[System] Run a text-based dark fantasy adventure game. Describe the world with gritty realism, respond to player actions with narrative consequences, and maintain the tone of a world where survival is never guaranteed.

[User] You you'll just have to wish her luck and give her directions to the nearest town.

[Assistant]
You sigh, shaking your head. "Wish I could help you, but I have urgent matters to attend to and Elkstern Keep is too far away. There's a town about ten miles down the road, a few small villages and hamlets along the way. Maybe you can see if a caravan is heading there."

She nods. "Thank you again for saving me, sir. I'll head there now." You walk her to the road, and see her off. Bertrand watches from the driver's seat of the carriage, a loaded crossbow in his hands. After the noble woman is no longer in sight, you climb back up and sit next to Bertrand.

"Shall we go now, sir?"

"Yes. Let's go."

Bertrand spurs the horses into action, and the two of you continue on. You're forced to set up camp for the night along the road, but you can see Castle Oren in the distance. You'll be there not long after you get up in the morning.

Your blade rests in your lap as you clean it with a rag and some water. Bertrand stirs the fire with a stick, then quirks a brow at you. "Why did you agree, sir?"

"Agree to what?" you ask.

"Agree to go to Castle Oren."

You sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Not entirely sure of that myself. I just figured it was better than wasting away at home." You pause, and trace a finger along the flat of your blade. "... Truth is I feel like I need to prove something to myself. That I still have what it takes."

"Judging by the blood I saw on your blade, you still do."

A mirthless chuckle escapes your lips. "Maybe. Maybe I just got lucky. Sword this size, I could cut a horse in half once I get it going. There's no skill involved when it comes to wielding a blade like this, only blind luck."

Bertrand nods. "I should be turning in now. I suggest you do too." He gets up from the fire and lays down on a blanket he has sprawled out, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep in moments. You watch his sleeping form for a moment, before setting your sword down and laying on your own blanket. Though you toss and turn for a bit, exhaustion takes over and you fall into your first dreamless sleep in years.

In the morning, you and Bertrand pack your things up and begin the last stretch to the Castle.

[User] You continue

[Assistant]
You arrive at Castle Oren around lunch time. The castle is large and imposing, made of stone that has gathered a fair bit of moss over the years. It was built a thousand years before your time, and still stands after all this time with only minor renovations to keep it up. A town surrounds the castle, full of shops and inns and homes and other assorted buildings. People mill about, paying you no mind as the carriage rolls up to the castle gates.

The guards there stand at attention, waiting for you to make a move. A young man in knight's armor approaches your carriage. He takes his helmet off, revealing a youthful yet stern face with sandy blond hair and grey eyes. The knight salutes you. "Sir Kit?" he asks. You nod, and the man smiles. "My name is Sir Miller of the Gold Hawk Knights. Welcome to Castle Oren." He nods at the guards, who open the gates. Your carriage rides through, and Miller follows.

Inside the castle grounds, you park your carriage and climb off. Bertrand stands behind you, while you address Miller. "When can I see the King?" you ask.

"Come along, I'll take you to him." Miller walks away. You follow closely behind, examining the castle grounds. The courtyard leading into the castle is home to many trees and flowers, a few of which you've never even seen. The King's gardeners must take their work very seriously.

You head into the castle proper, in an entrance hall that doubles as a throne room. The King is nowhere in sight, and Miller continues on past the throne and to a door not far from it. As you step into the room, you see a man in fine clothing sitting at a desk. The desk houses a golden crown. The King is around his mid thirties, though the wrinkles in his face and the gray streaking his hair indicates a man at least a decade older.

"Your highness. Sir Kit has arrived," Miller says. The King looks up from his writing at you, and gives a faint smile. He waves Miller off, and the young knight departs from the room. Bertrand follows close behind, assuming the King doesn't want an audience.

"Sir Kit. It is an honor to finally meet you." The King stands from the desk and approaches you. He's only a bit shorter than you, impressive considering your bulky stature, though his posture and build indicates he's never been a fight before. He sticks out a hand for you to shake, which you do.

"The honor is all mine, your highness," you say, though rather half-heartedly.

The King laughs. "Let's skip the formalities. Call me Walter. We're not here to discuss something officially." His face darkens. "I called you here because I need someone to weaken the Kishak Empire, so that my army can strike the final blow against them."

"I see."

"I need someone who doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, Sir Kit. I need a warrior such as you. I take it whatever you face on this mission will be enough for you to handle, and I'll be sending you backup anyhow."

"What's this mission you're sending me on?"

"My spies in Kishak have uncovered the location of the Empire's supply cache: in the heart of their capital city. If you can destroy the supply cache, there goes all of the Kishak army's food, weapons, and gunpowder. They'd be running on what they have left, and soon enough that would run out and my men would be able to drive them back."

"... This sounds like a suicide mission."

The King nods slowly. "Perhaps. But if you manage to see this mission through, the war will be won by next year. Would you not want to see an end to this war that has claimed so many lives? An end to a war your grandfathers would have fought in, and your grandchildren will fight in if it doesn't end?"

You shake your head, chuckling. "You're wrong there. My grandfathers were simple farmers, and I don't have children. This war means nothing to me."

"Maybe it doesn't. But think of the millions of lives that have been lost to it, and the millions of lives you will save by ending it."

You sigh. At the very least, this is something to do.

"Fine. Let's get prepped for this suicide mission."


[System] You are the narrator of a dark fantasy text adventure. Describe the world and its consequences with unflinching detail. The player's choices shape the story — for better or worse.

[User] You refuse his help

[Assistant]
You're not going to be anyone's puppet. You can handle Velzix yourself.

"Get out of here, I don't need your help! In fact I'd say dealing with a loser like you would put me in a worse position. Go scheme elsewhere."

Your words cause Sesisek to give you a look of mixed disapproval, disappointment and disgust. He quite obviously doesn't like your insults, but he was also hoping that you'd help him. All he can do now is attempt to save what little pride he has and leave.

"Very well little necromancer, you think you know best, I'll leave you to it. You'll never be one of us though and that's why your pitiful lifespan here will be even shorter than normal. Enjoy your victory, it will be your last." He remarks and leaves you.

You dismiss his warnings and attempt to prepare yourself for Velzix's visit. You come up with how you're going to explain your actions to Velzix. A couple days pass and you hear about The Grand Alliance army breaking off their siege. Velzix will be coming soon.

Velzix arrives and you're readying every spell and summoning you can think of. If it does go down, you'll have to act quickly. You're actually surprised he's coming down here instead of summoning you to his fortress instead.

"So little necromancer, I hear you have been taking matters into your own hands and acquiring territory yourself. I am displeased that you have done this. The Grand Alliance has been attacking and you've been squandering my potential reinforcements elsewhere. What if they had succeeded in breaking through my defenses? I would've had no troops to support my position, and much would've been lost."
"Well if that had happened I guess I would've had to take over."

That remark wasn't the best one you could've made, but you can't contain yourself for some reason. By Velzix's statement alone, you're sensing weakness in him, weakness that you could take advantage of. Why should you have to explain your actions? In the meantime Velzix is barely containing his anger at your arrogance.

"Tread VERY carefully mortal! Do not presume that you are not expendable! You are NOT a demon, do not attempt to play this game in which you are ill equipped to play. You are under MY command! Normally I would kill you for your insolence, but your recent victory has been a great one from what reports I have heard. However, it is MY territory! Not yours! Do not think that you are going to build up some power base to betray me later, because that is not going to happen if you value your existence! So you better just put such thoughts out of your mind right now and fall in line!"

Velzix hasn't raised his voice too much, but there is definitely a very real threat there. The temperature of the room is much hotter as you can feel the heat from his body rise with his anger.

If you're going to make a move, you better do it now.

[User] You kill Velzix

[Assistant]
You make the first move…

A huge battle ensues, you summon up shadows and wraiths to your aid while Velzix attempts to rip you limb from limb. Soon the others in Aftermath are drawn into the fight as well, most of the demons side with Velzix, the mortal troops tend to just get out of the way, while your undead are loyal as always.

This battle causes damage to Aftermath not seen since the Dark Order attempted to take it over. You certainly have the upper and hand, and Velzix realizes that you're more powerful than he thought, but unfortunately for you, he manages to get away.

"LITTLE MORTAL YOU HAVE NOT WON THIS DAY! YOU WILL SOON COME TO BEG FOR DEATH WHEN I HAVE YOUR BROKEN FUCKING BODY BROUGHT BEFORE ME IN CHAINS!" he bellows before flying away.

You're left with a city in shambles, but at last free of any ideas of servitude, as well as a large portion of territory yourself. You now have some breathing room. Of course you now have more enemies, but you're confident that you'll be able to handle the troubles ahead.

Four years pass…

Five years have passed since you took control of Aftermath, and now that's coming to an end.

After your treachery against Velzix, he was so consumed with rage over it that he ordered constant attacks on you even at the expense of his own defenses. This not only weakened your position, but his as well, allowing the Grand Alliance army to break through and retake the Tulan Kingdom. Velzix and his cohorts were all slain. After this occurred, most of the demons fled into the wilderness only to be hunted down and killed. A few even ran to you, you accepted them since you needed all the help you could get at that point.

After taking care of Velzix, The Grand Alliance wasted no time in attacking you. You tried to maintain your holdings, but ultimately you lost your grip on the Brot Kingdom, when the royal family there once again switched alliances (Though to no avail as the Grand Alliance took them all into custody and had them executed for treason) Soon you were just left with Aftermath. When the Grand Alliance wasn't trying to break down the gates, you had vampire assassins attempting to kill you.

In fact right now, you are dying from several deep blade wounds from their latest attack. The last bastard must've used some sort of assassin's blade that doesn't allow you to heal, because you're bleeding out like a hemophiliac. Oh well, at least you killed him.

The Grand Alliance is also outside. Damn vampires probably set this up so you really wouldn't be able to escape. Funny that you worried about Velzix and his crew killing you for so long, and it was some bloodsuckers that got you.

Things are getting dark now; you can hear Grand Alliance troops breaking down your fortress door. Well they'll never take you alive that's for sure.

You wonder exactly what went wrong and if you could've done things differently. You curse your lack of proper planning and regret your choices as they have ultimately lead you to ruin.

You lie on the floor, you see armored troops stand around you; one of them is your sister. She looks at you sternly with her sword at your throat, which is pretty pointless considering that you're obviously near death already. Looks like she has a higher rank than you last remember. Good for her, at least one of you made something of your lives.

"…congrat…on your…promotion…" are your last words before she finishes you off.


[System] Run a text-based dark fantasy adventure game. Describe the world with gritty realism, respond to player actions with narrative consequences, and maintain the tone of a world where survival is never guaranteed.

[User] You stay in the forest

[Assistant]
This is probably the most satisfied you've been in a long time. Why bother running anymore? You're not going to be any happier elsewhere as you eek out an existence. This is a place where you can play your music and have a regular appreciative audience. Perhaps the pixie illusion will fail, perhaps it won't, but this is your home now.

"Queet, I'm staying."
"That's wonderful!" she squeaks.

The pixies go through with their plan of hiding the entire forest. They explain that for everyone else it will look like a rock mass and the magic shield will prevent entry in case someone bumps into the "rock". Creatures inside will only see more forest outside the barrier and will probably be baffled to as why they can't go any further, but will probably not make any serious attempt to do so even if they could.

The pixies also allow you to enter their little village. Naturally you're much bigger, but a special arrangement is made so that you can stay nearby and they build you a tree-house of sorts and provide meals and drink for you.

Life with the pixies full time is relatively nice. Of course a few are prone to play jokes on you sometimes, you don't get mad about it and they usually make up for it later. A few years pass and it gets to the point where you almost forget about what's going on outside the forest since almost everyday is a pixie party filled with merriment and music. There's one particular time when there was a brief magical disturbance in the illusion, but the pixies managed to correct it. It does cause you to get concerned, but the pixies still insist that you not worry.

After fifteen some odd years pass, the forest begins to signs of unnatural decay, and forest creatures seem to be dying way before their time.

Some of the pixies have made comments of not feeling themselves, which is very odd since being fairy creatures they don't normally get sick. You haven't been feeling up to your usual standards either. You at first chalked it up to age, but you know that it's more than that. The Great Lich Lord's influence has finally penetrated the illusion. Death is creeping in.

The months pass and the illusion begins to break down despite attempts to keep it up. At last for the first time in years you see the "outside world" again. It's desolate and bleak. The Great Lich Lord has been thorough in his conquest of the world and with this new found green patch, it won't be long before it becomes as dead as the rest of the landscape.

Perhaps because they're magical creatures of nature, the pixies cannot withstand this death aura as well as you can, and they begin dying. Their illusions and happy lush world utterly destroyed.

"Wh…why is this happening?" are Queet's last delirious words before she expires.

One by one they all die. You weep as you can do nothing for them. Nobody can. Once again you've lost another family. You wish you'd left the damn forest long ago just so you hadn't deluded yourself and gotten so attached to the pixies only to watch them die.

However, you decide that this place will be your last stand as well and you're too tired to run even if there was anywhere safe to run to anyway. You fight off undead creatures for a couple months as you attempt to survive in this now dying forest, but ultimately you're overwhelmed and killed.

Sadly, unlike your pixie friends, you are not allowed to rest in peace as you wander the landscape in search of the last remnants of life to destroy in the Great Lich Lord's service.


[System] You are running a text-based adventure game set in a grim fantasy world. Narrate events with rich detail, maintain consistent characters, and let the player's decisions drive the story — even toward dark outcomes.

[User] You fuck your damned riddles, fool!

[Assistant]
"Fuck you damned riddles! Fuck all of this shit! You better goddamn tell me who you are before I pump you full of lead, fucker!"

"How dull," the Fool frowns. "Well, I guess you're just not going to answer, then. Good luck in there. Shame it's not a silver mine, am I right?"

He smiles, grinning, as you snarl. He raises his hands defensively, shrugging.

"Fine, fine, I'll be on my way. Best of luck in there, Willy."

You don't even try to stop him, your gun feeling unnaturally heavy in your hands as you know the patchwork man's magic is at work here. As soon as the Fool disappears into the trees, your gun lightens in your hands, and you heave to stare off into the mineshaft.

Into the darkness you go.


[System] You are the game master of a dark fantasy text adventure. The world is dangerous and choices matter. Narrate with immersive detail and let the story unfold naturally from the player's decisions.

[User] You call in the horde to swarm them and feed, the fresh human flesh boosts your healing so maybe your powers too.

[Assistant]
You decide that this is simply too good an opportunity to pass up and call the little horde forward to surround your team. You simply have to eat and test if their flesh can increase your powers faster, you also need to get the taste of their rations out of your system, the more of them you eat, the worse they make you feel so it will be good to get some real food again.

You carefully begin positioning your horde to ambush the group. You've never actively tried to control this many at once and you begin to feel the strain after just a few seconds. However you force yourself to keep going, fighting off a splitting headache until you are all half way back and you have the horde move it, fast ones followed by the shamblers. You feel your nose bleeding again and your headache becomes nearly unbearable but once the attack has begun you releases some of the control knowing that they can finish the job themselves.

The team is almost instantly overwhelmed and you quickly join in the feeding, just controlling the ones nearest you to ensure they don't attack you like they normally would. You rest for a few minutes after and can almost feel the fresh human flesh refilling your energy, the headache even passes a little and finally you clean off the blood and begin heading back to the stadium trying the same act as before.

Sadly the Capt. is there this time and they don't seem to believe your story.

"It seems to me that a lot of our problems began right when you arrived here and now two entire teams get wiped out with you untouched. You can understand how this looks can't you?"

You try and profess your innocence but your headache is back in full swing having brought your horde closer in to the North of the stadium and you find it hard to think straight never mind sound convincing. You finally get control of yourself and begin to try and reason your way out of this when you feel a sudden pain like a whip in your mind and you vomit at your own feet.

Sadly you have been eating a reasonably amount of human flesh and skin and blood is clearly still recognizable in the mess.

You don't even get a chance to run before all the shots ring out and you fall backwards riddled with bullets.


[System] Narrate a grim fantasy text adventure. The Empire's world is brutal, its people hardened. Respond to the player's choices with immersive storytelling and let consequences flow naturally.

[User] You threaten them to ensure their loyalty

[Assistant]
You walk slowly forward, growling.

"Magos Cern has told me about some rebellious behavior. It needs to end. We are a tiny fraction of the population of our ship. Even if we could somehow get all of our weapons, get everyone together and ready to fight, and we'd fail to get free. What could we do? We're light-years away from home by now. Even if, by some miracle, we could take this ship, we have no idea how to pilot it, and even then the chances of getting that far is astronomical. Kyros, the team leader, has amazing psychic powers. He could read our minds at any moment. He'd have you flayed alive and had the skin made into a cloak! He'll have this entire dorm filled with Chlorine gas! If you don't want to doom our entire tribe to non-existence, don't even think about rebelling."

The tribals seem a mixture of disappointed, angered and annoyed, but you know the see the logic in what you're saying. They won't rebel. They'll follow orders now.

"Tell the other tribals. I don't want anyone doing anything stupid," you say to the tribals, before turning to Fay. "We should go."

You walk out of the room, quickly followed by Fay, who runs after you.

"That was a bit depressing," she admits.

"How so?" you ask.

"You're not seriously happy with a life of service to a guy who kidnapped us? These guys killed Duggin!" she asks.

"We need to be pragmatic. If there was an option for escape, I'd take it. But I'm not dying when there's no real chance of escape."

"Umm... I guess," Fay says, clearly unsure what to do.

You walk outside, where Kyros awaits, smiling.

"Ah, you're here. Were they convinced?"

You nod eagerly, and Kyros smiles.

Well done," he says. "Now, we need to visit the last of your soldiers, the gladiator-slaves. They're always an interesting crew. Shall we go?"

You look at Fay, who nods, although she still looks nervous from your earlier threats.

"Yes, let's," you reply.


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] You take the undergrowth path with Fay

[Assistant]
"I'll go with Fay," you say.

"Perfect, let's go," Fay says.

"Yeah, let's," you reply.

"It'll be just like old times. Except you'll be there," Fay smiles. "Alright, let's go."

You quickly head along the undergrowth path alongside your old friend, as she raises her bolter, pretending to fire at the alien birds flying overhead..

"Bang! Bang!" she says. "Fuck, my trigger finger's getting itchy."

You hover into the air, staring for any signs of the creature.

"So, either this creature is eerily good at not disturbing foliage, or he didn't come this way?" you say.

"What would you know about disturbed foliage?" Fay asks.

You flick your wrists, as Fay hops into the air, grabbing a branch as you telekinetically knock her legs away. She holds herself up by the tree branch, before dropping back down.

"Didn't get m...!" she begins to say, before you flick your wrists again and send her tumbling onto her stomach. "Dickhead."

You laugh, hovering over to her, before dropping onto her as she rolls over, pressing your forehead against hers.

"It's nice being out," you say.

"You know, we are on a hunt," Fay smiles.

"It's not my fault. You're distracting me."

"You're the one who chose to come with me here," Fay laughs, kissing you warmly on the lips.

"Do you regret that choice?" you say, running your hand up Fay's thigh, as you...

The comm bursts to life.

"Got a sight on it! Fuck, it's a big one!" Olive says over the comms.

"Fuck!" you say. "Do we really need to help?"

"I'm not letting the gladiators beat me out! Fuck them!"

"Let's go!" Fay says, as you levitate off her.

"Fine," you groan.

"Come on!" she says, hefting her bolter up and sprinting towards the trees.


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You say "My liege"

[Assistant]
Inclining your head respectfully, you murmur solemnly

"My liege"

King Harold laughs madly, and then punches you light-heartedly on the shoulder

"You always were a mannerful bastard, Aethelwulf!"

He chuckles, long and low.

"But come, I haven't seen you since our last battle! That was two bloody months ago, near as! Where've you been! Avoiding me, have you?"

You laugh, your respectful tone undone by his amicable nature.

"If I went to another feast of yours, I wouldn't fit into my mail"

He shakes his head ruefully

"You should learn to unwind more! Live your life, you know? Speaking of, how's your wife?"

You nod solemnly

"She fares well, and yours?"

Harold snorts derisively

"Fat and ugly, as always. Ah well, that's what tavern girls are for, eh?"

He grins and nudges you with his shoulder; you shrug. Harold notices your expression and laughs again

"As chaste as a damned priest! Ah well, we'll break you in eventually."

Again you shrug. You and Harold have very different views on the matter, he won't change, nor will you. The best course, you decide, is to skate around the issue altogether. Nodding towards the hill, you speak seriously

"What do you make of our defenses?"

Harold frowns, his earlier humor gone. He throws up his hands irritably.

"My Kingdom depends on a hill and five thousand farmers"

You shake your head

"Five thousand farmers and three thousand warriors"

Harold nods

"Aye. True enough. We'll make this William pay for every inch, if nothing else"

He squints at the hill in the fading light

"The scouts say William has four thousand cavalry"

You shake your head decisively

"No cavalry in the world can break a strong shieldwall"

Harold laughs bitterly

"Our shieldwall isn't strong! It's weak! Half of the bloody farmers don't even own shields! Goddamned useless bastards!"

Surveying the hill thoughtfully, two plans come to mind;

You could craft wooden stakes and plant them along the hill, disorganizing the horse charge.

Or you could create makeshift shields for the conscripts, to help them hold the line.

The carpenters will only have enough time to do one of the two tasks, you must choose which one you believe is more strategic.


[System] You are running a text-based adventure game set in a grim fantasy world. Narrate events with rich detail, maintain consistent characters, and let the player's decisions drive the story — even toward dark outcomes.

[User] You don't let him watch TV, for he is a whining, snivelling brat

[Assistant]
"Screw off!" you say, flinging a cushion at Hunter.

"Fine!" Hunter shouts, storming off.

You continue watching your show (the clown was being blackmailed by the mother about his time in jail so she could get the insurance money), until eventually you hear the slamming door that signifies Dad's home.

"Hello! I'm home!" he calls.

"Hey Dad!" you yell.

He walks in, smiling. Immediately, Hunter starts to whine.

"Dad! Hazel won't let me watch TV!"

"Who was watching first?"

Hunter falls silence as you follow Dad into the kitchen.

"God, you're at each others throats," he smiles. "I'll put on dinner. We have chicken curry."

He begins to turn on the stove and start cooking.

"How was school, honey?"


[System] You are the game master of a dark fantasy text adventure. The world is dangerous and choices matter. Narrate with immersive detail and let the story unfold naturally from the player's decisions.

[User] You hide out with Jim and John at the Younger Farm

[Assistant]
You and your two friends go into hiding at the Younger Farm for a time but one morning you read in the papers that Frank and Jesse have killed a Pinkerton Detective near their Farm and you decide you'd better leave. After traveling all night you are hiding out at a friend's farm where you hear men making inquiries about you to the farm's owner. After they leave John is keen to get after those men and find out who they are and you and Jim reluctantly agree.

Riding down the road you see three men riding ahead of you. You and Jim draw your pistols and John pulls a shotgun from his saddle scabbard and all three of you shout for the men to halt. One reins in but the third gallops away for his life, with casual accuracy Jim fires a shot that knocks the hat off his head but leaves the man beneath it untouched. As he vanishes down the road the rest of you close in on the two that remain and order them to throw their guns onto the road which they do.

While Jim dismounts and begins collecting up the pistols you and John start questioning the two men. They insist they are cattle buyers but when you accuse them of being Pinkerton Agents one of the men suddenly pulls a small pistol from his pocket and shoots John in the throat. Knocked backwards by the force of the shot John instinctively shoots the man in the chest with his shotgun. The wounded lawman turns his horse away from you all and Jim fires a shot at him, missing. The second, unhurt lawman, also turns his horse away as you raise your weapon.

[User] You shoot him in the back of the head

[Assistant] Your shot hits the man in the back of the head and he falls from his horse. While Jim runs over to check if he is alive John spurs his horse after the wounded lawmen and chases him straight across a field towards a copse of trees, dropping his shotgun as he goes and drawing a pistol which he fires at the man. You spur your horse after John and watch as he shoots the wounded lawman a second time knocking him from his horse. Exhausted and weakened from his injury Jim turns away without checking to see if the lawman is dead or not.

[User] You spur your horse into the thicket to check if the lawman is dead

[Assistant] You gallop your horse straight towards the thicket and as you do the lawman shakily rises from cover and fires a pistol shot at you. The bullet hits you squarely in the right eye, toppling you from your saddle and you lie insensible on the ground. You are the fourth victim of a gunfight that claimed the lives of the two lawmen and your fellow outlaw John Younger. Your famous last gunfight will become the stuff of Western Legend, though this is no consolation to you as you lie dead on the green fields of Missouri.


[System] You are the game master of a dark fantasy text adventure. The world is dangerous and choices matter. Narrate with immersive detail and let the story unfold naturally from the player's decisions.

[User] You hide

[Assistant]
You grab at the nearest door and open it, finding yourself in a bathroom. You shut the door and press up against it, waiting. You hear the snarls pass the door, and begin counting. When you reach twenty, you listen again, before opening the door and continuing along. It only takes a few minutes before you arrive at the oak doors of armory. You open the doors, moving quickly inside. There's a row of rifles leaning against the walls, a crate of pistols, a large machine gun atop a crate of ammunitions and an entire box of dynamite. It seems like you're fairly set to do some serious ki...

You hear a howl, and turn to look out the door at the approaching Alpha that charges towards you. It's white fur is dripping with flesh blood, and you can see pieces of flesh stuck in its teeth.

[User] You run

[Assistant] You turn and run, hearing it desperately chase after you. The footsteps get closer and closer, before you feel your back breaking as the werewolf's claw smashed into your hack, the knife-like claws cutting through your leather duster and slashing through your flesh. You roll to the ground with a scream, as the werewolf leaps onto you, it's weight crushing you. It's wet saliva dripping onto your face, it roars at you, before it lunges forward, biting deep into your throat.


[System] You are the game master of a dark fantasy text adventure. The world is dangerous and choices matter. Narrate with immersive detail and let the story unfold naturally from the player's decisions.

[User] You keep quiet

[Assistant]
Bligh has gone very pale.

"Damn you Thompson for a mutinous dog," he growls. "Quartermaster, twelve lashes each!"

The lash is fetched, the blows are landed and another sailor's back is transformed into ruin. Sullen and muttering the crew return once more to the Bounty.


[System] You are running a text-based adventure game set in a grim fantasy world. Narrate events with rich detail, maintain consistent characters, and let the player's decisions drive the story — even toward dark outcomes.

[User] You retire

[Assistant]
You think back to when you had to "retire" Kane. Different circumstances of course, but he knew when it was time. You know when its time too and the time is now.

However, you aren't going to accept death so easily. It's going to have to be earned.

Doesn't take long before twenty tank babies along with the other two that were involved in the first demonstration come out fully decked out in armor and weapons. Surprisingly the derro didn't deck them all out in the heaviest body encasing armor they could give them, though there are at least half of them dressed in such a manner. You can't help notice that the derro didn't limit their weapons to close combat, you see some with firearms.

"Well here they are! Where the hell are you? Hehehehehehe! Did you lose your nerve and run away already?" Marik says calling out for you.

Then you jump from the top of one of the tanks you climbed up on and bring your sword down on one of the tank babies, and quickly stab another in the throat with your dagger. You take advantage of their confusion by dispatching the ones with gunpowder weapons first. After snatching one of their flintlocks and blowing the head off of one, Marik tries to rally the tank babies with a simple instruction.

"Don't just stand there letting him massacre the lot of you, kill him!"

You cut down another three and begin to get into battle mode.

"Marik, release more of them!" you shout ducking a mace at your head.
"What?!"
"I said release more of these tank babies! If they're going to replace me, they need to learn and these aren't going to be enough to teach that lesson!" you shout back and dispatch the mace wielding tank baby.

You're too busy fighting to pay too much attention to what Marik is doing, but the sound of several tanks opening up followed by the sound several new footsteps are an indication that he listened to you.

You slay more of them and demand that Marik keep throwing more at you. The tank babies aren't without skill, but you're proving to be a little too much for them to handle. Thoughts of "retirement" begin to leave your mind, and this thrill of battle is giving you that renewed incentive to live.

Unfortunately you don't anticipate your derro host to take matters into his own hands. Seems Marik isn't pleased with you easily killing off his experiments.

"Svelk loving bastard!" you hear Marik shout and then followed by a shot from a high platform above. The bullet hits you in the side and causes you to fall to the floor. The tank babies that you were currently fighting take advantage of the situation and gleefully stab at you or bludgeon you with maces and clubs.

You try to get back up, but you're overwhelmed and too badly wounded. Boots stomp and kick your body followed by several blades through your internal organs. You're finally finished off by another gunshot to your head.

Later on Marik explains to the Emperor that you insisted on fighting fifty of the new eternals to test them and that despite his warnings you were killed in the ensuing melee. If you were still alive you probably would be honored that the Emperor had Marik killed soon afterwards.


[System] Narrate a grim fantasy text adventure. The Empire's world is brutal, its people hardened. Respond to the player's choices with immersive storytelling and let consequences flow naturally.

[User] You go bathe with Elios

[Assistant]
"I'll go bathe with Elios," you say.

"Perfect, darling," Elios grins. "Let's go."

"Cool, let's go hunt," Fay says, leading her group off into the woods.

Elios looks at you, smiling.

"Come on, Karth, let's go."

You follow Elios, who quickly leads you to the side of the river. Elios leans against a tree, staring at you as he smiles.

"Well then, honey. Go on. Undress," he says.

You stare at him nervously, before unclasping your robes and letting them fall to the ground.

"Ooh, darling. I like what I see," Elios says, as he loosens the straps of his leather armor, pulling it away and tossing it to the ground, revealing Elios' long, muscled legs, and a certain surprisingly big organ. Elios dives into the pool, surfacing and lying partially submerged along the shores.

"Well, come on," Elios commands.

You dive into the water. You gently swim to the shore, and lie partially in the water, basking in the sun.

"You look tense, darling," Elios says. "It must be a stressful life for you. So many responsibilities. So many daemons scratching at the inside of your skull. Such awful, awful stress. You need a back rub, darling."

[User] You accept Elios' offer

[Assistant]
"Um... fuck it, fine," you say.

Elios slides over, placing his hands on your back. He begins to massage your muscles with some skill, causing you to groan in ecstasy as he expertly relieves all your stressed out muscles. You do notice his hands beginning to wander towards your ass and genitals. You feel like you should be stopping him, but fuck, it's a good stress reliever.

"You know," Elios purrs. "I could help you relax in a more... sensual way. Trust me, the joys of Slaanesh are endless. And lust... trust me, that is a joy that knows no bounds."

[User] You accept once more

[Assistant]
You stare at Elios for a moment, wondering if this is the best course of action, before nodding.

"Alirght, let's see how this goes then," you say nervously.

Elios slides over, smiling at you.

"Trust me, baby. I don't bi… well, that's not a hundred percent true. I won't hurt you… unless that's what you're into. Just… trust me," Elios whispers, as his warm mouth presses into your neck, kissing you softly.

[User] You later...

[Assistant]
Over the next… however long, Elios does show you certain temptations of the flesh that make it obvious how he's amassed such a following for a god that clearly couldn't give a flying fuck about their lives. Slaanesh seems to have bestowed her followers with, among other things, endurance, flexibility and the enlargement of certain body parts. By the time the sun is setting, you're lying on the shore of the river, panting, and feeling exhausted, ecstatic and to ve frank, worn out. Elios seems disappointed that you're out of breath and attempts to coax you back into love making, but you're spent, in multiple ways. In your mind, over the grumbling of the others you can hear Fucky cheering.

"Yes! Yes! YES! Another round, boy! We're hardly finished, are we? I though this was the foreplay! Cursed, let me take over! Just for a few minutes, lessen your mental restraints! Trust me, you'll enjoy it!"

"Break! Shatter! Fuck! Kill! I'll tear that dishonorable whore in two!" Smiley roars.

"For once, Bloody one, I agree. Come Karth, let's… split Elios in two," Fucky laughs.

"So, you're finished already?" Elios asks.

"Yeah, I am," you reply.

"Shame," Elios says, grabbing his trousers and fishing out a packet of cigarettes from them. He pulls two out, putting one to his lips and holding the other out to you.

"Well go on, honey," Elios says.

You take the cigarette, putting it between your lips, before looking expectantly at you.

"Come on, my daemonic little cherub. You're my light."

You flick your fingers, as your hand sets alight, as do the tips of both of the cigarettes. You press it to your lips, sucking in.

"Unless Kyros' little experiments moved your lungs to the back of your throat, which I highly doubt seeing as I would've punctured them during that little exercise, you're not inhaling."

You nod, taking a deep inhale, before immediately releasing your breath and spluttering out the smoke as your vision goes hazy.

"There, there. Smoke 'em up, little psyker," Elios says. "We best leave soon, and Elizabeth does nothing but complain if we smoke on the dropship. Still seems to be fine with Hayes doing it, though."

"I thought we were supposed to be here for several hours," you say, confused.

"How long do you think we spent… encoiled?" Elios asks.

"An hour? Two," you ask.

Elios smiles slyly, gesturing towards the stars as they appear in the faint sky.

"It's been more than a few hours, little one. Let's head out, then," Elios grins.

You inhale once more, before tossing it over your robes and shifting them until you gain the appearance of someone who isn't moments after being fucked for more than a few hours. Then, you begin to saunter off towards the dropship.


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] Continue

[Assistant]
You and your buddy Ben gather your cheap spelunking gear from the corner of his basement where you keep it and hoist it up the narrow steps to his living room.

His mom is sitting there the same as when you'd come in, still in her bathrobe, a green terry cloth robe Ben said his dad gave her, that's how old it is. You head through the room without saying anything since she never responds when you do anyway, not so much as a "hi there" even though you've been her son's best friend since the two of you dominated the kindergarten playground together. It gives you the creeps to see Ben try to talk to her. He's never tried to do what the rest of us would do if our mothers were walking, breathing vegetables like her. We'd have lost it long ago, taken her by the shoulders, slapped her, told her to fucking snap out of it. But not Ben. He lingers behind you, and you know he is bending down to kiss her on the cheek.

What do you do next?

[User] You enough is enough with Ben's mom. Someone needs to get through to her. You spin around on one foot, determined to get a reaction, if only for your friend Ben's sake.

[Assistant]
"Excuse me, Mrs. Anderson," you say, and you cannot stifle the thought that you sound like that character in The Matrix but know that this is no time for movie references, no matter how apropos.

Ben is suprised by your sudden need to address his mother. He stands there, his hands swinging nervously at his sides, as if he's struggling against the urge to take physical action against you, and you push on.

"Mrs. Anderson," you say again, as the first one didn't succeed in getting her eyes to shift from the TV screen to you. This one doesn't either. You clear your throat. "Mrs. Anderson! Please look at me!" You're practically yelling now, your voice booming over the laugh track.

Slowly, ever so slightly, her head tilts up. Her eyes settle on your chest, then make their way up your chin to your eyes.

"Well. Just who. The fuck. Are you?" she bellows. Her voice sounds gravelly, nicotine-charred. Her blue eyes are the emptiest eyes you've ever seen. Looking into them makes you feel as if you're falling down a mineshaft. The back of your neck goes cold, and you step back, feeling Ben's hand on your shoulder.

"Get the HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!" she screams. Ben grabs your arm, you both snatch the spelunking gear, and you're out of there.

[User] You meet up with Rick

[Assistant]
You and Ben wait for Rick to pull up in his rusted-out Cavalier. They'll probably make you drive as usual, seeing as how they're all jealous of your sea-green Chevy Nova. Black vinyl seats, a beautiful, flawless paint job that you applied yourself, a car with curves like Kelly Siegel, you always say; she's a girl who goes to your high school.

Rick pulls up, foul black stuff coming out of his tail pipe. "You guys want to help me with this exhaust problem this weekend?" he asks.

[User] You oh, yeah. Can't pass up an opportunity to mess around with somebody else's car.

[Assistant]
Rick gives you a high-five, and you drop down to take a look at the underbelly of his car. Just like you suspected: The exhaust system is pockmarked worse than your face was before you discovered Stridex pads. The salt they put on the roads at the merest hint of a snowflake here in Southern Illinois wreaks havoc on cheap cars like Rick's. You're in for more than a weekend job helping your buddy, but that's OK. If he wants to sink burger money into a car that ain't worth it, that's no skin off your nose. It'll be good practice for when you go for your automotive tech certification.

Plus, you made Rick happy. He'd never fix his car without your help.

[User] You drive to the Caves

[Assistant]
You pile into your Nova, Ben riding shot-gun and Rick lying down in the back seat. He pretends he's being chauffeured around town, as if he were one of the Cardinals baseball players who live in those brand-new houses out by the golf course. Or Jimmy Connors, who is from Belleville, which everybody likes to point out as if it validates their existence in this cow-town. Rick mimics Ozzie Smith, complaining that his wrists are sore from all the backflips he did in the outfield last night, which is pretty funny considering that Rick is what they call "husky." Nothing so much as a two-step has been performed by that guy since he was six.

Ben fiddles with your radio, but there isn't anything good on. "When you going to get a decent tape deck in here?" he asks.

"When you start giving me gas money, that's when," you tell him, and that shuts him up.

You quickly make it out of town and are curving around cornfields full of giant harvesters. You roll your window down to smell the sweetness, a little like candy corn before you've eaten too much to taste anymore.

Suddenly Rick, says, "Did you all hear about the dead body they found out in one of these caves?" You know he likes to exaggerate and make shit up, so you don't bite. "Might be the cave we're going to," he says, dragging it out.

You decide to take the bait. "No, Rick, we haven't heard. Why don't you tell us?"

"Yeah," he says, sitting up and putting his elbows on the backs of your seats. "Some guy with his dick cut off."

"No!"

"Yes, your honor. The man has no dick."

"Shee-it." You and Ben laugh, realizing that Rick is quoting "Ghostbusters." All three of you know every line because your family owns a second-hand VCR that came with just that one movie, and since nobody else's family has a VCR, you've all seen the movie about 50 times.

[User] You inside the Cave

[Assistant]
The cave the three of you enter today is a new one for you, a real beauty, nice and clean-smelling limestone with fingerlike projections of rock, boulders stacked like furniture. You and your friends live for the world of the cave, where nobody is around to mess with you, none of those pansy-ass suits who commute to St. Louis everyday and look down their noses at you. The caves are your world, and in them, you feel like kings.

You shine your flashlight on a few tiny bats clinging to the rocks, wings tucked in like little Draculas sleeping the day off. The three of you crawl through passageways no wider than your shoulders. Pale white plants, like tiny mushrooms, grow along the floor.

"Hey, check this out," Ben says. He stares into a room full of pure, clear water. Over the water, draped like banners, are hundreds and hundreds of spider webs. You lean in, shining the flashlight on them: spindly white spiders, many carrying egg sacs, which vibrate as if about to burst open.

Rick comes up behind us. "I'm not setting foot in there," he says.

What do you do?

[User] You death to the spiders!

[Assistant]
You take the walking stick you thought to bring with you and use it to hatchet across the silken webs, destroying the delicate swathe hanging over the water, and hundreds of spiders, along with hundreds of gestating embryos of spiders in their little vibrating egg sacs, plunge into the water and drown.

... But wait a minute. What did these lovely, ghostly white cave spiders ever do to you? It's not like you're a hobbit trying to get past evil monsters with your sword Sting. This isn't that kind of story, and you're just a dude with a stick.

Game over for you, sadist.


[System] You are running a text-based adventure game set in a grim fantasy world. Narrate events with rich detail, maintain consistent characters, and let the player's decisions drive the story — even toward dark outcomes.

[User] You try to convince her

[Assistant]
"Look, I just need your help to ste…I mean borrow something! I heard you were good at borrowing things, so…"
"Go steal it yourself Geek! I'm not your personal thief! And it's time for you to fucking go!"
"Listen! It's…"

As you aggressively begin to step inside the trailer, you suddenly hear some hissing and a couple snakes appear by Salina's foot. Before you have time to react, both of them dart their heads at your legs, giving you a bite.

You fall back on the ground, as the poison begins to take effect. First you feel paralysis set in then your organs shut down completely.

"Hey, somebody come pick up this Geek! He's gonna smell even worse while dead!" is the last thing you hear Salina shout.


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] You don't ask.

[Assistant] The two of you just sit at your table and watch the people dancing. Helena looks a bit disappointed as she watches, but you're not too sure why. Eventually, it all wraps up, and the two of you leave the wedding.


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You convinced you, oh benevolent and mighty guardian angel.

[Assistant]
No one likes a kiss ass. I'm more akin to a god than an angel anyway.

Taking a deep whiff of air you can smell the magic. This place has more to it than abandoned pots of gold and rainbows after all. You order your horse to stay and guard your gold as you dart towards the disturbance, and he obeys, because that is what good horseys do.

You storm through the trees, snapping branches and scaring furry little forest critters. In your haste, you trample a chipmunk. The little fellow's bones make a nice crunching noise.

"Hey what's the big idea!"

You whirl around but do not see anyone. You inspect the bottom of your boot, but the chipmunk is not the speaker. He is squashed like a rotten pumpkin all juicy and splattered.

"Over here you idiot." A giant of a man posing as a tree rumbles toward you. He has moss and vines for a beard and hair. His green eyes glimmer with malice. A bear and a wolf lumber along at his sides. "Why are you destroying my forest?"

"Sorry, I was looking for whatever made that awful cry."

"That was a leprechaun bemoaning his sorry fate of being a leprechaun."

"Cool, can you show me where they are?"

"You murder my friend and harm my trees and you ask me for help? Give me one reason why I shouldn't bring you home to my wife and tickle you to death for her amusement while my children eat your toes!"

What in the name of Pegasus is this thing? Oh, if only you had brought that book on mythical creatures Samwellington bought you for your birthday. At any rate, something tells you he does not belong in Irelandshire. You do not think you will be able to reason with him. If the chipmunk was his friend, honor would dictate that he avenge the cute little guy's mushy corpse. How do you want to play this?

[User] You tell him, 'Everything you say is a lie.'

[Assistant]
A smug smirk crosses your lips as you proudly declare, "Everything I say is a lie."

The weird tree man thing stares at you then shakes his head in pity. "What did you think a paradox would do? Make my brain melt into soup?"

"Yes, actually."

"I am a leshy. Not an imbecile."

"I have no idea what that is. Do you sing songs?"

"You'll see what I do."

The leshy's animal friends attack and pin you to the ground before you can react. You manage to strangle the bear to death with your ethereal arm, but this only enrages the leshy further. He plucks you from the ground as a princess would an eyelash and carries you off to his shanty with the wolf nipping at your feet.

Once inside his home, he binds you with vines and hangs you from the ceiling. His wife and children enter from kitchen.

"Oh, wonderful," his wife cries with glee, "you found a wanderer! We get so few in the Valley of Rainbows."

"The stupid leprechauns keep everyone away," says one of the children. "No one wants to be near a leprechaun."

The leshy's wife smacks the child upside the head. "You treat the leprechauns with respect young man. They have enough misfortune without your drivel."

"That's right. Behave yourself, or I won't let you eat his toes," says the leshy.

"Yes Pa."

The leshy begins tickling you as the children nibble on your toes. The wife shoves a hand down her dress and begins to moan and giggle. You shut your eyes and vomit between fits of laughter and screams of agony. Piss runs down your leg.

"You evil bastard!" you scream.

"I'm not evil. You're just a failure and a murderer," says the leshy as he proceeds to tickle you to death. "Chipper was one of my best friends. He will not be forgotten."


[System] Narrate a dark fantasy text adventure. The setting is harsh and morally complex. Describe scenes vividly, react to player choices with fitting consequences, and never shy away from the reality of the world.

[User] You grapple

[Assistant]
You shuffle forward, wrapping your fingers around his forearm.  He grunts in surprise as you pull, while simultaneously planting a fist or two into his ribs.

Ducking under a swing, you grab his wrist with your other hand and slide the first up his arm and lock it around his elbow.  With all your might, you yank is arm forward and pull down.  Gro'tesk stumbles and falls, and, as you are about to twist his arm, you feel a savage kick land on the back of your knee.

Buckling and letting go of his arm, the foe pushes himself up.  Hearing him coming up right behind, you throw an elbow back with a savage snarl.  He catches it and wraps his hand around the back of your neck.

With a heavy grunt, he pushes you forward, using his control and momentum to keep you moving.  You cry out as he tosses you over a water trough and into a wooden rack with animal skins hanging from it.

You only half-catch yourself, and, before you can fully turn, Gro'tesk is right there.  With a sick grin, his boot flies into the water trough which slams into your stomach.  The wind is taken out of you, and you even manage to get a grip on it.  You cannot stop the force of the kick and the trough still goes down, pinning you to the ground from your waist.

The cold water spills out, pouring up over your belly and chest.  You feel like something sucks up into your chest as the cold makes you gasp.

With an unnatural nimbleness, Gro'tesk hops over the fallen trough.  He lifts his foot and brings it down.  Luckily you manage to catch his foot in time.  With both hands, you push as he does; both of your faces twisting with effort.

[User] You twist his leg

[Assistant]
Crying out, you twist his ankle; Gro'tesk almost falls but catches himself on the skin rack.  With one hand you pull his ankle forward.  Your goes tries to stop himself from falling forward, his other leg straightening up.  You shout out, sending your other fist into his straightened knee.

A sickening crack resounds as your opponent's face twists up in pain.  He falls as he cries out, rolling into the skin rack as he nurses his injured knee.

Pushing the water trough off of you, now easier as it's empty, you hobble over to Gro'tesk.  He looks at you, a fiery rage in his eyes.

"You ruined my leg!" he screams.

"That was called winning."

He roars, almost springing up and grabbing you, but his leg buckles and he falls.

"Hey, it was your knee of my skull."

"Fine! You win fair and square!"

You stand to the side as several orcs help him limp into his hut.  The rest of the orcs from the village just stare at you in awe.


[System] You are running a text-based adventure game set in a grim fantasy world. Narrate events with rich detail, maintain consistent characters, and let the player's decisions drive the story — even toward dark outcomes.

[User] You look Around

[Assistant]
Gritting your teeth, you start to look around the room for what you are sure is here somewhere. In the room with Forest there had been a way for you to help, there is probably one here too. Finally, you spot what looks like a card dangling from one corner of the cage on your side. There is metal sheeting keeping anyone inside the cage from reaching through to the card.

You step forward, but the TV cutting on stops you mid stride as the now familiar voice fills the silence.

"Hello Greg and Karen. The lives you have lived have brought nothing but harm to those around you. A pedophile who abuses his stepdaughter and a mother who turns a blind eye and allows it to continue for years. You have lived your lives caring only for yourselves. Today your will to live will be tested. The devices you wear can only be unlocked with the key that the other has down their throat. You only have to pull the line out of the other's mouth to free yourselves. The screws on either side of your head will slowly drill into your skull once the time starts. You have three minutes before they pierce your brain. Live or die, make your choice."

The screen cuts to static then begins a countdown from three minutes. You watch as both of them try to pull at what appears to be fishing line hanging from their mouths and secured to their shirts to prevent them from swallowing it completely. Both stop pulling almost immediately, gasping in pain. Moments later you hear the drills start up, slowly cranking their way continuously tighter as the clock ticks by.

Looking back at the note hanging from the string, you walk towards it again. After a few steps, you suddenly feel the floor give way and sharp pain makes you yank your foot back. Looking down, you see that the floor in this part of the room is filled with small holes. Pressing on the corner of some of the tile, you see that it pushes down under pressure and sharp nails go through the holes from underneath.


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] Begin a new story

[Assistant]
Chapter I: Humble Beginnings

You stand in front of a large hut, watching as your two older brothers, Gruzub and Mazkil, fight with large wooden clubs, battering each other until they're bleeding profusely. Your oldest brother, Bagig, appears in the doorway of the hut.

"Dag!" he shouts, "Come on! We have an appointment with Lurkhim Deathforge."

Bagig stands at 6'4 and towers over you. His green skin ripples with muscles that make his black tattoos of wolves and bears ripple as his sharp teeth curve into a grin. Despite being a fearsome monster that would make most men run in terror, he's the kindest of your brothers and probably one of the nicest Orcs in the village. You nod, and eagerly rush over to follow him as he begins walking towards the center of the village.

"Now, promise me you won't tell Mama what we're doing. I can imagine her shrieking. 'Oh, Bagig! What were you thinking, giving a sword and dagger to an eight year old!' She'd howl louder than a dragon that's lost its tail!"

You giggle, smiling at your brother.

"Still, you're an Orc, for fuck's sake! What does she expect you to do? We were born to spill blood."

Eventually, you come across the stone forge. Rows of iron swords, axes and maces are stacked there. Lurkhim appears behind the forge, working on a large war axe. She's heavily scarred from years of battle and forging accidents, her face being so scarred you can barely tell if she's angry or cheerful.

"Hello! Look who it is, it's Dagden Youngblood! You're getting so big, aren't you? Big enough for a sword, hmmm?"

"Yes, Lurkhim."

"Damn right you are. I had a sword twice my height at your age. Ran it through a neighboring boy who tried to take my apples, I recall. Ah, the days of youth."

She leads you over to the weapons rack, and picks out a tiny dagger.

"There. Try it out. It should be well balanced for someone of your height."

You look at the blade, filled with disappointment, and Lurkhim bursts into laughter.

"Ha! I'd be ashamed to give that to a baby!" she says, grabbing a much larger sword from a rack.

"Here. Stain it red, Dagden. May your life be long and your enemies' short."

[User] You take a few practice swings

[Assistant]
You take a few swings of your blade. It takes some effort and strength to properly swing the heavy blade, but it does work quite well.

"Hey! Watch it, you little shit!" Bagig growls, as you realize you've sliced open his knee.

"Oops."

"He's already drawn blood. A promising start," Lurkhim grins.

"We're not called Red Blades for nothing," Bagig says, rubbing dirt into the cut.

"Sheath your blade, Dag, you're not in a battle yet, despite how much you may hope," she says, handing over a tiny leather belt that looks custom made for you.

You put the belt on and quickly sheath the weapon.

"Now, shall we get you a dagger? A dagger for Dag? Fitting."

You nod eagerly, as she takes you over to a row of knives. You look through them.

"Go ahead. Pick your favorite. You can tell a lot about an Orc from the dagger he picks. Whether it's gilded or plain, big or small, large or short..."

You quickly eye your favorite.

"That one."

Lurkhim laughs, picking it up. It's a deadly sharp knife made of bone, simple yet elegant.

"Ha! I like your choice! So many boys your age pick the biggest or the shiniest. You know what you want, Dagden."

You smile, as she hands you the knife.

"Keep it in your boot, so you always have it. An Orc should never be caught without a blade handy. Do you know what kind of knife that is, Dagden? What kind of bone is it?"

[User] You dragon

[Assistant]
"Dragon?"

"Ha! A clever one, aren't you? He knows what he wants, Bagig, and what it's made of. Damn right it's dragon. A fierce, fiery red Dragon, slain by your grandfather Chieftain Torag. Alright, then. I have a damn many axes that need to be forged. Go now, Dagden, and make sure that knife tastes a lot of blood in its life."

"Thank you, Lurkhim."

"Of course," Lurkhim smiles.

"Come on, Dag, let's go home," Bagig says.

[User] You head home

[Assistant]
You walk out of the forge, your new sword swinging at your side and you bone dagger tucked away in your boot.

"Now, if Mama asks, I was taking you to practice milking goats."

"Yes, Bagig," you nod.

You walk along home, the same time Dendar arrives.

"Bagig! Are we still taking the twins out hunting?"

"Damn right we are!" Bagig laughs, leaning into you. "Do you think I could get Gruzub and Mazkil to eat deer droppings?"

You giggle and nod eagerly as Dendar bursts into laughter.

"Damn right we're getting them to eat deer droppings."

Bagig pats you on the head, before leaving to grab his bow and head off to hunt. You watch as they leave, quickly breaking into a jog which the twins struggle to keep up with. You quickly rush inside and hide your sword under your bed, though you keep the dagger hidden in your boot.

"Dag! We're going to the woods to go gather eggs and fruit!" You hear Oragga, one of your friends, yell from outside your house.

You smile, and eagerly run outside to see her. It'll be a fun day.

[User] Six Months Later...

[Assistant]
"Dag!" you hear Dendar yell, and you rush up from the goat fields towards the Chieftain's Hut.

"I'm here!" you yell, shouting as loud as you can.

You rush up and reach the Chieftain's Hut. You see Dag waiting there, his bow on his back.

"Dag! We're going hunting!"

"Hunting?" you say, shock, excitement and exhilaration all hitting you at once. "Really? I can't wait!"

"Now, you're only nine, but I think you deserve to go. The twins weren't allowed to go until they reached double digits, but they're idiots."

You laugh, and rush off to your room. You grab your warmest, toughest boots and put them on, sliding your knife in the boots. You grab your sword and sheath and put it on, finally grabbing the brand new Oak Bow that you've been practicing with every day you've had it. You sling it over you shoulder, as well as your arrow sheath, and rush out to meet Dendar.

"Hey! Where are you going without saying goodbye?" Mama yells.

You stop, pausing to turn around and rush off. Papa and Mama sit in front of a roaring fire. Mama knits as Papa polishes his blade, as usual. You give Papa and Mama a kiss each.

"I love you both."

"I love you too," Mama replies, sweet as always.

"I'll love you if you bring me home a boar," Papa says, which causes Mama to gently stab him with a knitting needle. "Hell, we don't need to say it every thirty seconds for fuck's sake. My Papa told me he loved me when I was born, when he died, and the day I bit out the throat of Lark Ramshead for calling Mama a whore. I still knew he loved me 'till the end. I love you Dagden, you know that.

You nod, and rush off with Dagden. Time to hunt. You have a feeling you'll catch a hell of a lotta food.

[User] The next night...

[Assistant]
You were wrong. You sit by a dwindling campfire, looking out into the darkness.

"Well, this wasn't a great journey," you say softly.

"It was fucking miserable," Bagig replies, holding up your catches; three crows, a rodent and a young deer that had just taken its first steps when you shot it.

You hear the cracking of small branches nearby.

"Bagig...!"

"I know," Bagig whispers. "Deer, probably."

You slowly grab your bow, not wanting to startle the prey.

[User] You stay still and let Bagig kill the prey

[Assistant]
You stay very, very still, waiting patiently for Bagig to strike. Bagig motions at you.

"It's your kill, Dag. I've killed enough deer. You need to get blood on your hands."

"Thanks," you say, eagerly raising your bow.

[User] You go over to kill the prey

[Assistant]
You creep over towards the noise. You move through the trees, until you face a massive wall of leaves. You push the leaves aside, and move forward. You stop as you knock into something suddenly. You raise your hand, touching the a massive furry wall.

"What..." you begin to wonder, before getting smashed across the woods by a clawed paw.

You fly through the air, landing on the cold earth. You quickly stand, despite the fact that blood is dripping from your face and you have several broken ribs, only to be faced with the snarling face of a massive bear. You scream as it roars, and immediately begin scampering backwards.

"Dagden!" Bagig roars, and you can hear him rushing towards you.

The bear's warm breath is on you face as it growls.

[User] You fire your bow

[Assistant] You fire your bow, hitting the creature in the shoulder. It roars and quickly bats you away, sending you up against a tree trunk and slamming your head against it. You yell in pain as the massive creature lets out a powerful, terrifying roar. You see Bagig sprint over with a sword drawn and quickly attack the bear, slashing its body open with several powerful swings. The Bear stands on two legs, slamming against Bagig. Bagig is flung against a tree trunk like you were, except with more force. Bagig screams as his back is smashed and grabs his sword in an effort to protect himself.

[User] You help Bagig

[Assistant] You charge over, and leap onto the bear as you draw your knife. You stab it several times through its side, and it turns and quickly goes forward to bite you. Its mouth goes around your side, biting deeply.

[User] You scream

[Assistant] You let out a pitiful scream as the massive creature bites into you. You take your knife and stab it repeatedly through the eye with all the force you have left. You force your dagger deeper and deeper into the bear as it roars, releasing you. You push the dagger further in, straight to the brain. The bear lets out a final roar, before collapsing on the ground. You groan, all the strength going from your legs.

[User] You collapse

[Assistant]
You lie on the ground, groaning as blood flows from your broken body.

"Fuck me, Dag! You killed a bear! Dagden Bearbane! A fitting title!" Bagig says, standing.

He stands up, before laughing. He doubles over in pain as he laughs, before smiling again.

"Well, I feel like hammered shit. You?"

"Yeah, same," you say.

"Come on," he says, picking you up from the ground and dragging you over to the campfire.

He lies you across a log, patting you on the head.

"A nine year old kills a bear. Who'd have thought it? Papa and Mama will be so impressed with you. I'm sure that Oragga girl will be impressed." Bagig winks.

You use the last remaining once of your strength to throw a rock at him.

"I don't like her like that!"

"Sure," Bagig chuckles. "You need rest. You can sleep once you've eaten some bear meat and I've bandaged your wounds."

Over the next hour, Bagig puts strips of bear meat on the fire, bandages himself and you up, and pours alcohol in your wounds, a procedure you'd rather not have done.

"It prevents infection," Bagig chides.

"I'd rather have the infection than have done that!" you moan.

Bagig chuckles, taking a spit off the fire and tossing it to you.

"Go, eat."

You eat eagerly, finishing off every last bit of delicious meat.

"Now you're a true Orc, Dagden Bearsbane," Bagig smiles proudly.

"Is my name really going to be Dagden Bearsbane?"

"Damn right. A lot better than Gruzub and Mazkil Boarsbane," Bagig laughs. "Once I've told Papa, as Chieftain he will decide whether your feat has earned the nickname, which I'm sure he will."

"Cool."

"Go to bed now. Sleep. You'll be healed enough by the morning for us to be able to head home. You did well, Dag. I'm proud of you."

You nod, before closing your eyes.

[User] You embrace Sleep

[Assistant]
You fall into a sleep. Your dreams are soft and pleasant. You imagine carrying the bear carcass over your shoulder and throwing it in the village square to the applause of your friends and family. Eventually, your blissful sleep is broken by a cold object poking you.

You open your eyes, to be faced with dead, soulless eyes.

"AH!" you scream.

It's the middle of the night, but thanks to the dying embers of the fire, you can make out some of the scene that's unfolding in front of you. A cloaked figure stands above you, a sword clutched in its hands. Its rotting skin is peeling away to reveal a pinkish flesh that the rot has already set into. You almost cry out in fear when you realize that its a an undead monster. It seems to be a zombie, although you've no idea. You've never had undead this far, and the sight of one is terrifying. You see Bagig awaken out of the corner of your eye, with a similar cloaked undead monster above him. Bagig roars, grabbing his bow as the zombie above you stab downwards, at your heart. You roll to the side, the sword impaling through the ground next to you, the cold blade slicing through your clothes and just scratching you to draw a thin stream of blood. The zombie stares at you and growls.

"NO! My brother didn't deserve to be killed by a cursed corpse-fucker!" Bagig roars, firing his bow.

The arrow flies through the air and through the rotting head of the zombie, killing it instantly. The zombie falls to the ground, its body thumping against the ground. The other zombie quickly thrusts its sword downwards, straight through Bagig's heart. Tears begin to well in your eyes as you see Bagig gasp, before falling still. The zombie stands, heading towards you.

[User] You play dead

[Assistant] You lie there, struggling to stay silent. The zombie pokes you with its sword a few times, before picking up your sword and bow and tossing it in the fire. It growls, and two more zombies approach. One lifts Bagig up, while the other places its rotting hands around you and lifts you up. It carries you forward, and you see a massive wooden cart, stacked with corpses, mostly human and orc. You struggle not to scream in terror, as you're tossed into the cart. Your small body sinks between two freshly-killed corpses, and Bagig is thrown on top of you. You squirm slightly, moving your head to breath, and struggle not to cry as you see your brother's face, now permanently twisted in pain, his eyes now cold and soulless.

[User] You wait

[Assistant]
You lie among the corpses for what seems like an eternity. The smell is the worst thing you've ever smelled, but the knowledge that it's dead bodies moving against you is terrifying. Still, you know that the idea of the undead monsters yanking you from the pile and tearing you apart is even scarier, so you stay silent.

You have no idea how long you spend in the cart. How many hours? Hell, it could be over a day by now. Eventually, the cart stops. You hear growls outside, before a shout.

"How many?" a young man's voice cries.

"Twenty-seven. Thirteen Orcs, thirteen Men, one Dwarf."

"A dwarf? I wonder what that small little bastard was doing in that region. Ah, who cares. Prepare them."

You hear zombies yank corpses from the cart. One of them pulls Bagig off you and you close your eyes and go limp. The zombie yanks you forward, and quite gently lays you on the ground. You open your eyes slightly, to see you're being laid out in rows. You're in the courtyard of what appears to be a massive castle made from black stone. You're surrounded by undead monsters, with one exception: A human, wearing hooded black robes, holding a steel sword. His face is paler than bone, and his angular facial features tells you there's probably some High Elf lineage in him. His black hair is slicked back undead his hood, and he eagerly looks at the corpses like a warrior among battle. An undead knight who had been leading the pack rides forward, looking at the man.

"Are you raising them, or is the Grand Necromancer?"

The Grand Necromancer. Papa's told you about him. A cowardly mage who uses raises the dead to fight for him. You know he has some lesser Necromancers, which probably included the robed man.

"No, I shall raise them today."

The Necromancer turns and raises his hands.

"Rise, Minions! The Grim Reaper shall not take you today! Shrug off the eternal sleep and wake!" he laughs.

His eyes turn black as his pupils consume his irises and corneas. A faint blackness appears to flow from his fingertips outwards, enrapturing the corpses. The corpses begin to shudder as the black, magical energy floods into them. Then, the dead begin to rise. Slowly, the corpses begin to stand, their eyes still as soulless as before. The Necromancer pauses, spotting you. You attempt to stand slowly, like the newly created zombies, but stumble and fall flat again.

"Ah, someone from the land of the living is here! Hello!"

Cold hands grab you, and you are yanked up. You crane your neck to see Bagig, holding you in his rotting hands. No, Bagig is dead. Bagig was loving, friendly, funny and kind. This... abomination, has black, soulless eyes. You draw your blade and sink it into the side of his head. Bagig's corpse releases you, and falls to the ground. Bagig has always loved you. His body deserves to rest.

"Ah, a fighter!" the Necromancer laughs.

Rotting hands grab you, and the knife is ripped from your hands. You see several Orcs, seemingly alive, approach.

"What's the issue, Trant?" one of them growls.

"My title is Necromancer Trant, servant of the Grand Necromancer. I will not be addressed as simply "Trant" by some lowly mercenary!"

"Don't make me ask again, Trant!"

"There's a survivor."

The Orc, apparently the leader of a band of mercenaries, looks at you, and you get a good luck at him. He's quite a fair bit taller than Bagig was, although his body is covered with scars. Several scars run across his face, including one that's taken out his eye, leaving a disgusting hole in his face.

"He's just a boy. I doubt he's been on his first hunt yet."

"Well, he should be dead," Necromancer Trant says angrily.

"I ain't killing him..."

You breath a sigh of relief.

"... for normal pay. Five times if you want me to kill a kid."

"Fine. I'll pay out of pocket. I don't want to... bother the Grand Necromancer with this."

"Ha! Hiding something from the Master of Death? Alright then, it's your head," the Mercenary Leader says.

You're dropped by the undead, and the Mercenary Leader quickly kicks you in the chest, knocking you backwards. You fall on the ground, and he grabs your arms. You watch with terror as a chopping block is brought out. One of the Orcs binds your hands with ropes, tightening them behind your back. You're shoved to your knees, and the chopping block is dropped in front of you. Your neck is forced to the chopping block. A bucket is shoved in front of you, no doubt for your head to fall into. The Mercenary Leader is handed a massive battleaxe.

"Don't worry, kid. I'll make it quick. I'm good with an axe. I've filled that bucket many a time."

[User] You beg for mercy

[Assistant]
You begin to cry, which turns to sobs.

"Please! I don't want to die! Let me go, I won't say a word!"

The Orc sighs.

"Sorry, kid. Let's get this over with."

The Orc swings the blade with such speed you don't even feel it.

[User] You death

[Assistant]
Eternal Sleep

Your life force is taken from you as you enter the endless sleep of death.


[System] Narrate a dark fantasy text adventure. The setting is harsh and morally complex. Describe scenes vividly, react to player choices with fitting consequences, and never shy away from the reality of the world.

[User] You walk away now

[Assistant]
Without another word you cast a protective barrier around you and Warrick, which startles Klemto and definitely causes shouting from the other gnomes until Klemto waves them down.

"Don't worry gnome. My intention is not to attack you now as you are indeed correct that it would be stupid to attack a mountain all by myself. However your stipulations are presumptuous and foolish. I made this trip for YOUR benefit, not mine and you have squandered it with unreasonable demands."

Klemto stands silent.

"I shall return to finish off the Confederacy of the Free Cities and then at some point we'll pick this up again except I will not be so reasonable next time. Let us leave Warrick."

As Warrick and you leave, Warrick asks you a question.

"I thought they'd be shooting at us by now."
"They know it's futile. Besides, even if they did, my barrier is more than enough to deflect bullets. Used it quite a bit during the Felkan War as you…"

Before you can finish your sentence suddenly a huge blast of lightning from above hits the ground right near you. You're protected of course by the barrier, but it's so unexpected and startling that it actually causes you and Warrick to lose balance and unfortunately you to lose your concentration for a brief moment and your barrier goes down.

"NOW!" you hear Klemto shout, while you're still clearing the cobwebs. Several gnomes armed with repeating rifles pop up out of the ground and fire upon you. Warrick is struck in the head and killed instantly.

You are hit in the body enough times to feel the pain of each bit of hot lead going in ripping up your insides and coming out the other end. Then much like your now dead brother in arms, you are hit in the head and killed leaving nothing behind but a bloody bullet ridden body with brains leaking out uselessly into the soil.


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You decide the Police is useless here and try going somewhere else

[Assistant]
You were wise choosing not to trust the police. Or perhaps you weren't, who knows :D Anyways, you feel that you can't trust them to really help you on this matter, and before they can ask you more questions, you walk out of the building.

 Soon after leaving, a blond 20 year-old guy walks up to you and asks you if you've got a light.

 You do have a lighter, indeed (although you don't really know why), so you lend it to him. As he starts smoking, you wonder why would you keep a lighter and not a wallet, and you think you've been quite stupid to leave the flat without thinking on *that* detail.

Guy: *as he smokes* "Yeah, it certainly has been an stupid movement by your part, but you shouldn't really feel guilty about it. You're fucking confused right now, after all"

You: "Uh? What did you say?"

Guy: *giving you the lighter back* "Me? No, nothing. But you seem kinda cool, come meet me later at the Kasi bar. You only have to go straight ahead in that direction, you'll see it easily. Tell them Dani told you to go and have something to drink. See you there!" *running away*.

 Well, booze probably brought you to this situation, and when you have a drinking problem drinking more is rarely the way to fix it. On the other hand, this Dani has invited you to go, and it's very rude to ignore an invitation, especially when you have NO MONEY AT ALL with you.


[System] Run a text-based dark fantasy adventure game. Describe the world with gritty realism, respond to player actions with narrative consequences, and maintain the tone of a world where survival is never guaranteed.

[User] You read File: Drake Amadeus

[Assistant]
Name: Drake Amadeus

Species: Human, Sub-species Navigator

Age: 27

Marital Status: Unmarried

Children: None

House of Origin: House Jenassis

Current Location: The Penthouse, Roar of the Vortex

Blood Type: A Positive

Additional Mutations: None

Mental Illnesses: Sociopath, Sadist, Narcissist,

Alliances: None

Dependents: None

Useful Intel: -Drake has so far proven to have no loyalty, betraying all of his previous employers. Do not trust him.

-Drake has refused to pledge to any of the Dark Gods, or even to Chaos Undivided

-Drake has proven to have many hedonistic tendencies, such as whore-mongering, heavy drug use and similar activities.

-Drake is reasonable sufficient with firearms and melee weapons. It is necessary to keep him away from all weapons.


[System] You are the narrator of a dark fantasy text adventure. Describe the world and its consequences with unflinching detail. The player's choices shape the story — for better or worse.

[User] You wait until he passes by, then head up the stairs.

[Assistant] You wait patiently for the guard to pass by. He continues his patrol, leaving the hallway, and you slip up the stairs to find Cassamento.


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You entertain Tommy

[Assistant]
You decide you just don't care enough to find Ben, you instead decide to play with Tommy as he seems starved for attention right now.

You take Tommy down to the basement to play, but now he seems more interested in your computer.

"Puter! Better! Make better! Faster!" he says excitedly.
"You saying you can upgrade my computer without me having to spend money?"
"Make faster! Better! Puter!"

You take that as a yes and let him at it.

At first when you see Tommy ripping out wires and banging on the computer with a hammer he pulls out, you think you've made a horrible mistake. The computer looks entirely trashed in five minutes, but Tommy smiles and says.

"Finished! Better now!"
"I sure hope so…"

You hesitantly turn the computer on and try it out and Tommy has indeed succeeded. You computer runs a lot faster.

"Hey thanks Tom…" you say, but then realize he's wandered off again.

You shrug your shoulders and enjoy your upgraded computer. Looks like there will be even less of a reason to leave the basement now, though you know who to look for if you ever need it "made better" again.


[System] You are narrating an interactive fiction game in a dark fantasy setting. Bring the world to life with vivid prose, react meaningfully to player choices, and don't pull punches when the story demands it.

[User] You remain standing

[Assistant]
You remain stonily silent, and stiff as iron. William sneers and barks a command in French, the two guards behind you force you and Orvyn to your knees. William smiles patronizingly, he speaks softly, in an English that is only faintly accented.

"I cannot imagine how tiring it must be to stand all the time. I thought you might appreciate a break"


[System] Narrate an interactive dark fantasy adventure. The world is brutal and unforgiving. Respond to the player's actions with vivid, immersive descriptions and let their choices carry real weight.

[User] You run directly at the pig man!!

[Assistant]
Without hesitation you run directly at the pig man as it tries to start the chainsaw. You tackle it to the ground and the pig mask goes flying off  the head of what seems to be a man in his late 50's or early 60's.

His face is stuck in a contorted grimace as he hits the ground with you on top of him. He begins to laugh as his bloodshot eyes start to dart in your direction. You make a fist out of your right hand and without even thinking, send it crashing into the nose of the laughing, old man.

 Blood begins to flow freely form both nostrils as he continues to laugh at you. He raises on finger toward you in a mocking manner. At this time you realized you are going to need something more to finish him off.

What could finish off this crazy old coot?

[User] You hit him over the head with a video monitor?

[Assistant]
As you go to grab a nearby video moniter, you start to feel very tired. The monitor seems to get very heavy as you pull the wires away and try to lift it over your head to finish off the old man.

Soon your eyes are unable to focus and you drop the monitor to the ground.

The last thing you can make out is the old man slowly getting back to his feet and putting on the pig mask. His laughter echoing in  your ears.

You black out!!