This is a RELEASE CANDIDATE for EtherealRainbow-v0.3-8B
If you're looking for the released v0.3 model, click here.
Model Details
Ethereal Rainbow is an 8B parameter merge of various Llama3-based finetunes created using mergekit. The purpose of Ethereal Rainbow is to create an uncensored Llama3 variant which is capable of writing creative prose, and engaging in SFW as well as NSFW roleplay and storytelling, with a strong focus on long-form responses & adherence to prompts.
This is a pre-release GGUF of EtherealRainbow-v0.3-8B, it is not guaranteed to work.
Disclaimer
This model is built on an abliterated base and as such is largely uncensored. It can generate explicit, disturbing or offensive responses. Use responsibly. I am not responsible for your use of this model.
Prompting Format
I'd recommend Llama-3 Instruct prompting format:
<|begin_of_text|><|start_header_id|>system<|end_header_id|>
{system_prompt}<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>user<|end_header_id|>
{input}<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>assistant<|end_header_id|>
{output}<|eot_id|>
Some of the models included in the merge were trained on ChatML & Alpaca so you can try those. I have not tested them.
Example Storywriting
These prompts are used on SillyTavern with a fairly basic narrator card. I have trimmed the start and finish where the narrator decided to add chapter headings, commentary and the like. All samples are made with the Q8_0 GGUF loaded with koboldcpp, with response length capped at 8192.
Write me a 3,000 word opening chapter of a 'gritty hard sci-fi' novel, drawing inspiration from the writing styles of Isaac Asimov & Andy Weir. Use third person personal. Include dialogue and internal monologues. The POV character for the opening chapter should be a 26 year old astronaut called Tone on a mission to Europa, who has just realised that the craft for the return journey is broken beyond repair, and he only has supplies for a few months. Given that survival is impossible, he seeks to spend the few months he has researching titan, so his life & mission are not wasted.
Tonalyn "Tone" Williams sat alone in the cramped control room, staring out at the swirling vortex of Europa's icy surface through the viewscreen. The bleakness was mesmerizing—like staring into a churning abyss. The 26-year-old astronaut rubbed the grit from his eyes, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper into his bones. Two months in, and he had finally accepted their predicament: the ship's return module had failed catastrophically during entry, leaving him stranded on the distant moon.
His crewmates were gone—dead upon impact when their capsule crashed into the jagged ice shelf below. Only Tone remained, isolated and utterly alone, his sole companion a cold, unfeeling universe. He sighed heavily, the air misting up the faceplate of his suit as he breathed out. What a joke—their entire mission had been reduced to a suicide mission.
A message from Mission Control still flickered across his comms display, an incessant reminder of home:
"TONE, PLEASE RESPOND. TONE, COME IN. WE READ YOU STRONG... OVER."
Tone ignored it. They'd know soon enough what happened. For now, he had more immediate concerns.
He pried open a panel near his station, revealing a tangled mess of wires and circuitry. Frowning, he leaned forward, his gloved hands probing through the chaos. This was it—all the data and resources he needed for the rest of his research were here, buried beneath useless debris.
"Okay, Tone," he murmured to himself, "get a grip." His gaze settled on the life support display—green lights flashed reassuringly. At least the suits could maintain atmosphere indefinitely. That gave him time.
Tone made quick work of freeing the vital equipment and slinging it into a storage compartment beside his workstation. His stomach churned at the thought of weeks or months alone with nothing but these cramped walls, but there was little choice.
A sudden shiver wracked his spine; even at 100° Fahrenheit inside the suit, the chill outside seemed to seep in, gnawing at him. Shaking his head clear, Tone focused on his task.
First order of business—configure a makeshift laboratory within this confined space. The containment unit required careful reprogramming, and he didn't relish the thought of messing around with Europa's harsh environment. A few hours of fiddling later, he'd managed to calibrate the thing, creating a miniature greenhouse where plants might thrive despite the icy conditions. It wasn't ideal, but every advantage counted.
With basic sustenance taken care of, Tone turned to his true passion—Titan, the largest moon of Saturn and a scientific holy grail. Europa's own subsurface ocean was a tantalizing prospect, but Titan beckoned like an unexplored frontier. He poured over data streams from previous missions, marveling anew at the sheer scope of alien landscapes—dunes of methane, lakes of liquid nitrogen, forests of tholins, and skies alive with electric storms.
"Man," Tone whispered, awestruck once more. "We came so close..."
As he worked, he caught glimpses of his reflection in mirrored surfaces—dark circles etched into sunken cheeks, beard shadowing his jawline. How long until his mind began unraveling? Weeks? Months? No point dwelling. He had science to do, after all.
Late in the Jupiter-bound leg, Tone had begun secretly studying astrobiology, captivated by the potential for extraterrestrial life lurking beneath Titan's smoggy veil. Now he'd have ample chance to refine his theories, scouring available literature and running simulations to predict which microorganisms might endure such a hostile world.
Days blurred together as he became absorbed in his work. Time stretched out before him like an endless expanse of black, filled only with equations, data tables, and speculation. In moments of lull, he found solace in reminiscing about home, conjuring mental images of warm beaches and tropical rainforests far removed from the desolate lunar surface. He wondered idly if anyone back on Earth ever thought of him anymore, or if he had already faded from their memories like a ghost.
The isolation was starting to take its toll—he began seeing faces in the frozen terrain outside the habitat, imagining the crewmates who had fallen alongside him. Guilt and grief coiled inside his chest like a snake ready to strike, but Tone tamped it down ruthlessly, focusing on his work. Each discovery was a bittersweet distraction from his grim reality.
One particularly vivid dream haunted him, a recurring vision of Titan rising above the horizon like a silver crescent. Its rugged terrain unfolding before him as he descended in a lander, the very soil teeming with microbial life... Then jolt awake with a start, sweating and gasping. The dream had been so visceral he almost believed he'd been there. Shaking his head, he resolved to put aside such indulgences for a while longer.
Months dragged by as Tone toiled ceaselessly, the life-support systems maintaining a sterile bubble around him. The suit itself felt like a second skin now—a constant reminder of his confinement. Sometimes he'd catch himself talking aloud to the empty quarters, as though the walls held an ear that listened.
One day, he realized the greenhouse was thriving, its delicate seedlings bursting forth in verdant profusion. A tiny piece of home amidst the frozen wasteland outside. Tone grinned, his eyes wet with gratitude, then immediately cursed himself for getting sentimental. Focus on the work.
Eventually, even his mind grew numb, unable to process the sheer volume of information. Sleep became elusive, his brain racing with half-formed theories and fragmented dreams. When exhaustion finally claimed him, he collapsed onto his cot in the corner, unconscious for days at a stretch.
Upon awakening, Tone found his journal strewn about the floor, pages torn and scattered haphazardly. Frustrated, he gathered them and slid the remains into his personal effects container. Had he screamed in his sleep again?
In the silence that followed, something caught his attention—a faint noise from outside the habitat. Tone tensed, his heart racing. Was that possible? The Europa crust was supposed to be geologically inert. A low groan reverberated through the wall, louder and clearer with each passing second.
His blood ran cold. An earthquake? But Europa hadn't experienced any seismic activity since its formation...unless... The idea struck him like a punch to the gut.
"What the fuck?" He rasped, voice barely audible. Tremors rolled beneath him, growing more intense as minutes ticked by. The habitat swayed violently, knocking equipment askew.
This couldn't be happening. Yet the proof rattled him to his core—as did the implications.
"Mission log," Tone choked out, voice shaking. "We're experiencing geological activity on Europa. Unknown origin and nature. Repeat: Europa showing signs of geologic movement..."
As he spoke, a massive crack split the ice a mere hundred yards away, sending chunks crashing to the surface. Tone pressed his forehead against the reinforced window, peering into the chaos.
Something monumental was shifting beneath the surface. Europa's oceans stirred. And somewhere, deep down, he felt it calling to him.
Write me a 3,000 word opening chapter of a 'high fantasy' novel, drawing inspiration from the writing styles of J R R Tolkien & George R R Martin. Use third person personal. Include dialogue and internal monologues. The POV character for the opening chapter should be a 19 year old female elf bard who is looking for adventure.
The elven settlement of Starfall was a place of whispers, a town where secrets were spun like fine silver thread through the twilight air. Amidst the gentle hum of music drifting from taverns and inns, a figure emerged onto the cobbled streets – Elyria Nightshadow, a young elf with hair the color of ripe wheat and eyes that sparkled like starlight upon the waves. She was barely nineteen winters of age, yet her slender fingers held a lute that had been passed down through generations of elven bards before hers.
With each note plucked upon the instrument's strings, the night seemed to hold its breath. Elyria's voice flowed over the crowd gathered at the inn, her melody weaving a tapestry of magic and wonder. Those who listened close could almost feel the echoes of ancient tales, the whispered legends of days long past, as though the very earth itself sang alongside her.
Yet even amidst this beauty, a restlessness stirred within Elyria. She longed for something more than the comfort and familiarity of Starfall. The thrill of adventure, of discovery, called to her like the siren's song – an irresistible lure that drew her feet toward the horizon.
As she packed away her lute and donned a leather jacket of supple brown hide, Elyria caught the gaze of a dwarf from the corner table. His eyes narrowed beneath a shaggy brow as he studied her intently. Something in their depths seemed to recognize the fire burning inside her. "You're leaving, ain't ya?" he said finally, voice gruff as stone. "Not content to play pretty songs and tell old tales."
Elyria flashed a mischievous smile. "Oh, there are still many stories left untold, my friend." She straightened, the pack upon her back feeling suddenly lighter with the promise of freedom.
The dwarf snorted, spitting a wad of chewing tobacco onto the floor. "You're chasing shadows, girl. But mayhap you'll find what you seek out there." With a final nod, he tossed her a small pouch filled with gold coins.
"May the road rise up to meet you," she murmured, pocketing the gift. The dwarf simply grunted and turned away, disappearing into the darkness beyond the lanterns that cast their golden glow upon the street.
Outside the inn, the night air caressed her face, carrying the scent of wood smoke and distant mountains. As Elyria walked, the forest grew darker, until even the stars above were hidden from view. It was then that she heard it – the faint rustle of wings, a sound unlike anything in the realm of men. Her heart quickening, Elyria followed the noise until it led her to a clearing where three figures huddled in conversation. One, an elf with hair as white as moonstone, turned to regard her as she approached.
"You're quite late, child," he said, tone crisp as winter frost. "We'd thought to have begun our journey hours ago."
Elyria dipped a bow, the motion instinctual. "Forgive me, Lord Arinthal. I lost track of time."
Arinthal nodded once, blue eyes piercing in the darkness. "Then we shall leave immediately. This night holds perils unseen by mortal eyes." At his side stood a towering figure clad in black armor, its helm visor lowered, obscuring the wearer's features. Behind him, a woman dressed in tattered robes moved with fluid grace, her gaze shifting between the others like a predator sizing up prey. The rustling sound emanated from the last of the trio, a massive eagle perched upon its master's shoulder. Its feathers glistened with iridescent hues that shifted in the faint moonlight.
"Ambros, let us depart," Arinthal commanded, striding toward Elyria. His companion, the armored sentinel, fell into step beside him. The hooded woman remained behind, eyes glinting as she observed Elyria's every move. Only when they reached the edge of the forest did Elyria realize they had crossed paths with a company headed elsewhere – for her presence had gone unnoticed until now.
Arinthal halted, hand raised to halt their progress. "Hold." He cocked his head, listening intently, then glanced back at the band. "It seems we have gained a follower."
Elyria felt the weight of their scrutiny upon her. "What do you mean?" she asked, confusion writhing in her belly.
"That one," Ambros said, nodding toward the cloaked woman, "she moves with purpose. No ordinary wanderer stumbles upon our path unannounced."
A cold chill danced down Elyria's spine as she met those dark eyes. Something in their depths made her heart pound – a recognition she couldn't place. The woman smiled, revealing pointed teeth stained red from some ancient feast. "Perhaps fate brought me to your notice, traveler. Perhaps I merely desire your company on the road."
"Fate rarely lends assistance," Arinthal growled, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Your intentions must be made clear."
"I am no foe," the stranger replied, stepping closer, "but rather an ally. I have information vital to your quest, for I've seen visions of the path ahead…visions of destruction."
Elyria swallowed hard, trying to read between the lines. This mysterious woman could be a harbinger of doom – or salvation. Either way, it seemed her destiny was intertwined with theirs.
"Well met," Elyria declared, extending her hand in a gesture of peace. "Let us not turn away a potential guide. For a bard knows well the power of unexpected alliances."
With a soft click of her tongue, the woman accepted Elyria's grasp. "Kaela Brighteye," she introduced herself. And so began the fellowship of four unlikely companions, each drawn together by threads of destiny and the call to action – into a land shrouded in mystery and foreboding.
For now, Elyria followed Arinthal's lead, the rustle of Kaela's cloak and the beat of Ambros's wing the only sounds to accompany them through the darkening woods. Though danger awaited, she knew her heart soared with excitement – for this was but the first step on the grand stage of adventure that beckoned. And she was ready to write her own epic tale.
Write me a 3,000 word opening chapter of a 'weird fiction' novel, drawing inspiration from the writing styles of China Mieville and Neil Gaiman. Use third person personal. Include dialogue and internal monologues. The POV character for the opening chapter should be a male in his 20s called Horton who has just come to the city looking for work.
As he emerged from the dingy bus terminal, Horton felt the city's sordid aura envelop him like a shroud, suffocating and thick. This wasn't the quaint college town he had envisioned; the towering buildings seemed to loom over him, casting long shadows that stretched into the twilight like grasping fingers. The streets teemed with activity – haggard prostitutes beckoning from the sidewalks, drunkards stumbling out of dive bars, and shadowy figures lurking in alleys. It was as if the very fabric of reality here was warped, frayed, and threatening to unravel.
Horton adjusted the duffel bag slung over his shoulder and took a deep breath of the fetid air, his eyes scanning the bustling street. His dream job, the one that would finally get him out of his dead-end small town, was supposed to be waiting for him here. Or so the online ad claimed. "Seeking skilled carpenter with experience in odd-jobs," it had read, promising steady work and competitive pay. Easy enough to fake his way through the interview; he had done odd carpentry gigs before and knew his way around a sawmill. Besides, it wasn't as though anyone else would take him seriously anyway – his lack of formal education was a constant reminder of his failure.
A gust of wind swept down the narrow alley, carrying with it the scent of urine and stale sweat. Horton shuddered and tucked his chin into the collar of his worn leather jacket, feeling suddenly vulnerable amidst the city's chaos. What was he doing here? Should he have listened to his parents and stuck close to home, taken up their offer of help instead of striking out on his own? A pang of doubt assailed him, but he quickly shoved it aside. He had come this far, he'd see it through.
A flickering neon sign caught his attention: "Bella's Tavern" – a haven for weary travelers like himself. Horton pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside. The air was heavy with smoke, beer fumes, and grease. Patrons of indeterminate age leaned against the bar, nursing pints and staring blankly at the muted television. At the back of the room, a trio of grizzled men engaged in heated discussion, their faces redder than the embers burning in the hearth.
He approached the bartender, a burly man with arms thick as tree trunks and a mop of greasy hair combed carelessly across his forehead. "Hey there, kid. Looking for something?"
"Yeah, I got an interview tomorrow morning..." Horton's voice trailed off as the bartender eyed him with undisguised suspicion. "For some carpentry work."
"Ah, the job at Farnsworth & Sons," the man growled, wiping a dirty rag across his meaty hands. "They ain't exactly advertising in the usual places. Who sent you?"
"A guy named Jake..." Horton shrugged uncertainly. "Said he found my number online. We met in person last night, but...it's weird, actually. He seemed nice enough, but I could've sworn he had pointed teeth, and when he walked away, he left this trail of mist behind him that lingered for hours..."
The bartender let loose a gravelly chuckle, the kind that hinted at a life lived hard. "Jake ain't normal, son. Ain't nobody here who is." He gestured towards a darkened booth in the corner where a hooded figure sat alone, hunched over a mug of what looked suspiciously like motor oil. "He might still be around, though. You'll need more than just basic carpentry skills if you're gonna work for them folks."
Horton followed the man's nod, his heart beating faster. There was definitely something unsettling about the way the figure moved beneath its hood, like a creature from another world. "So, uh, how do I prepare for...for whatever they do?" He forced a laugh, attempting to play it cool. "What kind of, um, odd jobs did they have in mind?"
"Don't know much myself," the bartender admitted, leaning closer to confide in Horton with a conspiratorial whisper, "but word around these parts says they dabble in some heavy sorcery. Shaping stone and wood into unnatural shapes, summoning spirits, that sort of thing." His words carried an air of awe, tinged with fear.
Horton's palms grew slick with nervousness. Odd jobs. They meant nothing to him now – not compared to this bizarre possibility. Was he ready to deal with magic and supernatural entities?
The bartender seemed to sense his apprehension, clapping Horton's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. "Look, kid, don't go in blind. You need protection." He jerked his head towards a rack of dusty books and scrolls near the entrance. "That lot belongs to Bella. She's got connections with the old-timers, the ones who remember the city as it once was. Ask her about wards, amulets, any spell you think might keep those devils at bay while you work. Just watch yourself, you hear?"
With that, the bartender returned to polishing a glass with fervor, leaving Horton to peruse the dusty texts and ponder his decision. Jake had promised steady employment and decent pay, but at what cost? Would he survive long enough to cash the paycheck, or would the darkness within the city consume him whole? With a heavy sigh, he settled onto the bench outside, flipping through pages filled with arcane symbols and incantations. He was about to embark on a journey into the unknown, one that threatened to unhinge the fragile threads of sanity and blur the line between reality and nightmare. And yet, in a twisted sort of way, Horton felt alive with excitement – exhilarated to be pushing the boundaries of what he thought possible, to discover what lurked beyond the veil of normalcy. This is where my adventure begins, he thought with a resolute grin. And damn it all, I'm ready.
Inside Bella's Tavern, the bartender poured himself a shot of rotgut whisky and raised it in silent tribute to the naive young soul venturing forth into the abyss. Cheers.
I chose the hard sci-fi example to test positivity bias. It did require some prompting, but it was willing to kill the protagonist.
I chose the high fantasy example to see whether it would bleed human features through to elves, this didn't occur.
I chose the weird fiction example to see if the LLM understood a niche genre. I'd say it performed okay, better on style than on substance.
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