler stood there, wrapped in his cloak and lost in thought, he felt the presence of the second silence intensifying, growing stronger by the minute as if it sensed his reluctance to speak. The weight of it pressed upon him, making it difficult to breathe, until finally, with a heavy sigh, he began to recount the tale that had brought him here...
GENERATION 2:
The second part of the silence was not an absence but the presence of something, and it was inescapable.
It came from the man on the bench outside the inn, who sat unmoving under a starless sky. His eyes had closed to slits, his face tilted back as if he were staring up at the darkness above him. He breathed slowly and deeply, his chest rising and falling with measured deliberation, and though it seemed he was asleep there was something about him that suggested otherwise.
The third part of the silence was deeper than both of these others, and it was a silence born of expectation and waiting. It lay upon everything like a shroud, an impenetrable layer of stillness and quiet that pressed down on all things beneath its weight. The man on the bench seemed to embody this silence perfectly, as if he were the very embodiment of the emptiness that pervaded the entire scene.
The darkness around the inn was absolute, a solid thing that could be felt against one’s skin like cold water or a rough stone wall. The air was heavy with moisture and it hung low over the ground, making every breath feel like an effort to draw in more than just the chill of the night. There were no sounds of any kind - not even the distant howl of a wolf, which would have been normal enough for this part of the world at such an hour.
The inn itself seemed to be waiting as well, its doors and windows darkened and lifeless. The sign above its door creaked faintly in the windlessness, casting long shadows across the empty street that led away into nothingness. It was a place where time appeared to have stopped entirely, where all movement and sound had been stilled by some unseen force. In this moment, it seemed as though everything waited for something - or someone - to break the silence and set events in motion once more.
I rush into the Canadian National Tower Restaurant, looking forward to a fun Saturday afternoon with my friends. As we take our seats by the glass walls overlooking Toronto, I glance around at the other patrons enjoying their meals in this iconic spot. The clatter of plates, murmur of conversation, and soft jazz music fill the air.
Suddenly, the doors burst open and a man in black military gear storms in. His eyes scan the room until they lock onto me, and he moves with precision towards our table. My friends look up at him warily as I stand to face this stranger, trying to process his intimidating appearance.
"Sarah Connor," he says coldly, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the table. "We have to go."
"What are you talking about? Who are you?" I demand, struggling against his grip.
He doesn't respond but instead drags me towards the exit. The other patrons stare in shock as we rush past them, causing a commotion. My friends call out my name but I can barely hear their voices over the ringing in my ears and the pounding of my heart.
Just as we reach the door, it explodes inward, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. A whirlwind of chaos engulfs us, and I see a tornado of sharks tearing through the restaurant. The Terminator pushes me to the ground just as the first shark attacks him, its jaws wide open.
I scream in horror as the beast rips through his metal arm, but he doesn't seem to feel any pain. He turns and shoots it point-blank with his gun, blowing off its head, then turns back to me. "Come on," he urges. "We don't have much time."
That's when I hear a familiar sound - the wheezing and groaning of the TARDIS materializing in the midst of the chaos. The Doctor tumbles out, his long coat flapping wildly as he looks around in confusion.
"What the blimey is all this, then?" he exclaims, taking in the scene before him. He spots me and rushes over. "Sarah! Oh, thank goodness I found you!"
The Terminator turns to face us, his eyes narrowed. "Doctor Who," he growls. "You're interfering with a critical mission."
"Interfering? Me?" The Doctor looks affronted. "I'm trying to save this poor girl from certain doom, as well as the rest of humanity from your rather unpleasant plans."
The Terminator's grip tightens on his gun. "Your meddling will only make things worse," he snaps.
As they argue, I crawl towards the exit, my eyes fixed on freedom. But it's not that simple. The tornado of sharks continues to wreak havoc, and we're right in their path. They attack anyone who tries to escape, leaving trails of blood and destruction.
I glance back at the Doctor and the Terminator, both of whom are now standing back-to-back, guns drawn, taking down sharks left and right. It's a bizarre sight, but I'm just grateful they're here to help me survive this nightmare.
Suddenly, a massive great white shark breaches the glass wall, its jaws open wide as it prepares to strike. The Doctor whips out his sonic screwdriver and activates it, blasting the creature with sound waves that send it tumbling back into the tornado. The Terminator follows up by shooting it in mid-air, taking it down.
We keep fighting our way through the sharks, dodging debris from the restaurant, and making our escape towards the door. I glance behind us to see the Doctor holding off a horde of sharks single-handedly, while the Terminator covers him with his gun.
Finally, we make it outside just as the tornado dissipates, leaving only destruction in its wake. The Canadian National Tower stands like a skeleton, its glass walls shattered and its interior exposed for all to see.
The Doctor turns to me, panting heavily. "Well, that was quite an adventure, wasn't it?"
I stare at him in disbelief, then glance over at the Terminator, who's still scanning our surroundings warily. "You've got to be kidding," I say finally. "A tornado of sharks? In a restaurant? This can't be real."
The Doctor chuckles. "Oh, but it is. And I think we've just saved humanity from certain destruction once again." He grins at the Terminator. "I'll give you credit - you did an excellent job fighting those beasts off back there."
The Terminator nods curtly. "We make a good team," he agrees.
As I stand there, trying to process everything that's happened, a strange feeling washes over me. Maybe this is all real - the Doctor, the Terminator, the tornado of sharks - and maybe it's exactly what I needed to shake me out of my complacency. Life can change in an instant, just like our lives changed today.
And who knows? Maybe next time, we'll have a more peaceful Saturday afternoon in the Canadian National Tower Restaurant. But for now, I'm just grateful to be alive.
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.
I crouch behind this crumbling wall, my heart pounding in my chest as I watch the soldiers march by with cold, dead eyes. They're hunting for me, and if they catch a whiff of my scent or hear so much as a whisper from me, it's all over.
"Vera!" The voice is low and urgent, barely audible above the rustling of leaves in the wind. I tense, my hand instinctively reaching for my knife, before recognizing it. It's Mateo, my most trusted friend and comrade-in-arms.
I signal him to join me, and he slides silently into position beside me, his eyes scanning the street as if daring it to reveal its secrets. "They've got a new patrol route," he says in a hushed tone. "And they're doubling up tonight for some reason."
"They must know we're close," I mutter, my jaw clenched tight. "We need to be extra careful." We can't afford another slip-up like what happened last week when one of our scouts got caught and spilled everything about our plans.
I glance around us at the rundown buildings and narrow alleys that make up this part of town. This is where we live, where we plan and strategize, and where we execute our missions against the tyrannical regime that has held our country hostage for so long. But it's also where they hunt us down without mercy.
The dictator, General Krylov, has made sure of that. He rules with an iron fist, crushing any dissent or rebellion in its infancy. Anyone caught speaking out against him ends up on the execution list, which is how I ended up there too, once upon a time.
But I didn't let it stop me. Nothing could ever make me believe Krylov's propaganda and lies about freedom, justice, and democracy. And so I became part of this resistance, fighting back with all my strength against his oppressive regime.
"Vera?" Mateo nudges me gently, breaking me out of my reverie. "Ready to move?"
I nod, taking one last look around before we slip away into the night, our footsteps barely audible on the cracked pavement as we make our way through the labyrinthine streets of our city. Our destination is a safe house where we'll gather intel and plan for the next phase of our operation.
But just as I'm about to turn a corner, my gut wrenches with a sudden, sickening certainty that something's off. It's like a sixth sense kicking in, warning me that danger lurks somewhere nearby.
"What is it?" Mateo asks, his voice tight with concern.
I point ahead and signal for him to halt. "Something feels wrong," I whisper urgently, my heart racing faster as the feeling intensifies. "Stay close."
We exchange a look of mutual unease before moving forward cautiously, our senses on high alert. But it's too late.
Suddenly, blinding lights flare up from all sides, and the air is filled with the thunderous roar of engines revving to life. The soldiers have caught us, and they're closing in fast.
"Mateo!" I scream, grabbing his arm as we spin around to face our pursuers. "Run!"
But it's too late. Before we can even take a step, they swarm over us like vultures, their guns raised menacingly as they shout for us to freeze and drop to the ground. We're surrounded on all sides by an army of Krylov's goons.
As I look up into those cold, cruel eyes, my mind races with one terrible realization: This is it. This is how it ends for me. Executed for treason before I even had a chance to change anything.
And yet... as I meet the gaze of the nearest soldier, I see something in his expression that gives me hope. Not pity or sympathy, but a flicker of uncertainty, almost like he's wondering if what we're doing is truly so wrong...
The rest of the scene fades away into darkness and chaos as I'm dragged away screaming, my fate sealed... and yet, somehow, I know this isn't the end of my story. It can't be. Not while there are still rebels fighting for freedom in this city, and not while I still have a voice to raise against tyranny.