narrative_to_dagger / README.md
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tags:
  - datadreamer
  - datadreamer-0.28.0
  - synthetic
  - text-generation
base_model: LouisML/tinyllama_32k
widget:
  - text: >-
      Chapter Eight: Whisper of the Woods


      In a hidden nook of the forest just east of the lake, nestled amidst
      bushes and glowing flora, lay the Brush Den, a sanctuary created by fae
      hands with a deep reverence for nature's grandeur. The entrance, a portal
      of entwined twigs and leaves, beckoned the woodland creatures towards the
      heart of their heartwarming home.


      The den's interior was a union of organic contours and woodsy hues,
      remarkably crafted from the forest's generous bounty. Nature's workmanship
      was evident in chairs of intricately woven roots, as comfortable as they
      were alluring. A wooden table adorned with vibrant forest flowers
      showcased its glorious transformation under the diligent hands of the
      fairy folk. On one side, three petite beds made from an intermingling of
      grass and leaves lay upon the earthy floor. The ethereal light of a lone,
      dangling glowing flower illuminated the Brush Den, its radiance lending
      the room a feeling of tranquility.


      Among the exquisite furnishings, the indomitable spirit of the fae trio
      danced. Faelin, flush with nimble energy, twirled a small wooden knife in
      his hand as he talked animatedly about his adventures in the dense woods
      earlier that day, his sparkling green eyes a sparkling reflection of his
      love for their humble forest abode. 


      "There's a grove of fireflies near Ant Hill, glowing brighter than ever,"
      he announced, grinning widely, his palm lightly grazing the sturdy leaves
      of his armor.


      Seated across from him, Lila admired the soft petals of her dress, her
      mind getting lost in the sea of magical herbs she had discovered today.
      She was a quiet river, gentle and serene, her illuminating wings blending
      beautifully with the array of flowers on the table. 


      "Maybe we could use the light for growing these new herbs I found," she
      chimed in, her fingers brushing the surface of the intriguing flora that
      she'd placed on the table.


      Surveying the tableau before him, Renn was the subtle wind beneath their
      wings - silent, yet potent. His wisdom resonated in the place he now
      called home, a testament to his dedication towards protecting his clan. He
      leaned forward, studying the tattered map spread before him on the table.
      His fingers traced the paths marked across it, his mind rendering the
      invisible threats tangible.


      "It's important we stick together," he advised, glancing at the eager eyes
      of his companions, "Many parts of the forest remain uncharted territory.
      The Ant Hill up North, the Pine Tree Graveyard to the East, we need to
      tread cautiously."


      As the mood shifted from reminiscence to strategizing, their camaraderie
      sparkled like their humble glowing beacon. Their concerns echoed off the
      arched bushes, their resolve interlacing like the roots beneath them. They
      were born of the forest, part of its life-giving rhythm, destined to
      defend it from the imminent tempest.


      Their collective decision hung in the air, a pact sealed within the Brush
      Den's intimate sanctum. Each of them - Faelin with his innovative ideas,
      Lila with her tranquil wisdom, and Renn with his superior guidance -
      brought their strengths together for the love of their homeland.


      United, they stood stronger, the essence of their resolve intertwining
      with the faint glow of their radiant shelter, ready to hurdle any storm
      that dared to disrupt the pulse of their sacred forest. Their forest,
      their home.
    example_title: Example 1
  - text: >-
      The Ant Hill quivered under the relentless sun, sitting at the base of a
      towering pine tree like an ancient and fabled crypt. Forming large,
      complex tunnels and chambers, the hill was alive with activity. The red
      auburn dirt of their home riddled with the macabre mementos of mortality
      protruding from its mounds - bones of animals and even humans, inspiring
      awe and dread in equal measure. Despite being the scourge of the kingdom,
      from the hulking cattle to as grand as the baby elephants, an undeniable
      sense of savage magnificence hung in the air.


      Front and center of this buzzing superorganism was the Worker Ant. Her
      size equivalent to that of a rat, berobed in the dusted red of the soil
      from the ant hill. With tireless diligence, she ventured out to forage,
      her path lit by the shimmering tracery of pheromone trails. Her mandibles
      held a medium-sized green leaf piece and grains of sand, resources that
      would nourish and fortify the colony’s burgeoning hill. The colony always
      came first, its mandate threaded into every fibre of her being.


      Away from the feverish activity, in the colony's inner sanctum, the
      Sergeant Ant stood vigil. His exoskeleton was a grim carapace of battle
      scars, speaking sagas of dangers faced and battles won. Adjacent to him,
      the Ant Queen, the matriarch of this teeming civilization, was an
      awe-inspiring sight. Her monstrously-large, bloated abdomen glistened in
      the dim light, intricate patterns of growth adorning her segmented body.
      Protocol and respect demanded his approach with the decapitated head of an
      enemy ant in his mandible, a rich source of pride radiating from his form.


      "My queen," he began, his tone reflecting the steadfast loyalty he felt,
      "the enemy colonies prepare for another assault."


      Keenly aware of the menace her subjects faced, the queen regarded the
      Sergeant Ant, who was her first line of defence. He felt the pulse of her
      pheromone messages - a mix of urgency and reassurance. "We shall meet
      them, Sergeant. Our breed must advance. It's time for our new progeny to
      safeguard us," she replied. A crackling energy pervaded the chamber as
      though the hill was thrumming with the pulse of a thousand hearts - the
      beat of survival.


      Any conversation of the Ant Queen's brewing plans was disrupted when a cry
      echoed through the hilly corridors of the ant house. A Worker Ant lost her
      struggle with a predatory bird while procuring resources. Despite the
      everyday possibility of terror and death, the loss stung each ant - a
      collective pain.


      In the arduous aftermath, an atmosphere of impending change was cast upon
      the ant hill. The Ant Queen, although resolute, could not entirely obscure
      her brooding turmoil. Her royal pheromones, usually markers of her royal
      authority were subtly tinged with a scent of vulnerability. The
      inevitability of her ageing and the precarious balance between life and
      demise sent a shiver down the collective consciousness of the colony.


      However, amid this minor disquietude, the ant hill remained a beacon of
      unity and collective strength. The Worker Ant, steeled with duty and
      resolve, returned to her tasks - the loss adding to her resolve rather
      than diminishing it. The Sergeant Ant, her courage reinvigorated, pledged
      an unspoken vow to protect with all he had. The items and inhabitants of
      the great Ant Hill, from the large pine cone to the grains of sand, from
      the Ant Queen to the diligent workers, were each a testament to this
      legacy - the legacy of survival. The circle of life, of unity, and the
      inevitable change hovered around the ant hill in a silent, quintessential
      dance. The mystique and grandeur of Ant Hill were a testament to nature's
      undaunted spirit. There it stood - a cenotaph of relentless survival and
      collective ambition, chiseling a saga of life in the very heart of the
      wilderness.
    example_title: Example 2
  - text: >-
      The Pine Tree Graveyard, a bed of moss-covered tombstones and shadow-laden
      pine trees, lay shrouded in an oppressive silence. The entrance, choked
      with ancient tree trunks, opened onto a world swallowed by an eerie fog
      that appeared to quarantine the graveyard from the rest of the world. It
      was a dismal landscape, teeming with the stillness of the ritually
      returned and the whispers of the dead. Dead grass and creeping critters
      traced paths over the graves, silent guides to the passages carved in
      stone with names reclaimed by the ravages of time. No sunlight dared to
      pierce its canopy, further sharing in the crypt-like solitude. 


      From the hallowed silence emerged a figure, Gravedigger Agnes. Gaunt and
      time-worn, she trod the graveyard with a familiarity that balanced on
      reverence. A rusty shovel over her shoulder and a heart announced her
      unending search for the lost resting place of her heart's one true
      companion. A locket secured around her neck bore witness to their dwindled
      romance, locked in the faded semblance of their young selves. 


      From the veils of silence, there drifted another, a spectre swaddled in
      regret and tragedy. The ethereal figure of the nobleman, Bartolomeo,
      flickered amidst headstones haunting the graveyard. His trembling glow the
      only sorry solace in this enclave of desolation. Bartolomeo, in his
      cryptic existence only longed for escape, his mournful gaze looking for
      keys to this terrestrial shackle. 


      The graveyard played host to another enigma, Pine Maiden Lucia. Her
      piercing pine-green eyes sparkled against the grey palette, punctuation to
      the yard's dire desertedness. Her goals were to protect her aged wards,
      her determined efforts to sprout life where death reigned indisputable
      added an air of strangeness to this place of dread. 


      As Bartolomeo's mourning echoed amidst the tombstones, Agnes, sharing a
      fate no different, spoke gently of her perpetual search for her lost love.
      Lucia, contrary to the graveyard's narrative, suggested that perhaps
      infusing the graveyard with life, she could offer release to the lost
      souls. 


      The graveyard, with its haunting Ghostly Veil, the glow of the ghostly
      lantern and the gothic silence, played as a surrealist stage to this
      ensemble of characters. Their conversations, the teetering hope of
      redemption, and the shade of unexpressed grief brought alive countless
      tales hiding beneath the moss and grave dirt. The merging atmosphere and
      character arcs promised a thrilling saga, shrouded in dread and fear but
      tangled with hope and redemption. 


      The whispers of the desolation ebbed away, leaving the resonating echoes
      of their conversation threading like a requiem through the graveyard.
      Something, unfathomable yet emotional, had stirred in the quiet depths of
      Pine Tree Graveyard, and a tremor of anticipation crept down the marrow of
      every tombstone for the untold future that lay ahead.
    example_title: Example 3
pipeline_tag: text-generation

Model Card

Add more information here

Example Usage

from transformers import AutoModelForCausalLM, AutoTokenizer, pipeline

tokenizer = AutoTokenizer.from_pretrained('dagger-realms/narrative_to_dagger', revision=None) # Load tokenizer
tokenizer.padding_side = 'left'
model = AutoModelForCausalLM.from_pretrained('dagger-realms/narrative_to_dagger', revision=None) # Load model
pipe = pipeline('text-generation', model=model, tokenizer=tokenizer, pad_token_id=tokenizer.pad_token_id, return_full_text=False)

inputs = ['Chapter Eight: Whisper of the Woods\n\nIn a hidden nook of the forest just east of the lake, nestled amidst bushes and glowing flora, lay the Brush Den, a sanctuary created by fae hands with a deep reverence for nature\'s grandeur. The entrance, a portal of entwined twigs and leaves, beckoned the woodland creatures towards the heart of their heartwarming home.\n\nThe den\'s interior was a union of organic contours and woodsy hues, remarkably crafted from the forest\'s generous bounty. Nature\'s workmanship was evident in chairs of intricately woven roots, as comfortable as they were alluring. A wooden table adorned with vibrant forest flowers showcased its glorious transformation under the diligent hands of the fairy folk. On one side, three petite beds made from an intermingling of grass and leaves lay upon the earthy floor. The ethereal light of a lone, dangling glowing flower illuminated the Brush Den, its radiance lending the room a feeling of tranquility.\n\nAmong the exquisite furnishings, the indomitable spirit of the fae trio danced. Faelin, flush with nimble energy, twirled a small wooden knife in his hand as he talked animatedly about his adventures in the dense woods earlier that day, his sparkling green eyes a sparkling reflection of his love for their humble forest abode. \n\n"There\'s a grove of fireflies near Ant Hill, glowing brighter than ever," he announced, grinning widely, his palm lightly grazing the sturdy leaves of his armor.\n\nSeated across from him, Lila admired the soft petals of her dress, her mind getting lost in the sea of magical herbs she had discovered today. She was a quiet river, gentle and serene, her illuminating wings blending beautifully with the array of flowers on the table. \n\n"Maybe we could use the light for growing these new herbs I found," she chimed in, her fingers brushing the surface of the intriguing flora that she\'d placed on the table.\n\nSurveying the tableau before him, Renn was the subtle wind beneath their wings - silent, yet potent. His wisdom resonated in the place he now called home, a testament to his dedication towards protecting his clan. He leaned forward, studying the tattered map spread before him on the table. His fingers traced the paths marked across it, his mind rendering the invisible threats tangible.\n\n"It\'s important we stick together," he advised, glancing at the eager eyes of his companions, "Many parts of the forest remain uncharted territory. The Ant Hill up North, the Pine Tree Graveyard to the East, we need to tread cautiously."\n\nAs the mood shifted from reminiscence to strategizing, their camaraderie sparkled like their humble glowing beacon. Their concerns echoed off the arched bushes, their resolve interlacing like the roots beneath them. They were born of the forest, part of its life-giving rhythm, destined to defend it from the imminent tempest.\n\nTheir collective decision hung in the air, a pact sealed within the Brush Den\'s intimate sanctum. Each of them - Faelin with his innovative ideas, Lila with her tranquil wisdom, and Renn with his superior guidance - brought their strengths together for the love of their homeland.\n\nUnited, they stood stronger, the essence of their resolve intertwining with the faint glow of their radiant shelter, ready to hurdle any storm that dared to disrupt the pulse of their sacred forest. Their forest, their home.']
print(pipe(inputs, max_length=32768, do_sample=False))

This model was trained with a synthetic dataset with DataDreamer 🤖💤. The synthetic dataset card and model card can be found here. The training arguments can be found here.