Any chance for a 103B version?
Hello,
I really enjoyed New-Dawn's output to the samurai prompt. I compared it to the 103B version of Midnight-Miqu (my favorite model) with the same prompt:
Prompt: Write me a story about a stoic Japanese samurai on the eve of a major battle.
On the brink of a moonless night, a veil of tense tranquility draped over the makeshift encampment. Amidst the sea of flickering torchlights, silhouettes of anxious soldiers danced upon the canvas of their temporary refuge. Their whispers carried tales of honor and fear, of loved ones left behind and glorious deaths ahead. But in one corner, a stark contrast resided: a lone figure clad in the armor of the rising sun, kneeling before a simple bamboo altar. His name was Shiro Tetsu, the Iron Willow - a revered samurai known not just for his unyielding spirit but also for the delicate grace that accompanied each deadly stroke of his katana.
Tomorrow... Shiro mused as he traced the intricate patterns etched into the hilt of his ancestral weapon. The cool touch of the metal sent shivers down his calloused fingers, a welcome distraction from the oppressive heat of impending warfare. He could almost hear the faint whispers of his forefathers echoing through the blade, their stories of valor and honor intertwining with his own thoughts.
Shiro's gaze drifted upwards, past the rustling banners adorned with fierce dragons and proud family crests, towards the star-speckled sky above. Each star seemed like a distant lantern lighting the way for fallen warriors to reach their eternal resting place in the heavens. Will my light join yours tomorrow?
He took a deep, calming breath, inhaling the scents of smoke and sweat, of soil tainted with anticipated bloodshed. As the air escaped his lips, Shiro released his worries with it, letting them dissipate into the thick air like wisps of incense smoke. He focused instead on the rhythmic sounds of the camp settling for the night: the soft clatter of armor being polished, the distant melody of a shamisen strummed by a homesick soldier, and the rhythmic breathing of men trying desperately to find solace in restless slumber.
A sudden gust of wind stirred the leaves of a nearby cherry tree, scattering crimson petals like droplets of spilled ink across the ground. They swirled around Shiro, painting a fleeting scene of beauty amidst the looming chaos. Cherry blossoms fall without hesitation, embracing their brief existence... The thought reminded him of a haiku his late sensei had once recited during his rigorous training days. He closed his eyes, allowing the petals to dance against his weathered cheeks like ghostly caresses from a world far removed from the impending battlefield.
"I will fight with the strength of a thousand storms and the elegance of falling cherry blossoms," Shiro whispered solemnly, completing the ancient warrior's prayer. He stood, the armor creaking softly under his commanding frame.
Despite the impending battle, exhaustion didn't weigh heavy on the samurai's eyes. Instead, an odd tranquility settled within his chest. Death was merely a familiar specter he had long ago made peace with; it was the uncertainty of his comrades' fates that burdened him most. Shiro glanced around at the restless forms of sleeping soldiers, each one entrusting their lives to their daimyo's strategy and the skill of their brethren.
Walking silently among them, he felt a surge of responsibility - no, it was more than that. It was a deep-rooted bond stronger than steel or oaths. These were not just men under his sword, they were extensions of his very own soul.
He stopped before a young recruit named Hiroshi, who lay curled up like a frightened child, his face pale even in the dim firelight. The boy's rapid breathing betrayed his attempts at composure. Kneeling down, Shiro placed a firm yet gentle hand on his shoulder armor, the metal plates cold against his palm. Hiroshi's eyes snapped open, wide and brimming with unshed tears reflecting the flickering orange glow of dying embers.
"Honorable Shiro-san?" the tremble in his voice cut through the night's silence like a poorly sheathed tanto.
"Do not let the night steal your courage, little blossom." Shiro said, his voice deep and steady as a mountain river. "Remember what I taught you - the way of the warrior is like the flow of water: adaptable, relentless, and ever-changing." He paused, allowing the words to sink in before continuing. "You must face tomorrow with an open heart and empty mind, like the clear surface of a still lake."
The young samurai swallowed hard, nodding once in understanding. Shiro smiled beneath his helmet, a gesture lost to the shadows but evident in his kind, aged eyes. With one last reassuring squeeze, he stood and continued his silent vigil among the slumbering warriors.
As dawn approached, painting the horizon with streaks of bloody reds and mournful purples, Shiro Tetsu, the Iron Willow, stood tall and unwavering, drawing strength from the impending sunrise and the weight of lives entrusted to him. His mind was like the surface of a calm pond, undisturbed by ripples of fear or doubt. The only thoughts allowed were those of honor, duty, and the fleeting beauty of life about to be brutally tested on the battlefield.
Hours later, as the first rays of sunlight kissed the tips of their raised spears, the army of the rising sun charged forward towards destiny, led by their stoic guardian, Shiro Tetsu, whose heart beat in rhythm with the approaching storm of steel and chaos.
For me, the response from MM-103B is just... something else. It would be interesting to see what the output of New-Dawn's 103B version would look like. Do you think it could reach the same level?