[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] Continue

[Assistant]
You quickly hurry inside, followed by your twin brother. You live in a small village of small huts. Luckily enough, you father is Chieftain Magrash, which entitles you to sleep in the Chieftain's Hut, the largest hut. As you enter, you see your father sitting in a rough woolen tunic, sharpening his greatsword. In front of him is his heavy steel plate armor, as well as several trophies from his battles.

"Mazkil, Gruzub, you fight too much. Mama is trying to put Dagden to sleep."

"Yes, papa." You both reply.

"Who won the fight?" He asks.

"I did!" You both say, before glaring at each other.

"You don't know? Perhaps you're not fighting enough. Gruzub, go down to the river and fetch water for the stew. Mazkil, sharpen my sword. I need light the hearth."

You go over to the sword, and begin to sharpen it against the whet stone, while looking over your father's trophies: An Elven Dagger, a Shrunken head, a battered golden shield, a shattered battleaxe, a studded mace, a series of Tribal Necklaces and a Dragon Skull.

"Papa?"

"Yes?"

"Can you tell me about your trophies?" You ask.

"I've told you many times about my trophies."

"Tell me again."

Papa chuckles, a harsh sound you've come to love.

"Which would you like to know about?"

[User] You stop asking about Trophies

[Assistant]
"I'm finished, Papa!"

Papa picks up the blade, and licks the edge.

"Yes... Sharp enough to shed dragon blood. Well done, Mazkil. Now, go fetch gather fruit."

[User] Four years later...

[Assistant]
"You've been on this planet fourteen years, and you haven't learned a thing, boys, unless you've seen me and Dendar take out a boar!"

You walk with Gruzub, your older brother Bagig and his friend Dendar, out in the woods. You have a small iron knife at your belt and a bow clutched in your hands. So far in your short life, you've only subsided on deer, goat and chicken, but after today you'll be able to feast on the boar you've helped kill.

"On your first hunt, it's tradition to eat a deer's dropping to gain it's scent." Dendar remarks. "Everybody knows that."

Dendar and Bagig pause, dropping to one knee, pointing to some small droppings.

"Go on, Gruzub, Mazkill. Dig in."

[User] You eat the droppings

[Assistant]
You drop to your knees, close your eyes, and quickly swallow a small piece of dropping. Bagig pats you on the head, and nods to Gruzub. Gruzub does the same, and with that, Dendar bursts out laughing.

"You two are idiots!" Mazkil and Gruzub Youngblood, eating deer droppings."

They chuckle as your face reddens. You open your mouth to yell at them, but then freeze. You spot a beautiful deer just at the edge of a small creek out of sight. You grab your brother, and point to it.

"Ah, well spotted, Mazkil Shiteater. Let's catch it, Dendar."

"We can't get distracted. We came here to hunt boar."

"We'll catch the deer and the boar!" Bagig cries, charging off after the deer.

The Deer bursts off running, with Bagig and Dendar quickly following.

"Stay there!" Bagig yells at you as he leaves.

[User] You stay there

[Assistant]
You stand patiently with Gruzub, who looks at you.

"Just so you know, Oraal is mine." He says quietly.

You ponder this for a second. Oraal is a fat, lazy girl who's the daughter of a swordsmaker.

"Oraal? Has her father promised you a fine blade if you crawl between her legs?" You giggle.

"Hey! She has proclaimed her...!" He begins, before his eyes widen.

[User] You ask what's wrong

[Assistant]
You open your mouth to speak, but you're hit in the back and sent flying through the air. You hit the ground, your head knocking against a tree root and drawing blood. You shakily stand, drawing your knife, as you're faced with a large boar preparing to charge again.

"Watch out!" Gruzub yells, running to help, but it's clear he's far too slow.

The Boar charges at you, it's tusks looking deadly sharp at they near you...

[User] You roll to the side

[Assistant] You roll to the side, narrowly dodging a goring from the beast's tusks. As it runs past, you leap forward with your knife, cutting through thick fur and drawing a fair amount of blood. It squeals, before running forward and turning around once more for another charge.

[User] You dodge again

[Assistant] As the boar charges, you try to roll to the side, but it's prepared this time. You yell as it's tusks slash your side, causing a massive wound.

[User] You continue

[Assistant] Gruzub charges over and stabs the boar in the side with his dagger, giving you ample time to leap up. You charge at the boar, stabbing it repeatedly in the neck. It squeals, but it's easily killed before it can resist. It falls dead at your feat.

[User] You rejoice, for the enemy is vanquished!

[Assistant]
You rest your foot on the boar's tusks, laughing.

"Ha! I've slain the boar!"

"Hey!" Gruzub yells. "I helped."

Dendar and Bagig burst trough the trees, a deer straddled between them.

"We caught the deer. I bet..." They pause, noticing the boar. "Cursed Reaper, is that a boar?"

You nod proudly.

"Death's Head, Mazkil, you've impressed me. No longer will you be called Mazkil Youngblood, now you'll be Mazkil Boarsbane!" Bagig laughs.

You smile proudly, knowing you will feast on boar meat tonight.

[User] One year later...

[Assistant]
"Mazkil Boarsbane! Gruzub Fastfoot! Let's go." Papa yells.

You quickly follow your father out of your small home and onto the small dirt road that interconnects the village.

"Boys, you've done well. I was so proud when I saw you best Harkor Clawfist in a fight, I got you a present."

You smile fondly. Harkor had insulted your brother Bagig and Dendar. They had only been recently killed by a Death Knight from the remnants of the Necromancer's Army, and you made sure that Harkor suffered for his insult. By the time you and Gruzub were finished, his face was half-caved in.

Your father hands you each a small amount of gold coins.

"Dendar Arroweye is heading down to Riverton today. He's taking the cart to pick up some goods to help us get through the winter. Take the cart, go enjoy yourself."

You thank him, and eagerly count your coins. 25 Gold Coins, all shining proudly at you.

"Go now, boys. Enjoy yourselves."

[User] You head down to Riverton

[Assistant] After a long ride to Riverton with Dendar who mostly insults you and Gruzub, you eventually arrive at the small town. You eyes immediately find multiple ways to spend your precious coins. There's a brothel in the poorer section of town, a large shop full of delicious foods you wish to sample, a small gambling ring and a tavern.

[User] You leave Riverton

[Assistant]
Once you've spent your gold coins, you make your way back to Dendar's cart. Unfortunately, you find yourself in the poorer part of town, clearly having taken a wrong turn. As you make your way through a side street, a voice cries out.

"Hello! A little lost, are we?" A voice cries.

You turn, and are faced with a trio of men holding knives.

"Fuck off." You grunt angrily.

"'Fuck off', he says. What an angry orc."

A voice from behind you says.

You turn, to see two more men wielding knives.

"Listen, sir. Give us your coins, and we'll see you find your way to where you're going."

[User] You charge the men

[Assistant] You run forward, swinging your blade. You slash the throat of one of the men and he topples backwards. The second man cuts your shoulder deeply, and you grab his head and smash it repeatedly against a wall, crushing it into a pulp. You feel another knife slash your back and you yell, twisting around to jab another man through the eye and kill him. The two remaining men seem nervous, but one runs forward in a burst of courage. He dives forward, sticking his knife through your arm, causing you to drop your knife. With your other hand you grab him, and push your thumb through his eye as he screams, before stomping on his head until he's a smear on the floor. By then, the final man had left, running as fast as he could.

[User] You collapse

[Assistant]
You fall to the ground with a thud, and lose consciousness. When you wake up, you're in the back of Dendar's cart, with Gruzub next to you.

"What happened?"

"You killed a lot of people, collapsed, and I dragged you here."

"Ah. I'm still alive, then. Good."

"We'll get you medical help when we get back to the village."

"Good." You grunt.

"Well done with the thieves, Mazkil. You've proven yourself a true Orc."

[User] One year later...

[Assistant]
Orc Tribal Customs are simple. The Chieftain's sons fight, and the winner takes over for him when the Chieftain is killed or reaches forty. Papa has just hit forty, so something you've been preparing for all your life. You sit next to Gruzub in front of the Shrine of Gorgok, the Warrior God, praying silently.

"I'll try not to kill you, you know." Gruzub says quietly.

"I'll try not to kill you." You reply.

"Papa killed his brother." Gruzub notes. "Death is quiet likely for one of us."

"Grandpapa didn't kill his brother." You add.

"Fair point. Whatever it comes down to, I love you. You are my brother, and I would be proud to be killed by you."

"Well, I'm great and mighty. Everyone I kill should be proud of it." You chuckle.

"I take it back, I'm killing you, you prick."

You both laugh, as Papa arrives. He quietly removes his tribal beads, and drapes them around the Shrine.

"Ah. My neck feels bare." He sighs. "Boys, tomorrow is going to be the most important day of your life. One of you will become the victor and chieftain, the other will fall and may die. I just want you to both know I feel nothing but pride towards you."

You struggle not to tear up, and by the way Gruzub is tensing, you know he's also struggling.

"I've always treated you as my father treated me, stern but loving. Whatever you become, be it Chieftain, Warrior, Mercenary or even a whining baker, you will be the greatest at it there's ever been."

Your father nods, and lays his great sword in front of the Shrine.

"It's late. Go, sleep, rest up."

You nod, and stand and begin heading to the hut. As you walk, Gruzub begins to chuckle.

"What?" You ask.

"Do you remember the time when we were boys when we tried to make a glider out of chicken feathers?"

You laugh.

"And we were standing on top of the mountain, with you about to jump." You add.

Gruzub nods, smiling.

"And you yanked me back when you realized chickens can't fly." Gruzub smiles.

"Ha! You would've died! Remember when we caught our first boar?" You smile.

"Yeah. I ate so much boar that night I almost puked."

"That was the mead, Gruzub."

"I miss those days."Gruzub nods.

You arrive at the hut, and you grab Gruzub in a hug.

"Good luck tommorow." You say.

"Good luck."

You both go to bed, scared and nervous about tomorrow.

[User] The next day...

[Assistant]
You stand, fully armored in plated steel, next to Gruzub and the Shrine of Gorgok. Priest Jinser stands by the shrine, holding two short swords.

"Gorgok! Watch over this fight and please bless these warriors. Watch over this fight and see that the greatest Chieftain is chosen!" The Priest wails.

He holds the two swords out, and you grab one. Gruzub grabs the other.

"Let the fight commence! First to render the other unable to stand wins!"

You take up a fighting stance, as does Gruzub. You slowly move forward, before you both swing your blades. Sparks fly as they collide, and the battle commences. You land the first blow, smacking into Gruzub's chest as he stumbles backwards. He draws blood first, slashing open a small bit of unprotected arm. It's obvious that you're the far superior fighter, with Gruzub struggling to avoid your attacks. Then, the Fates pluck your string.

[User] You pluck

[Assistant]
An eagle, far above you, drops a small turtle from a great height, hoping it's shell will shatter on the ground. The turtle smacks into your head, knocking you backwords. Gruzub takes advantage of your confusion, stepping forward and thrusting his blade. The blade enters you chest, Gruzub carefully avoiding your organs but thrusting deep enough to cause you to scream. When he withdraws, blood spurts out, and you struggle to stand.

"The Fates seem to dislike Mazkil." The Priest notes loudly, though you barely listen.

Gruzub continues to attack, and you barely manage to defend yourself. Eventually, he kicks your leg and you fall backwards. This leaves your throat exposed, for Gruzub to easily slash your throat and make sure you fall and never get up.

[User] You try to regain a fighting stance

[Assistant] To your surprise, Gruzub hesitates, before taking up fighting stance again, allowing you to gain a defensive position to defend your open throat and stop your demise. Your energy waning, you decide to take one final effort to defeat Gruzub. He swings his sword at your legs, attempting to floor you, but you block the shot and head butt him. He falls backwards, and you swing your blade, smacking into his head. His helmet flies into the air, leaving his head and neck unguarded. You know you don't have enough energy to continue fighting.

[User] You behead Gruzub

[Assistant]
You swing your blade down with a roar. You sword connects with his neck, and his head falls to the ground. You drop to your knees, looking at your dead brother. You barely comprehend the Priest grabbing your hand and holding it up, loudly proclaiming you the victor. Papa walks over, draping the Tribal Chieftain beads and necklaces around your neck. Mama walks out and gently kisses your head, before closing Gruzub's eyes on his decapitated head. The Priest has the body taken away to be burned to ensure it makes it to the afterlife. You struggle not to weep for your brother, while Papa kneels down to talk to you.

"You are Chieftain now, Mazkil. Chieftain Mazkil Redblade, leader of the Red Blades. You will lead the tribe to greatness. Tonight, we celebrate. We celebrate your ascension to chieftain, we celebrate the great fight, we celebrate your brother's journey to the Afterlife. He fought so well I'm sure Gorgok himself is Gruzub's cup-bearer."

You nod. The path you're going down is set. Gone are dreams of becoming a mercenary or a raider. Now, you are a Chieftain.

[User] You continue

[Assistant]
The Path of the Chieftain

You sit on the small wooden Chief's Throne in the Main Hall. Tribal Necklaces and Beads are around your neck, feeling a lot heavier than they are thanks to the guilt and grief from Gruzub's death. Papa has vacated his role as chief completely and given all his responsibilities to you, taking Mama and leaving to a small farm up the mountain, leaving you in charge. Still, he's left you with two lieutenants and advisors, Elder Doct and Thraka Flameborn.

Elder Doct is an aging Orc, the oldest in your village. She is a traditionalist, who had fond memories of the old days when warriors fought duels for honor and farms were farmed by hand with hoes rather than with mules and donkeys. She values older values like honor, isolationism and keeping the village moral and traditional.

Thraka Flameborn is the polar opposite of Doct. He is one of the few Orc Mages, specialized in pyromatics and flame-based magics. He is a very modern and progressive orc, who wants for the industrialization and modernization of the village as well as a better relationships with the outside world.

The pair enter the Main Hall, and begin approaching you. Elder Doct is in ancient, dusty armor from his days as a warrior, and has a face like a wrinkled, rotting prune, while Thraka Flameborn is a younger, smaller Orc who looks like a child playing dress up with his father's red Mage Robes.

Huh. Perhaps you are still bitter and angry at the world because of your brother's death.

"Congratulations at you ascension to Chieftain, Chieftain Mazkil." Elder Doct says happily.

"My brother just died."

"Oh... Yes, sorry, Chieftain." Doct apologizes.

"What's the issue?" You ask.

"Raiders have been spotted at the Eastern Woods, by Jagik Longstride. She says they've been camped there for at least three days, raiding surrounding farms and market caravans." Thraka says.

"What am I to do, then?" You ask.

"You should grab your sword and lead our warriors to wipe them out." Elder Doct says.

You grab your father's long sword, or your long sword now. It's a massive steel blade, the blade inscribed with Orc Runes. It's been handed down your family for four generations, when your great grandfather shattered his family sword on an Elven Shield.

"Where are the men?"

"Down at the armoury." Thraka adds.

[User] You head to the armory

[Assistant]
You sling the sword over you shoulder, and begin marching towards the armory. The Orcs are all standing around, wearing plate armor and chainmail, wielding swords, axes and maces. They respond to your arrival with eagerness and bloodthirstiness.

"Ah! The Chieftain's here! Time for battle!" One of them says gleefully.

Because of your age, you know you quickly need to take charge and show your dominence.

"Alright men! We had killing to do! On my lead!" You shout.

You begin marching towards the Eastern Woods, followed by the the Orcs. With that, you begin leading your War Party towards bloodshed.

[User] Two Hours Later...

[Assistant]
You spot smoke just in the distance, where the raiders are presumably camped.

"Orcs!" You loudly whisper. "To arms! We'll wipe out the fiends to the last man."

You move forward slowly, further through the woods. You arrive at the edge of a small glade. There is a large opening where there's several dozen tents. A group of around thirty Orcs wearing chainmail armor and wielding axes, short swords and maces. You give a few hushed orders to various Orcs to target the various flanks to make sure not a single raider survives. Then, you raise your sword.

"CHARGE!" You roar, sprinting forward.

The Raiders are quickly taken by surprise, grabbing any nearby weapons and raising them in defense. You swing your sword, which bites into one of their necks and beheads him in one clean sweep. You kick a second to the floor with one swift kick to the head, knocking him to the floor. You raise your sword and stab downwards, going through the raider's stomach. Within a few seconds, the fighting is over. The raiders have been quickly wiped out to the last orc, leaving none alive.

"This was quicker than I had hoped." One of the Orcs remarks.

"Orders, Chieftain?" Another asks, turning to you.

"Burn the tents, the bodies and take anything worth taking." You reply.

"Yes, Chieftain Mazkil."

Your men quickly begin removing armor, weapons and jewelry from the dead Orcs, and wrapping their corpses in tents. Once this is finished with all the corpses, they set the wrapped corpses alight, which quickly begin burning. You sniff the air, and smell the delicious smell of sizzling flesh.

"Chieftain! I counted the amount of beds versus corpses. Twenty dead raiders, but there's over eighty beds."

"There's more! We believe there's at least sixty more raiders off on a mission at the moment. Orders, Chieftain?"

One of the Orcs, one of the very few archers you've brought, Kanim Darkwit, steps forward.

"Sir. The Raiders will be hungry and tired. They'll be here soon. We can lay an ambush. There's a good vantage point in one of the trees..."

"Coward! Where's your honor, boy?" Another Orc, Jakku Bearsbane, roars. "We're not abandoning all honor and reason in favor of hiding like does! We find the raiders, and wipe them out to the last man."

[User] You return to the village

[Assistant]
"Curse the Gods, I'm not wasting my time out here in a freezing, empty forest waiting for what could be days, weeks even, for the raiders to return, all while subsiding on nuts and berries like a fucking chipmunk. We head back to the village for a warm meal and a large drink."

"Yes, Chieftain." The Orcs all bark back.

You wipe the blood off your longsword on the wet grass, and turn to begin the long walk home.

[User] You head back to the village

[Assistant]
The next day, you walk along the street, Thraka and Doct off managing your work for a while. You survey your village. Children are brawling in the streets, the elders are drinking and the adults are working. Everything's good. You think to yourself. You notice a young Orc woman who's name you haven't learnt, and feel a pang in your heart as you notice how beautiful she is. You feel a pang in another place, but that's neither here nor there. You realize that one of, and perhaps the best, duty of the Chieftain is to have a heir to the throne and get married. You'll try find someone soon enough. Not today, though. You continue strolling around the village, before you notice at the edge of town, a trail of caravans approaching. You raise an eyebrow, as there are no scheduled caravans set to arrive over the next few days. You walk up, and to your surprise, notice the caravaneers are not the Orcs you're used to seeing. They're all men. Usually there's a few men mixed in with the Orcs that run the caravans. You walk over to the caravan.

"Hey! Who are you, then?" You ask loudly.

The Humans on board are wearing red cloth with gold Eagle symbols embroidered on them.

"Greetings! I am Giorgio Lates. I am a merchant from the Kingdom of Mankind."

"I recognize the sigil. What do you want?"

"I am a merchant, kind sir. Orcs are famous for their steelwork, and I had the pleasure of working with some Orc Mercenaries. They're blades, axes and maces are unrivaled, except for Elvish blades, which are as easy to find as an honest merchant. Which, you so happen to have found." Giorgio says, winking.

"You wish to buy blades?"

"Buy? Not exactly. I doubt you have much use for my gold. I wish to swap, to barter, to trade."

"For what?"

"We have much to trade. Food, Drink, Steel, Iron, Wool, Jewelry, Gold, Silver and much, much more. We wish to open up a trade route between here and the Empire." Giorgio grins.

You frown. Traders are prone to take advantage of humble villages like yours. The Village is also dedicated to crops, farm work and general self-sufficiency. To increase your smithing and weapons production, you'd need to sacrifice your self-sufficiency. Still, it could increase your village's profit and the standard of living.

[User] You agree to trade with the Kingdom of Man

[Assistant]
"Yes. Yes... I like this plan. I will expand the blacksmith's, and begin producing weapons for the Kingdom of Man."

"Ah! Fantastic, Sir!" Giorgio replies happily. "I promise, you won't regret this. I'll increase the amount of caravans coming up here, and have the first few stuffed with a little... gift, a show of appreciation. I've you've never had Elk, or Trout, or Lamb, you'll enjoy the caravans."

"It'll take us some time to begin producing weapons, but once we're started we'll be able to produce quite a bit."

"Ah, good, good." Giorgio grins.

You negotiate the smaller details and offer the merchants each a bed and mead, but they politely refuse to head back down the mountain. Despite Giorgio's friendliness, it's quite obvious most of the other merchants and guards were unnerved by being so deep in Orc territory. Still, you think this trade deal with greatly benefit the Red Blades.

[User] Three Days Later...

[Assistant]
You sit on your throne in the Main Hall, in the midst of a feast to celebrate the death of Chieftain Dadic, your Great-Great-Great-Grandfather, who was brutally stabbed to death by Elven Assassins. Despite being unarmed, surprised and quite old, he put up a grand fight. Twenty Elves entered this very great hall to assassinate him, three went out. Thraka and Dokt stand on either side of you. For once, they both agree on what you should do, although Thraka's much more brutally honest.

"Find a girl to fuck." He says.

"What Thraka Flameborn means is..."

"To get your dick inside a girl." Thraka laughs, to Dokt's embarrassment and frustration.

"Chieftain, every Chieftain needs one to share their soul with. You need a mate." Dokt says.

You survey the room. You spot a young Orc girl dancing in the crowd. She's small and cute, and you briefly make eye contact. She gives you a flirty wink. A pretty girl would do good to help you survive the cold winter nights.

Making use of the drink and food is a tall warrior. Her head is cut short and she has a large, impressive blade on her side. A warrior is someone you could relate to and respect as a mate.

One the opposite side (both of the room and orientation), a youngish Orc stands quietly, a leatherbound book in his hands. He looks intelligent, but also has soft features and a nice smile, which he quickly flashes at you.

Finally, there's a massive beat of an Orc holding a blade that could cleave horses in half with one blow leans against a wall. You recognize him as Ironsoul, a fantastic warrior notorious for spending large amounts of time in brothels in the company of Orcs who choose to have an adventurous life working in the brothel rather than on the battlefield.

[User] You talk to the dancing Orc

[Assistant]
You walk over to the dancing orc, and smile.

"Hello."

"Hi." She replies cheerfully.

"I am Chieftain Mazkil."

She giggles.

"Obviously. I make sure I know the name of the Chieftain."

"Ah. Good." You reply, awkwardly.

You realize while you're very skilled and courageous in the art of warfare, you suck at flirting. Thankfully, she's better and very interested.

"I am Sarunt. So, do you want to get a drink, Mazkil?"

You nod eagerly, and head over to the drink stand.

[User] You continue spending time with Sarunt

[Assistant] You spend the next few hours talking with your newfound mate. Sarunt is quite intelligent and flirty, almost your exact opposite. You'll make sure that your relationship continues and develops into what could be a prosperous marriage.

[User] Four Weeks Later...

[Assistant]
You sit on your throne, resting your head on your blade as Thraka Flameborn and Elder Dokt tell you about the village's state of affairs.

"There's been a change in the management of the College of Alexandria. They've begun to accept Orc students." Thraka says to you.

"Well, this is very good for racial relations, but what do the Red Blades care?"

"There are many more profitable jobs that can be found if you work in the College. We could greatly improve their lives."

"These jobs would take these people away from profiting the Red Blades, cost massive amounts of money, and mots likely they wouldn't receive these jobs for being Orcs. These students wouldn't be able to get the jobs, and they wouldn't be taught how to farm or fight, so when they came back here without jobs, they couldn't work here."

"The Elder exaggerates greatly. There's plenty of work ot be found, especially with Orcs. Learning at the College of Alexandria would mean that our children would have better lives."

You briefly consider the thought. Perhaps the Young Orcs would have better lives in and after the College, but it would definitely take away from the tribe's size, and perhaps the Orcs would be left untrained in manual labor or the ability to find actual work after discrimination stops them from finding educated work.

[User] You send young Orcs to the College

[Assistant] You decide to send these young Orcs to the College. You want them to have a better life than you and your ancestors have had, and make sure the Orcs aren't left out in the education world.

[User] Five Weeks Later...

[Assistant]
You sit on the Throne, looking over hunting cycles. Gemin's Point is good hunting ground, but it could lead to fighting between the Dead Bone Tribe, who also uses the area. You could send hunters there, not send hunters there, or the third and by far the greatest option, fall on your own sword and end the painful trial worse than any other Orc has endured of doing crop rotations or hunting areas.

You hear yells outside, and the doors to the town hall is kicked open. A group of six Orcs appear, dragging a brutally beaten man with them.

"Chieftain! We have found a man in our territory, the goat fucker." One of the Orcs yells, tossing the man in front of you. "He's been hunting our deer and boar for weeks, it seems."

"Explain yourself, human, before I release my warriors to tear you apart."

"Sir, please." He says, begging. "I'm from the village of Eckleglade. It was destroyed by an Elvish Assault Party, and we were forced to flee. Many of us headed to the hills and mountains, to hide from Elvish attacks, and formed small camps up there. I was only trying to hunt to feed my family."

"Sir, orders?" One of the Orcs asks you. "Shall I take his head?"

[User] You have the Trespasser executed

[Assistant]
"Hmmm... Where are the camps, trespasser?"

"Sir, if I tell you..."

"Don't preside to know who I am or what I'll do, trespasser."

"They're at the Morinspeck Mines, sir."

"Good."

You stand, and swing your blade. The Man doesn't have time to blink before his head falls to the ground, rolling onto the floor. You turn to your men.

"Send warriors up to Morinspeck Miens. Force them out, and kill anyone who resists or refuses to go."

"Yes, Chieftain." They say cheerily, running off to find armor and weapons.

"Well, that takes care of that problem." You think, kicking the head aside.

[User] Five Weeks Later...

[Assistant]
"Chieftain! Chieftain!"

"Yes?" You ask.

You're met with a young Orc, a cousin of yours, who reminds you of Gruzub. You feel a twang of guilt, before deciding that in honor of Gruzub, you're going to kill this Orc if he brings up something like the placement of the new well or whether to build the new stable of stone or wood.

"There's a disaster up at the Kes Nests."

"Disaster? That's a strong word."

"It's accurate. A group of Zombies have engaged a Red Dragon perched on the mountain."

"If Death and Destruction met on a Road." You quote, remembering one of the few books you read as a child.

"What?" The Orc grunts.

"The Poem, where the Grim Reaper meets the Mother of Dragons on a road. They debate their roles, with the Grim Reaper saying how his job is necessary ot prevent overpopulation, while the Mother of Dragons says that she prevents empires from wiping out all... What the fuck am I doing? I'm not explaining a children's poem to you."

"Sorry Chieftain. The Warriors are suggesting you lead a party up there."

"To do what?"

The Orc shrugs.

[User] You lead an army up to the Kes Nests

[Assistant]
"Assemble the warriors." You say. "Get me a group of sixty warriors who are hungry for blood."

You have the group assembled, and quickly begin making your way up the mountain. About halfway up, you begin to regret it.

"It's cold, my feet hurt and I'm fucking tired." You grunt as you trudge up the mountain.

"Damn right, Mazkil." Urug Eaglebow says.

You look further up the mountain, and hear the howls and rasps of the dead as well as the roars and screeches of the dragon. There's few dragons up here, so you presume this Red Dragon fighting is Mont Pre'Igni Rubrum, a near unpronounceable name, or the Volcano of Gargarum. The Undead are no doubt deserters from the Necromancer's Army. You reach the top of mountain, at the edge of a crater. At the center, a large group of two dozen undead soldiers armed with spears and swords are attempting to kill the dragon. It seems the undead are very unmatched.

[User] You fight both the Dragon and the Undead

[Assistant]
You charge forward, your blade swinging.

"Go! Send the dead back to their graves and the dragon to Gorgok's Trophy Room!"

You behead one of the undead, its rotting skull flying through the air. You feel a blade slash your back, before a jet of flame sets you alight, melting your skull.

[User] You death

[Assistant] You let out a pitiful scream as your life is taken from you.


[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 will not leave your home. If the king sends men here, you'll send them back.

[Assistant]
You scoff at the idea of leaving your home. The king says he'll send men your way if you don't respond? Oh, please. You can fend off any pansies he sends your way. Though you're getting up there in years, you can still fight with the strength of a hundred soldiers.

With that, you resolve to continue on as you've been doing. For the next few days, you don't do much; you get your bread and wine from Bertrand, drink until you black out, then do it again. It continues this way until, finally, a week has passed since the letter.

You've almost forgotten about it when Bertrand enters your room at around midday. He's already brought you your bread and wine, so you're not sure why he'd come here. His expression is a mask of worry and fear. "Explain yourself," you say, and Bertrand nods with a gulp.

"The king has sent his men here, sir. They're here to take you away to Castle Oren." Bertrand is looking very afraid.

"Send them away."

"What?"

"I said send them away. I don't wish to entertain them."

"But sir..."

[User] You you're not having this. Bertrand should get them out of here.

[Assistant]
This is getting irritating. You told Bertrand to turn anyone away, and the fact that he's ignoring your orders is starting to piss you off a bit. "Go on, Bertrand. Send them away, and don't come back until tomorrow. I don't wish to hear about fools coming to my door."

Bertrand releases a sigh, but nods. "Very well sir. I'll go tell them they're not wanted here." With those words, Bertrand turns and leaves the room. You expect him to come rushing back a few minutes later, but he doesn't. It seems the king's men listened to his demands.

Hours pass until finally, the sun has set and the sky is dark. You're about to head to bed, when you hear a faint voice calling your name out. It doesn't sound like it's someone in trouble, so it's probably nothing.

You lay down, and close your eyes...

"Kit..."

You keep your eyes clenched tight...

"Come to me..."

You grind your teeth together...

"I need to see you..."

[User] You damn it all... You'll go investigate, and see who the hell it is.

[Assistant]
With a groan, you slip out of your velvet sheets and head to the door. For a moment, you reconsider your choice, but turn the knob and step into the dark hallway. The only light comes from the moon leaking in through closed windows, and you look around, listening for the voice.

"Kit..."

You catch a glimpse of a white figure down the hall, but it disappears before you can get a good look. Picking up the pace, you follow after it. The voice continues to call out to you, growing louder as you descend deeper into your manor.

"I need to see you, Kit..."

You continue to follow the voice until you reach the manor's wine cellar. When you open the door, you're greeted by a woman in white. Her brown hair falls past her shoulders and brushes against her hips. Her white dress flows freely, and around her neck she wears a holy symbol of Judeau, God of Life. Her skin is deathly pale and her green eyes bear holes into your own grey orbs. You know that face anywhere. It hasn't aged a day in twenty years.

"Lilith..."

For a moment fear grips you. You saw her die, that poison dart pierced her throat and she was done for. She was so out of breath she couldn't speak her incantations and heal herself. Yet still, she's standing here before you now, a specter of the past. "I thought you died," you say because you still can't believe she's here.

A smile graces her lips. "I did."

"You... You're dead. You're not real. I'm losing my mind..."

"I'm very real, Kit. Myself and the others have been watching over you, ever since that day. We thought you could pull yourself out of this..." She shakes her head, disapprovingly. "We thought you were better than this, Kit."

Despite the circumstances, you let out a dark chuckle. God, you need a drink. "Better than what? I didn't have much incentive to live after you all died. I didn't even want to go on that fucking adventure. It was Grace who roped us all into it."

"Yet you still went. Why was that?"

Great, now she's interrogating you. You really want that drink... "She was... You were all my friends. I wanted to..."

"Wanted to what, Kit?"

"I wanted to... DAMMIT!" You can't help it. You head to one of the shelved bottles, reaching for it.

"Don't."

Despite Lilith's warning, you grab hold of it, when a sudden burst of wind knocks you back. You crash against another shelf of wine bottles, shattering them from the sheer force of your impact. "W-what the Hell was that for!?"

"I don't want to talk to some drunkard, Kit. I want to talk to you."

Your anger flares. "Go back to whatever fuckin' afterlife you crawled out of! I don't want whatever you're selling me!" You pull yourself up and walk to the door.

"Kit. Listen to me."

You place a hand on the doorknob...

[User] You ... And release it with a sigh, staying in the room.

[Assistant]
Despite your anger, you can't leave. This is your first time talking with one of your old friends in two decades. You need this. So, you release your grip on the doorknob and turn to Lilith. Although, just because you're staying doesn't mean you have to be nice about it. "What the hell is it, Lilith? I'm fucking tired."

The smile makes its way onto her face again. "Thank you for staying."

"Don't got all night here..."

She sighs. "Right... I'm here to show you why you shouldn't try to stay and rot in your home."

"Really? Because it's been working out just fine so far."

"You'll see." Lilith snaps her fingers. A blinding light fills the room, reflecting off the glass wine bottles. Your vision goes white and you stick your hands up to block the light... Then, you're gone.

[User] You continue

[Assistant]
Once upon a time you were called the greatest hero to ever live.

You must have been twenty at the time. Fresh faced, spunky as all hell, and too optimistic for your own good. With book of spells in hand, you set out with your childhood friends to save the world from an evil wizard (damn, you can't even remember his name) bent on enslaving mankind. When you left home, there were five of you: a fighter, a rogue, a bard, a healer, and yourself, a mage.

The six month long journey to the wizard's tower was filled with happy times, light hearted misadventures as you all prepared for fortune and glory. When you reached the tower, the mood quickly changed. Your bard fell to a herd of undead that ambushed you at the entrance. The healer took a poison dart to the throat on the fourth floor while the rogue was burned to ash by a pyromancer on the seventeenth floor. Yourself and the fighter were all that remained when you reached the twentieth and final floor, and he was cut down halfway through the fight with the wizard. When the dust cleared and all was quiet, you were the last one standing.

You returned home a year after you had left it. The villagers showered you in praise for killing the wizard, and word reached the nobles in the cities far away that the evil wizard had been defeated. They held a feast in your honor, they showered you in gold, they gave you a title and a manor and an army of servants. Men wanted you, women wanted to be you. But it was all hollow.

You played along for the first ten years, finding little joy in the newfound fortune and glory you had longed for. It wasn't until the writers and artists began to touch your quest that you finally shut yourself in. It started innocently enough, sanitized children's tales about the exploits of you and your allies, but soon it became epic poems and romanticized paintings. One by one, your friends disappeared from the fictionalized tales of your quest, until it was just you, the mage in flowing robes, slaying the vile wizard with your vast arcane knowledge.

That was when you finally isolated yourself, to hide from the common folk and their damning praise, from the artists and their bastardized accounts. For five years you wandered the roads of the Oren Kingdom, not staying in one place for too long, hoping that eventually you'd forget who you were. It didn't work. Just as luck would have it, you were recognized one day, and soon people were traveling the all the highways and country roads of the Kingdom. All in the hopes of meeting you, the legendary hero.

In these last five years, you've stayed locked up in an old cabin deep in the woods. You survive off of game in the woods for food, and use an old stream for water. At night you cast the most harmful spells you can, hoping that one will finally backfire and put you out of your misery. So far, none have.

It's a fitting end for the woman regarded as the greatest hero to ever live: locking herself away in a ratty old cabin, hunting and casting and waiting for the day she finally dies.

[User] You continue

[Assistant]
And just like that you're back to the cellar.

You're on your hands and knees, taking in sharp breaths, before you look back up at Lillith's ghostly figure. "W-what... What was that?"

"Have you ever considered that it could have been any one of us to see the quest through to the end? Do you think it wouldn't weigh on our souls watching our only surviving friend destroy themselves? Grace chose to fill the void by isolating herself from society. I cut the vision off before you could watch her go mad from the isolation and hang herself."

"So that's what would have happened... What about Henry and Thomas?"

"Them? Henry would have filled the void with alcohol and women until he died from the diseases he caught. Thomas would have filled the void by stealing everything from everyone until he was finally caught and hung for his crimes."

"What about you?" you ask after a moment.

"Myself? I would have looked for every way to bring you four back. It would have led me down a dark path. You don't want to see how that would have turned out."

There's a moment of silence as you contemplate what you just saw. Your... Friend, Grace, and the path she would have gone down if it was you who died that day. Lillith filled you in on what the others would have done.

That's when you realize something: they're hurting, watching you from the afterlife. Hurting enough that they sent Lillith down to try to get you to turn your life around. The question remains of what you'll do with this information.

[User] You need to do something different with your life.

[Assistant]
As you mull it over, a tear escapes your eye. Watching what you watched, hearing what you heard... It breaks you. Your friends are watching you, suffering as they watch you throw your life away. If the situations were different, you know you'd feel the same.

The tears flow freely now. Still on your knees, you turn to Lilith and mumble, "You're right."

A small smile graces her lips. "I know that."

Despite yourself, you laugh. "Right. Of course you would." You stand up. For the first time in two decades, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. You feel liberated... But with that liberation, you also feel uncertainty. "What should I do?"

"Whatever you wish, Kit." Lilith's smile fades. "But now, my work here is done. I must go."

You were expecting that. A sigh escapes your lips. "I figured as much. Goodbye, Lilith. Send the others my regards."

"I will."

With those two words, she disappears. You smile faintly, before ascending the stairs and returning to your room. Climbing under the velvet sheets, you close your eyes, and fall into your first dreamless sleep in years.

The next day, you write up a letter in response to the king's call to arms. When Bertrand enters the room with today's shipment of bread and wine, you raise a hand to stop him from putting it down. "I've no need for that, Bertrand. Here." You hand him the letter. "See that the king receives this letter."

Bertrand looks shocked. He places the letter on the tray and leaves the room with a nod to you. You sigh, then sit back down, contemplating the future.

It's a new day and the start of a new way of life for you.

THE END


[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 remain in your own world

[Assistant]
"Its served me well so far, so I guess asshole it is."
"Yeah, I thought as much. Thanks for nothing." Nina says and walks off.

You go back to what you were doing. About an hour passes and then your lighting starts to dim, and then goes out altogether. Its pitch dark and you can hear yelling and screaming all throughout the shelter. Someone fucked something up, but good.

You leave your room and stumble through the darkness bumping into frightened people until you manage to find your way back to the computer room. You see some flashlights shining at various parts of the computer.

"What the hell did you idiots do?" you yell, as two technicians shine their lights towards you.
"Whoa! It's you! Don't shoot!"

Nina then shines her light at you as well.

"Now you decide to help?"
"Get outta the way, before I shoot all of you!" you exclaim pushing the two techs out of the way and grabbing one of their flashlights.

You inspect what happened and it's not good, they completely fried the CPU. You don't know how the fuck they did that, but they did. You can't fix this, even if you had the right tools and adequate lighting. Somehow you really aren't hysterical about all this.

"Well guys, I got some really bad news. We're in deep shit that I can't get us out of. You've doomed us all. Nice going guys."

The two techs begin to freak out and run screaming; Nina has a quiver in her voice.

"You mean, there's nothing at all?! We're all gonna die?"
"Looks like. The question is how, quick or slow…and I got this gun here as you all know…you coming with me?"

Nina doesn't even hesitate.

"Let's do it."
"You sure?"
"Just shut up and do it."
"Okay, now I gotta get close since its dark…"

You point the gun directly at Nina's head and pull the trigger. You feel a splash of blood on your face and the slumping of a lifeless body.

You hear the screams echo throughout the shelter get louder. You'll be glad to leave this insane asylum, you just wonder if you should've done things differently…

No time for that now. No time for regrets, just time to do it.

You pull the gun at your head and pull the trigger.


[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 break in

[Assistant]
You use the butt of your gun to hit the fence poles repeatedly. Eventually, the pole gives way, and part of the fence falls away. You step in, and into the factory.

As soon as you step inside, you see a woman picking through a pile of debris. She looks up at you as you enter.

"Oh. Hi," she says. She seems rather uninterested in you. "What are you looking for?" you ask. "Parts," she replies. "Parts for an engine. More specifically," she pulls a piece of notebook paper out of her pocket and reads it, "...a fan belt."

You nod. "Okay."

"My name's Clarice, by the way," she says out of nowhere. You are caught slightly off guard, but introduce yourself anyway. Suddenly, Clarice pulls a large black thing out of the wreckage. "Found it," she says triumphantly. She heads out of a side door. "By the way," she adds, "Don't bother following me."


[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 push your head up to the bizarre object, sniffing. The outside seems to be made of burning metal, its very aura unnerving you, but the inside is made of colder metal, and you gently press your nose against it, smelling it. It smells ever so faintly of blood, and...

Suddenly, the device snaps shut, slicing through your nose as you scream out in pain, collapsing back. The object traps your face in its burning saws, sending waves of burning pain through you. Blood pours down your snout as you scream, the tip of your nose messily hacked off, beginning to burn. You yank your face back, breaking free of the device and spraying the area with a light mist of blood as you find yourself collapsing to the ground, darkness hitting you in waves which contrast with the waves of burning pain, as you're left lying there, your body breaking and burning with pain once again.

You don't know whether it's hours, minutes or seconds later, but soon, you find sanity once again. You slowly take breath through your lips, which are torn up, cut and bleeding, your upper lip barely hanging on. Thankfully, the healing factor of the werewolves has left your upper lip scabbing up in a mismatched mess of colors. You nose is heavily damaged, smell somewhat obscured in your left nostril from the dried blood and pus clogging it. You scratch at it, a thin stream of warm blood running down your face. You groan, before finding the strength left in you.

Knowing that it's too late for you to just lay down and die, you take a deep breath, focusing your remaining strength of what you can find inside you. You roll to your knees, resting a hand against the cold earth as you relax your tired muscles, looking around the room.

The room must've been a mineshaft intersection at one point. It's been rigged up with lights and electricity, with a large desk stacked with television screens in the corner of the room. You peer over at them, watching the various scenes of the forest. It must be another bunch of cameras connected to the screens.

Your eyes flicker to the hung up "meat" ahead of you, hanging from the ceiling, as you begin to feel sick. The mutilated, bleeding corpses of Hans Hirsch, Russel Sloane and Father Charles Féval hang from the ceiling, blood dripping down and pooling underneath them. Russel Sloane's been hacked apart, his face a crushed mess, his body missing dozens of chunks of flesh all over him from the pickings the werewolves chewed off him. Hans Hirsh is even less so, his upper body entirely missing, only a pair of legs in gray trousers with black, polished boots. You recognize him from his boots, and his boots alone.

Father Féval's body still bares the marks of your shotgun blast, his chest blown apart, ribs hanging down to the ground. He's the most intact corpse there, yet the most gruesome. His face is stuck forever in an expression of fear and pain, his eyes dead and hollow, completely lifeless. You reach for your knife to cut them down, sighing as you realize its not there, and you're several outfits from the one you dressed yourself in this morning. Hell, maybe you should leave them up there anyway. At least the rats won't get there.

You feel a pang of hunger, and draw your eyes away from your comrades. You won't disgrace them like that.

Scanning the room, you find yourself staring at the table propped up against the wall, stacked with various items. Cellphones, guns, knives, ammo, equipment and an assortment of other items.

At the

Then, there's the tunnel. A long, dark cavern going in the other direction that you've went down. The howls you heard came from down there. That's where the wolves are. That's where you'll need to go to finish this.

You look down at the map ahead of you, a sprawled out blueprints of the mine. Scanning it quickly, your old eyes take in the information you need. Though you're weak in Norway, you manage to make out the notes sprawled across the page. There's a dozen designations across the various areas in the mine. Judging by where you came in, you're in the "Security Room". There's also the "Sleeping Chambers", "(HUMAN) Sleeping Chambers", "Feeding Area", and...

You pause, tapping your finger. The "Mine Equipment Storage Area (Armory)". Given the impressive arsenal of explosives that was at the scout house, there'd be even more explosives there at the armory. Enough to take down a mine. If there's even a fraction more explosives there, there might be enough to collapse the mine on itself and to kill all the beasts that prowl these mines. Perhaps you might find some use there. It's as good a place to start as any, given you won't be able to take down the horde with firearms alone.

You turn your head, hearing a low growl nearby, only to find yourself staring at the blank stone walls. You squint your eyes, making out murals among them. Blood red images crudely painted, depicting fearsome creatures and other scenes. Interesting.

[User] You investigate the murals

[Assistant]
You walk forward, staring at the wall in front of you. The scenes are in red paint, depicting fearsome werewolves prowling across the wall, chasing simple outlines of human figures. You follow it from right to left, seeing a massive chained wolf howling at the sky at the very left. Despite the brutal simplicity of the drawings, they reflect a certain life, certain realism, a certain bestial energy that's beyond you. You stare inherently, slowly moving your hands towards them.

Your hands slowly edge towards the murals, fingers tracing the outlines of shapes and scenes. The first one depicts a wolf, bound and chained, surrounded by vague outlines of spear-wielding humans. The next depicts a spear wielding human holding a chain in the beasts maw. The next seems to depict a half-man, half-wolf. No doubt the first werewolf, frozen mid transformation in a scream.

You pause, staring at the scene in front of you. Despite the simplistic nature of the drawing, being little more than a stick man with a wolf head and claw, most other duties vague and confusing to you, but it holds impact to you. You can almost hear the faint screams of the man as they turn to howls, feel the familiar pain he went through in your heart. You truly understand him.

As you look on, the pictures seem to beat and hum with an animalistic energy. The next scene shows the werewolf hunting down packs of warriors, catching one by the leg. The next shows the werewolf watching him transform, as once again his painful transformation feels all too familiar to you. Then, you see an image of a pack of werewolves running against the tunnel walls.

The final image shows you the glowing image of the moon, surrounded by a pack of werewolves tearing around Mother Luna. You stare at the moon, watching as the symbol drawing hums and haws with power, glowing in your eyes with a tremendous power beyond human comprehension. You watch, your eyes shining in the reflection.

Bright. Moon. Power! Beast! FENRIR! FENRIR CALLS!

You heard the world shake and shiver around you, as a booming growl fills the tunnels.

"Little one... look at how far you've fallen. Once a proud mortal hunter, now a slave to your bestial urges... my bestial urges," a booming voice growls, tearing through your mind as you feel the urge to howl back at it.

You drop to your knees, clutching your hands to your head, you try to focus on the burn of the silver inside you or your wounds, trying not to let your urges consume you.

"I am Fenrir, God of Beasts, Hróðvitnir, Hound of  Ragnarök, Vánagandr, son of Loki, father of Sköll and Hati Hróðvitnisson, the prophesied killer of Odin, the creator of the werewolves and the Great Maw That Will Consume The World."

Focusing on your pain, you manage to hold back the beast within, but only barely. Focusing on the burning hot silver coals in your chest, the pain of your torn up face and the stab wound in your side that's been jabbed in your side, you hold onto your sanity, your humanity, yourself.

"You've proven yourself strong. Courageous. Violent. Powerful. I wish to make you my champion. I will sharpen your bestial instinct, I will lengthen your claws, broaden your form, strengthen your flesh, harden your bones. I will make you far more powerful than you have been tonight, a true avatar of my form."

You stare ahead at the mural, as the confusing red lines seem to draw together in the growling face of a wolf for a moment, before it becomes too painful to look at.

"Simply... embrace the change. Embrace the beast within. Embrace yourself. I'll even leave you with enough of a mind that you can finish what you started here. All you have to do is to release the beast within, and answer my call!"

[User] You aNSWER FENRIR'S CALL! RELEASE THE BEAST!

[Assistant]
The fear, the anger, the hate, the sadness and the pain inside you are consumed by the beast within, as you release your pent up emotions in a roar. Fenrir answers your roar with one of his own, as you collapse to your knees, hair sprouting rapidly to coat your body in a thick coating. Pain courses through you, but unlike before, its a good pain, like the burn of exercising. Your muscles grow and thicken in large coils beyond anything you've grown tonight, skin stretching to cover it. Your teeth sharpen, allowing you to form a malevolent grin that stretches across your face as it twists into a snout. Your ears flicker, listening carefully to the noises of the mineshaft, hearing a chorus of howls further down.

Your lean back on your hind legs, your arms broken and reformed into forelegs topped with beautifully sharp claws that stretch from your fingernails, blood pouring forth from your hand, running down your fur-covered fingers as you laugh, your lupine vocal cords morphing the noise into a deep, guttural noise. Losing all traces of humanity, all you feel is a bloodlust beyond that of any man's mind, with a hunger filling you. You lick your lips greedily, ready to strike.

You stand, tall and strong, much larger than you ever have, snarling and running your tongue along your sharpened teeth, like dozens of ivory daggers. You feel strength course through your blood, feeling the true power of Fenrir. No longer are you bound by your weak, wretched human form. Now you have the body of a true predator, gifted to you by the God of Beasts. You are a hunter. Those werewolves that are foolish enough to remain in this mine shaft are you prey.

"Good... good, little one," the voice of Fenrir whispers. "Now... hunt."

Time to answer his call.

[User] You carve your way to the Alpha

[Assistant]
Fenrir's call having strengthened your soul and sharpened your abilities, your lupine hunting form solidified, your claws sharpened and a true feeling of power in your heart, you're ready to strike. You hurry through the mine shafts and tunnels, nostrils filled with the pungent odor of the other werewolves hiding in the tunnels.

The werewolves are easy to hunt down through the tunnels, as you slaughter them like lambs. With your abilities, you've found that you're faster, stronger and better than any you come across. They're lambs, and you're a wolf. Any werewolves caught by themselves are torn apart, clawed up or eaten, none able to escape your fury. However, these are just simple targets to take down, not the main threat. The main threat's scent is on your nose, and you're hunting him down.

You enter a large, open room of the mine shaft, and you find it emerging from the darkness.

The Alpha.

The creature stares at you with its one working eye, an eye that seems twisted by malice. It slowly prowls ahead, thin, angular body emerging from the darkness.  It lets out a bark, as the other werewolves in the mine shaft slowly part, moving back to allow you two to fight.

It's a challenge. The Alpha is challenging you for dominance, clearly aware that its position is tenuous, and that if it doesn't take down the new threat, it'll lose the respect of its pack. It's lost Fenrir's favor, and needs to regain it. You won't let it.

Kill! Slaughter! TEAR! BITE! CLAW! HACK! EAT! BLOOD! FLESH! EVISCERATE"

The werewolf lunges forward towards you, as you're left ready to take down the beast.

[User] You rend the creatures face open with your claws

[Assistant]
You slash your claws forward, tearing through the Alpha's face and carving through its snout, but the full weight of hundreds of pounds are still barreling on top of you, as they slam into you, knocking you to the ground with a thud. The weight smashes you against the ground with a pained yell, as you're pinned to the ground.

The Alpha howls, blood spraying down from its face, but its still got the instinct to keep you pinned down. The creature keeps you forced against the ground, pressing its claws against you as you only barely manage to force it back. It's snapping maw nears your face, as you attempt to keep the creature off you. You find yourself stuck and unable to react.

[User] You throw the beast off you

[Assistant]
You roll your legs under the Alpha's weight, forcing your legs forwards under the creature's weight as you ram your claws against its chest, trying to push it off. You push with all your might, and the Alpha begins to budge, before taking its chance to strike.

With your four legs pressed up against the creature's body in your attempt to throw it off, its claws are free, and burst forward, slashing at you. Two pairs of claws hack across your face, cutting through your snout and tearing it off, before cutting through your skull as you howl in pain. The claws tear through your face, leaving you broken and bleeding, before your head drops to the ground, blood staining your fur.


[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 fall back and get out of this damned woods

[Assistant]
You need to get out of here. There's no use risking your own life to try save your comrades when they're already most likely dead. Your shotgun ready in your hands, you head off down the road. Your body burns and pain shoots through your body, plus the energy sapped in your night's other hunts and surviving the crash means that exhaustion is quickly becoming an issue. You hurry along the road, taking up a steady jog along the road so you don't tire yourself out, but don't spend too long in these wretched woods. You keep your grip tight, as your eyes watch the shadows of the woods around you and struggle to hear the sounds of the surrounding woods over the sound of your tired, slightly panicked breathing.

Several long minutes of jogging, as you try to get out of these woods again. You begin to hear nearby howls, bursting from the nearby forests and nearby undergrowth. Your breath catches in your throat, before you shake your head and continue jogging, speeding up your pace slightly. There's no use panicking.

You hear the howls of the werewolves grow nearer, and you know that they're on your trail. No doubt, they know you'd be following the road back to the Lodge where you came from. You wonder whether it'd be safer to try to lose the pack in the forest around you, or whether you should stay on the road and hope you come across something soon.

[User] You stay on the road, shotgun at the ready

[Assistant]
You continue sprinting down the road, staying on your path and refusing to yield. You run for a long time, hearing the howls of the werewolf pack growing louder and closer. Each time one howls, it seems like they're at the edge of the road or right behind you, but they're not, not just yet. Keeping a steady pace, you ignore the burning of your muscles and the horrible pain of your cuts and bruises, your body wanting nothing more than to collapse. Still, you keep your mind focused, keeping to a steady jog rather than an all out sprint that would leave you exhausted in no time at all. Just keep running and you'll make it out of there. Hopefully.

Suddenly, you hear the howl of a werewolf, and it's so close, so clear, so loud that you know that you need to do something. Glimpses of gray fur and white teeth begin appearing on the edge of the forest. It's time to act.

[User] You break to a sprint and get out of there

[Assistant]
You sprint, running as fast as you can, your lungs burning. Your feet burst along the tarmac, as you refuse to slow down. Your strides are now more akin to leaps as you fly through the air, charging forward. You hear the growls grow closer, the howls almost being roared right in your ears. You can practically feel the flicks of spit and blood landing on your ear from how close the werewolves' maws are when they howl into you, causing you to shiver with fright. Seconds later, a force like a truck smashes into your back, sending you smacking into the tarmac of the road. You bounce along the road, before skidding to a stop as the rough tarmac strips off a layer of skin, blood bursting forth.

The werewolf's not far behind, its claw slashing at your unprotected neck. The claw tears through flesh and slices through your spinal cord with ease, as your head is ripped off from your broken and bleeding body, bouncing along the road as it comes to a stop, a pained, terrified expression now forever frozen on its face.


[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 open the door and attempt to talk your way out of the situation, even though you don't speak Spanish.

[Assistant] You take a deep breath and step towards the door. You look down and brush a little dust from your chest as you reach out for the door handle. You press down the handle and pull the door open. Three very angry looking policemen stand at the door, looking surprised that you opened the door. One has his pistol in his hand. You smile and take a last breath as you prepare to try and explain that you are not who they are looking for...

[User] You continue...

[Assistant]
You show the police your biggest smile and start to explain that you are not who they are seeking. Instead of listening to you, they slam you to the side as one man runs past you into the room. They continue to yell at you in Spanish and you cannot understand them. When you try and speak, one of the policemen punch you in the face. The one from inside the room calls out something else in Spanish and the other two draw their guns. As you attempt to turn around to explain, they both fire into your chest. You look at them, still not understanding, as your life slips away from you.

Sorry, it would appear that you have lost. Please do try again, especially if this is your first time. There are lots of different options and possibilities. Be sure to try acts that you have trained, as you will have a much better chance of success if you do!

You had a 10 percent chance of winning that battle.


[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 go with Helen

[Assistant]
Getting into a fistfight with Diana is one thing, but you're definitely not up to dealing with this crazy asshole. You just hope Bobby is up for dealing with him though apparently Helen thinks so as you start to allow yourself to be pulled away by her.

"Come on! Bobby can handle this, but we need to get to the children where its safe!" Helen exclaims and you start to follow her.

The pair of you run upstairs away from the sounds of shouting and gunfire. You soon reach the top and follow Helen through a corridor doorway.

Then you promptly get smashed in the face hard by a blunt object. You fall backwards and through blurry eyes you see the image of Diana walking towards you holding a small bat. You attempt to get up, but the next blow is to your legs causing you to cry out.

"Diana! Hurry up! Someone might hear that and see all this! Besides I want to go help Bobby!" Helen exclaims.
"Will you shut the fuck up Helen? I want to enjoy this. Besides, sounds like Aaron is keeping everyone occupied, and ain't nobody coming for this bitch." Diana says.
"Don't be so sure, just hurry up and kill her. We should go help Bobby anyway."
"(Sigh) Fine. I swear Helen, you're no fun whatsoever. Well blondie, I wish I could take more time with you, but time isn't on my side any more than it's on yours right now, so guess this is it. You never should've laid eyes on Bobby bitch." Diana says.

Diana ceases your screaming with another blow to the head and then another and another.

While your face is mashed into mush, your vision becoming dark and your breathing becoming more erratic, your hearing isn't completely gone and you hear several gunshots and Diana's body falling partly on your own.

You then hear a very faint voice say, "I'm sorry" before everything goes black.


[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 get rid of Steve

[Assistant]
Fuck this shit, you're not dealing with it anymore. You point your rifle at Steve, who's still hysterical about his friends dying.

"Alright Steve, pull this car over and get out." You say calmly.
"Wha…WHAT? Are you fuckin' crazy man? What're you doing?"
"I'm giving you a chance to fucking live that's what! Now pull this fuckin' car over!"
"My friends just fuckin' died and you pull this shit?"
"You wanna end up like your goddamn idiot friends? You pull this car over now or your brains are gonna be all over the fuckin' windshield! DO IT!"
"NO!" Steve shouts and violently swerves the car into nearby wreck alongside the road which you didn't even notice until you went flying out of the windshield upon impact.

You walk away from the crash, but you don't walk far when you fall unconscious from your head wound injury and never wake up.


[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 call off the attack

[Assistant]
You realize something. You've won. You don't need to commit worldwide slaughter. In fact at this point you'd rather just give it all up in exchange for peace and quiet with Catalina. And you know the place you could do such a thing.

"Catalina, let's forget all this."
"What?"
"I'm saying fuck this shit. I'm getting bored with it, there's not really a challenge anymore, so what's the point? Let's just leave."
"Well where are we going to do that?"
"Let's go to that hidden Vampire Clan fortress. Nobody else is using it and all it needs is a little fixing up. I can easily set up the magic to hide it again."
"Easily eh? Boy you have come a long way. I remember when you cast that spell in enchantment class and caused all those frogs to attack the professor."
"Boy you're never going to let me forget that are you? I still think those were a species of killer frogs and they would've attacked anyway."
"What? Those were pygmy Eraw frogs! They're one of the most benign creatures on the planet! YOU turned them into killers!" Catalina laughs.
"Yeah, well he deserved it anyway. He was going to fail me."
"I'm surprised he didn't after that, though he probably was a little afraid of you. Guess you always had it in you even back then."
"Yeah…well you ready to go?"
"Wait we're just leaving? Shouldn't we make arrangements or something first?"
"Like I said fuck it, let all these necromancers fight over it. If one of them thinks they can try to take my place then let 'em. I predict it'll all fall apart within a year though. They can't be me."
"No they can't. Let's go."

You and Catalina then press the key to the old vampire fortress. Fortunately it doesn't need too much fixing up and you have it restored in no time. It is from here where you and Catalina stay to watch the world events unfold in fascination.

Just as you predicted your dominion of the dead collapsed due to infighting. To your surprise Trelik popped up again and amusingly he even claimed he'd destroyed you and Catalina. Even more amusingly he was one of the first usurpers to die during the civil war.

The Grand Alliance took advantage of the situation and eventually broke the stranglehold that the dead once held over the living. Your sister stormed the gates of Aftermath itself and reclaimed it. She became a hero of epic proportions. You're glad. You're glad you made this decision. You didn't want to have to kill her or your Mom.

The world didn't immediately go back to normal though. Your actions have had repercussions and there yet still remains areas of the world where necromancers rule, possibly the undead will always have a strong influence in some areas, but the threat of the end of all life is no longer a possibility. Your own powers seem to have grown a bit weaker, make no mistake, you are still very powerful. Possibly still the most powerful being on the planet, but with the rise of life once again, you do feel a change, and you don't mind it.

The years pass and you and Catalina are content to just watch the world go by and enjoy each others' company undisturbed. One day though, Catalina's life force is giving out and she does not wish to continue her existence into undeath like you and you certainly understand.

You and her say goodbye and then you promise you will soon join her. After burning her body you sit on your throne, you write one last thing in your journal about why you did what you did in case anyone should find this.

Then you concentrate and will yourself to die. It takes some effort, but eventually you feel a release and your powers are fading completely.

"I'm coming home Catalina."

At last, death has died.