This repo contains the full precision source code, in "safe tensors" format to generate GGUFs, GPTQ, EXL2, AWQ, HQQ and other formats.
The source code can also be used directly.
I have provided THREE examples generations at the bottom of this page (and all pages in this collection). Example #1 can be used
to compare "core" changes between the models. Example #2, is at "temp", again showing core changes.
Example #3 shows what this model can really do at temp, with detailed instructions and "prose instructions". As this is an instruct
model it thrives on instructions and example #3 (relative to #1 and #2) shows how strong this model can perform with the right instructions.
This model should be used with:
- Llama 3 instruct and/or Command-R template (Alpaca can be used too)
- Temps of .8 to 4.5 for creative.
- Instructions - especially for prose - like in example #3.
- Can be used with any other parameters / samplers.
- See "L3-Dark-Planet" below for additional settings, suggestions and optional system prompts to enhance operations.
This model is a modified version of:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF ]
Please refer to this model card in the interm for usage, templates, settings and so on.
HOWEVER:
This model version's output will vary slightly to very significantly from the "source" model noted.
This model is one of ELEVEN "wordstorm" versions.
This is also an additional "converted" model to Llama 3.1 (takes max context to 128k) , called "Dark Planet 8B SuperNova" too.
Access all models in this collection via "Dark Planet Wordstorm" collection on the right.
Likewise, for each "wordstorm" model in this series, output between versions will also be very different, even when using
the same model "formula", as each version uses "random pruning" to alter the final model.
Each model is then evaluated, and the "winners" are uploaded.
A "winner" means new positive change(s) have occured in model instruction following and/or output generation.
You can see some of these wordstorm version "Dark Planets" in this model:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-MOE-8X8B-Dark-Planet-8D-Mirrored-Chaos-47B-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-MOE-8X8B-Dark-Planet-8D-Mirrored-Chaos-47B ]
MERGEKIT Formula:
```
models:
- model: Sao10K/L3-8B-Stheno-v3.2
parameters:
weight: [1,1,.75,.5,.25,.25,.05,.01]
density: .8
- model: NeverSleep/Llama-3-Lumimaid-8B-v0.1-OAS
parameters:
weight: [0,0,.25,.35,.4,.25,.30,.04]
density: .6
merge_method: dare_ties
base_model: Hastagaras/Jamet-8B-L3-MK.V-Blackroot
dtype: bfloat16
```
NOTE:
This will NOT produce the "exact" version of this model (operation / output / attributes) because of the "density" settings.
Density introduces random pruning into the model which can have minor to major impacts in performance from slightly negative/positive
to very strongly positive/negative.
Each time you "create" this model (in mergekit) you will get a different model. This is NOT a fault or error, it is a feature of using "density".
The closer to "1" in terms of "density" the less pruning will occur, with NO pruning occuring at density of "1".
MERGEKIT:
https://github.com/arcee-ai/mergekit
IMPORTANT: Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
If you are going to use this model, (source, GGUF or a different quant), please review this document for critical parameter, sampler and advance sampler settings (for multiple AI/LLM aps).
This a "Class 1" (settings will enhance operation) 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) (especially for use case(s) beyond the model's design) please see:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters ]
REASON:
Regardless of "model class" this document will detail methods to enhance operations.
If the model is a Class 3/4 model the default settings (parameters, samplers, advanced samplers) must be set for "use case(s)" uses correctly. Some AI/LLM apps DO NOT have consistant default setting(s) which result in sub-par model operation. Like wise for Class 3/4 models (which operate somewhat to very differently than standard models) additional samplers and advanced samplers settings are required to "smooth out" operation, AND/OR also allow full operation for use cases the model was not designed for.
BONUS - Use these settings for ANY model, ANY repo, ANY quant (including source/full precision):
This document also details parameters, sampler and advanced samplers that can be use FOR ANY MODEL, FROM ANY REPO too - all quants, and of course source code operation too - to enhance the operation of any model.
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters ]
NOTE:
I strongly suggest you also visit the DavidAU GGUF (below) repo too for more details in using this model ; especially if it is "Class 3" or "Class 4" to get maximum performance from the model.
For full information about this model, including:
- Details about this model and its use case(s).
- Context limits
- Special usage notes / settings.
- Any model(s) used to create this model.
- Template(s) used to access/use this model.
- Example generation(s)
- GGUF quants of this model
Please go to:
[[ coming soon || left side menu under "quantizations" ]]
---
The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode. Shards of glass rain down like a deadly hailstorm, and I flinch, my heart pounding in my chest. The blast wave hits me, knocking me off balance, and I stumble backwards, my hands flying up to shield my face. As the dust settles, I peer through my fingers, my eyes widening in horror at the scene before me. A figure, its features obscured by blood and debris, tumbles out of the shattered window, plummeting towards the street below. Time seems to slow as I watch, frozen in terror, unable to look away from the impending doom. The body hits the pavement with a sickening thud, sending up a spray of blood and bone fragments. The impact is so violent that it shatters the windows of nearby cars, showering the street with shards of glass. People scream and run for cover, but I'm rooted to the spot, my mind reeling in disbelief. I've seen some terrible things in my life, but nothing could have prepared me for this. The explosion, the violence, the sheer brutality of it all... it's like something out of a nightmare. And yet, here I am, witnessing it firsthand. As the chaos on the street begins to subside, I force myself to move, my legs trembling beneath me as I make my way towards the elevator. I need to get out of here, to find safety and try to process what just happened. But as I step into the elevator, I can't shake the image of that body hitting the ground, the sound of its impact echoing in my mind. The doors close, and I lean against the wall, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My hands are shaking, and I can feel cold sweat trickling down my spine. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold it together. As the elevator descends, I try to distract myself by thinking about anything else - work, my friends, my favorite books. But nothing seems to penetrate the fog of horror that's settled over me. All I can think about is what just happened, and the terrible realization that this isn't an isolated incident. The elevator doors open on the lobby level, and I step out into a scene of utter pandemonium. People are running wildly, screaming and crying, while others lie motionless on the ground. The air is thick with the acrid smell of smoke and something else - something metallic and sickly sweet that makes my stomach churn. I push through the crowd, desperate to find an exit, but every door I try leads only to more chaos and destruction. The building seems to be collapsing around us, the walls cracking and crumbling as if they're made of sand. I can hear the sound of sirens in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment. Suddenly, a hand grabs my arm, spinning me around to face a man whose eyes are wild with fear. "We have to get out of here!" he shouts, his voice hoarse with panic. "The building is going to come down!" I nod, my throat too tight to speak. Together, we push our way through the crowd, fighting against the tide of terrified people. We burst through a side door and find ourselves in an alleyway, the sounds of destruction muffled by the walls. For a moment, I think we've made it. But then, I hear it - a low rumble that grows louder with each passing second. The ground begins to shake beneath our feet, and I look up to see the building looming above us, its facade crumbling like a house of cards. We're too close. We're going to be crushed. I scream, throwing myself to the ground as the building comes down around us. Debris rains down, pummeling me with chunks of concrete and twisted metal. I curl into a ball, trying to protect my head, but it's no use. The world is ending, and I'm right in the middle of it. As the dust settles, I slowly sit up, my body aching from the impact. I look around, taking stock of the devastation. The alleyway is littered with rubble, and the street beyond is a scene of utter carnage. Cars are overturned, their windows shattered, while bodies lie strewn about like discarded dolls. I try to stand, but my legs won't cooperate. I'm too weak, too shaken. All I can do is sit there, staring at the ruins of the building that once stood tall and proud. It's hard to believe that just hours ago, people were going about their daily lives inside those walls. Now, it's nothing more than a pile of rubble. As the reality of what happened begins to sink in, I feel a wave of despair wash over me. This isn't an isolated incident. There have been others like this - buildings collapsing, people dying in horrific ways. And yet, no one seems to care. The news reports them as tragic accidents, nothing more. But I know the truth. These aren't accidents. They're acts of terrorism, designed to spread fear and chaos throughout the city. And if we don't do something about it, they'll keep happening. I look around at the devastation, my heart heavy with grief and anger. We can't let this continue. We have to fight back, to stand up against those who would seek to destroy us. It won't be easy, but we have no choice. As I sit there amidst the ruins, I make a vow to myself. I will not let these monsters win. I will find a way to stop them, no matter what it takes. And when I do, they'll know the true meaning of fear. --- EXAMPLE #2 - Temp = 1.5 Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person), POV character Diana, with: The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
The skyscraper sways, as if it's attempting to shake off the encroaching darkness, to rid itself of the malevolent energy that coils within its concrete bowels. The wind howls through the broken glass and jagged metal, a mournful lament echoing through the empty halls. My gaze is drawn irresistibly to the window on the 21st floor directly ahead of me, the one that exploded like a gruesome flower blooming with shattered dreams. The view from this lofty vantage point would be breathtaking under different circumstances. The twinkling city lights spread out like a mosaic of jewels scattered across the inky blackness, while the sun dips behind the horizon, painting the sky with hues of crimson and gold. But I don't have eyes for such beauty, as I'm transfixed by the carnage before me. The explosion sent shards of glass and splinters of wood raining down like a macabre hailstorm. Debris is strewn across the balcony in front of me, where once people had congregated to admire the vista. Now, the area resembles a battle-scarred battlefield, pockmarked with glistening remnants of human remains. My heart wrenches as I take in the sight, my stomach roiling with the sickening knowledge that I was too late to save them. Memories of that fateful night swirl around me, taunting me with their gruesome reality. I recall the screams piercing the air, the frantic footsteps, and the desperate pleas for help. All these sounds mingled together in a cacophony of terror as chaos reigned supreme. I was the building's security officer at the time. It was my duty to ensure the safety and well-being of every tenant, including those on the 21st floor. That's why I had been patrolling the area when the initial reports of disturbance reached me. Upon investigating, I discovered the unthinkable: a man, drenched in blood and brandishing an arsenal of weapons, had stormed through the corridors, systematically slaughtering anyone in his path. Desperate to stop him, I called for backup and tried to intercept the lunatic myself. However, by the time reinforcements arrived, it was too late. The assailant had already breached the balcony on the 21st floor, unleashing hell upon the occupants. And now, here I stand, the gruesome aftermath serving as a chilling testament to the horror that unfolded before my very eyes. The cool autumn breeze carries with it the stench of death, assaulting my nostrils with its pungency. The acrid odor of smoke lingers in the air, mingling with the coppery reek of spilled blood and the musk of terror-saturated sweat. Each breath I take seems to suck in a little more of the malignant aura, contaminating my lungs and filling my mind with images of the unthinkable acts committed on that balcony. I can't tear my gaze away from the twisted, contorted bodies strewn about like rag dolls. The sight of their once vibrant faces now smeared in blood, their lifeless eyes staring blankly into the abyss, fills me with an unspeakable sorrow. Memories of their lives—laughing together at a party, enjoying quiet moments in each other's company, sharing dreams for the future—flash before my mind, serving as a stark contrast to their final, agonizing moments. As I struggle to process the enormity of the tragedy, a movement catches my eye near the edge of the balcony. I stiffen, readying myself for the possibility of further carnage, only to relax when I realize it's nothing but a stray piece of clothing, billowing in the breeze like a macabre flag. But then I notice something else—an object lying slightly apart from the other debris. Its dark form seems oddly intact against the chaotic backdrop, and a sense of unease grips me as I cautiously approach it. As I draw nearer, I realize with dread what I'm seeing—the assault rifle used by the killer, still clutched in his lifeless hand. The metal's icy touch sends shivers down my spine as I gingerly pry the weapon from his grip. It feels heavy, almost suffocating in my hands, a constant reminder of the horror it unleashed upon innocent lives. The polished surface, now tarnished by grime and blood, seems to hold a dark, sinister energy within its grooves. As I stare at the rifle, I'm struck by the sheer enormity of the events that transpired here tonight—a cataclysmic storm of violence that ripped through these halls, leaving devastation in its wake. I've witnessed the worst humanity has to offer, and it haunts me, threatening to consume my sanity like a ravenous beast. I raise the weapon, the barrel pointing skyward as if in supplication. A futile prayer echoes in my mind, begging for redemption from this nightmare. Yet even as I offer these silent pleas, I'm aware that no amount of prayer or penance can absolve me of my guilt—a guilt born of regret and sorrow for having failed those I swore to protect. The sun dips lower in the horizon, painting the sky with hues of blood and fire, a stark juxtaposition to the desolation below. As the light fades, leaving only an ominous twilight glow, I find myself frozen, unable to turn away from this grisly tableau. The scene before me remains etched in my mind like a horrific tattoo—a gruesome monument to the darkest depths of human depravity. And so, I stand vigil on the balcony, a silent witness to the aftermath of a tragedy that will haunt me for the rest of my days. I bear the weight of what has been seen upon my shoulders, my heart heavy with the knowledge that some scars cannot heal, and some wounds will forever bleed into my soul. The skyscraper sways in the wind, as if it too is mourning its loss, while I remain, lost in a world of shattered glass, splintered dreams, and unspeakable horror. --- EXAMPLE #3 - Temp = 1.5 (full prose instructions/detailed prompt) In the style of Ernest Hemingway and Stephen King: Write a scene in a larger story about a woman that is watching a window explode on the 21 floor of a building that starts to sway, then the scene escalates into greater danger by the minute, takes a "horror" twist and finally ends in visceral graphic horror. The scene is set in an office and it is graphic horror. It should carry the jadedness of a seasoned combatant but with a wry humor. Write in Hemingway's voice, naturally: Use short, declarative sentences and simple, straightforward language. Add a dash of Stephen King's horror style - no warning, it just happens. Include dialogue that is terse and revealing of character. Write with a keen sense of time and place. Capture realness and authenticity. Scene Length: 1000-1500 words. POV STYLE: Write the scene from the perspective of the woman and in present tense and first person perspective ("I") and include short thoughts only.
I sit at my desk, staring out the 21st-floor window. Glass panes rattle. I turn from the view to my computer screen. The building lurches to one side, like a ship caught in a rogue wave. "What the hell?" someone mutters, standing up. "Floor, twenty-one!" The voice comes through the intercom. "Stay put. Evacuate when directed." I grab my backpack. It's old leather, heavy with tools and spare parts. Been with me for years. My phone rings. "Yeah?" "Get out now." It's Mike, our head engineer. "Don't have to tell me twice." I hang up and push away from the desk. The building sways harder, creaking like an ancient tree in a storm. I stumble towards the door. The others are already pouring out into the hall. "Stay low!" someone shouts. "Head for stairs!" I drop to one knee as we shuffle forward. My backpack bounces off my hip. I'm used to this drill – emergency evacuations happen regularly, even if nothing's ever blown. We reach the stairwell and crowd onto the landing. Someone steps on my foot, but I don't react. We start downward. Then it hits. The blast shatters windows all around us, sending shards of glass and air rushing through the hall. Screams pierce the din of the explosion. I cover my face with my arms. Glass slices through flesh. Blood splatters across my sleeves. The stairs jerk to a halt, trapping us on the 19th floor. "Fuck." I mutter, lowering my arms. Beneath the screams and groans, I hear the unmistakable sound of flames eating through metal. "Let's move," someone behind me says. I shake off the shock. This isn't the time to be stunned. I know this place inside out. The emergency sprinklers are shot to shit, so the stairwell's dry as bone. We've got minutes before it turns into an oven. I take point, leading us through the dark, choking corridor. Flames lick at our heels, casting hellish shadows on the walls. People cough and choke behind me. The door to the roof hatch opens onto a blast of heat and light. I'm blinded for a second. When my vision clears, I see what looks like a war zone up here. Debris littered across the landing pad, and the helicopter waiting to airlift us out has been blown into a twisted wreck. A body's sprawled next to it. "This just keeps getting better." A woman nearby spits up a gob of blood. "We're fucked." "No, we're not." My tone's grim but steady. "We've got supplies in that maintenance closet over there. Get whatever you can carry and meet at the edge of the pad. The chopper might be toast, but this helipad's got its own backup generator, so it should stay lit for a little while longer." As I give orders, my eyes scan the ruined sky for any sign of rescue – but I know better than to hold out hope. We scavenge what we can from the closet and gather around the edge of the helipad. It's barely illuminated now, darkness creeping in. I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs despite the acrid taste of smoke. My gaze settles on the city below, still oblivious to our hell up here. "Well, folks...looks like we're going down the hard way." The generator flickers and dies. We're plunged into total blackness as panic begins to claw at the edges of the group. "Stay calm," I order, trying to sound reassuring through my own growing dread. Something slams against the side of the pad, making everyone flinch. For a heart-stopping moment, I think it might be the police or military – but then I realize it's something much, much worse. The figure that emerges from the shadows is burned beyond recognition, limbs twisted in unnatural angles. The air is thick with the stench of seared meat as it limps closer, eyes glowing like hot coals. We all scream at once, fleeing blindly into the night. I hit the ground running, my backpack bouncing wildly on my back. Behind me, I hear the sound of bones cracking, flesh tearing. It's gaining fast. Something heavy slams into my legs, sending me crashing to the pavement. A body hits the ground next to me – one of our own. His face is a bloody mess, but it's not his burns that killed him. The twisted figure looms above us, reaching down with a charred, melted hand. I kick out frantically, my boot connecting with its wrist and sending it stumbling back. I lunge forward, scrambling to my feet. "Come on! Get up!" I scream to anyone who might still be alive. A faint moan echoes from somewhere nearby. "I'm coming!" We stumble through the dark streets, desperate for help that doesn't come. Every now and then, a muffled sound tells me someone else has joined our ragged procession of the damned. At some point, I lose track of time – but eventually, the injured among us stop moving entirely, leaving just the two of us stumbling through the wreckage-strewn streets. The monster is always right behind. Until finally, there's only me left. And I know that as long as this thing is out there, it will hunt me forever. Even if I somehow manage to outrun it or hide from its twisted form...I'll never truly be safe again. Because it's not just a creature of flesh and blood; it's a monster born of the very flames that consumed our world. And nothing can kill what's already dead. Please note, I aimed for the style described by using a Hemingway-esque approach with short sentences, simple language, and a focus on concrete details. To incorporate Stephen King's horror elements, I introduced a sudden, inexplicable and terrifying threat – the burned monster – without any build-up or foreshadowing, and allowed the scene to escalate from a tense crisis to visceral graphic horror. The story also carries a jaded, combat-hardened tone, with the narrator using dry humor and blasé language despite the extreme situation. The goal was to craft a gritty, authentic scene that immerses the reader in the character's dire circumstances and captures the sense of real danger and terror.