cswiger/gist:0f174019f88a6a1be052e4f30057bf80

## gistfile1.txt
model: https://huggingface.co/HanNayeoniee/LHK_DPO_v1
prompt: https://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2019


The High Gondonderil gazed on with horror as the Elgaborian legions marched at a single, pitiless pace into the once
peaceful streets of Sar-Andrada, the capital city of the kingdom of Xanthil, located in a fantasy universe which might
seem extremely confusing at present but which will doubtless make perfect sense to you, dear reader, once you realize
that, like most fantasy universes, it’s basically just Tolkien’s Middle-earth with different names for things.

Gordonderil was a wise old wizard, but he was not the greatest tactician. It was his disciple, the young but gifted
Elondor, who was the true military genius. He had devised the strategy to lure the invading Elgaborians into the heart
of Xanthil, where they would be funnelled into the narrow canyons of Sar-Andrada, and meet their doom at the hands of
the Xanthilians, their own forces held in reserve to mop up the remnants.

But Elondor had been captured by the enemy earlier in the day, and news of his capture had spread panic through the
Xanthilian forces, causing them to break ranks and flee in a headlong rout. The Elgaborians could now march unimpeded
on the city, and it was all Gondonderil’s fault for not heeding the whispers that Elondor, for all his genius, was
perhaps a little too reckless, and for placing too much trust in the erratic young mage.

Gordonderil mourned his error, but knew that he must take action to avert a disaster beyond reckoning. He hastened
to the great temple of Pyrothil, where lay the fabled Rod of Unmaking, a talisman of immense power capable, as the
legend went, of undoing anything it touched.

He knew that this was a desperate measure, likely to unleash a terrible cataclysm as the universe struggled to make
sense of the reversal, but in the chaos of his despair he had no choice but to wager the fate of all creation.

Gordonderil took a steadying breath, and reached out to the Rod, already half-convinced that his trembling fingers
could not possibly close around its hallowed hilt. But to his astonishment the task proved simple, and he grasped the
Rod of Unmaking with an ease that would have been terrifying had he not been so utterly desperate.

As he held the Rod aloft, the air itself seemed to ripple and distort, and the very fabric of reality trembled like
a frightened leaf. In that final moment of decision, Gondonderil gazed once more on the encroaching Elgaborian columns,
the doomed Xanthilians, and the ruined city, and in a voice that sounded as though it came from a million miles,
he intoned the incantation of the Rod, and the world shuddered.

In the moment before he was struck down by the backlash of his own folly, Gordonderil had a brief vision of a
thousand possible realities, and in one of them the Xanthilians lived free upon their golden shore, and the
Elgaborians had never known the light of life.

But then the weight of fate returned, and Gordonderil was crushed beneath the relentless march of causality.
All around him the world reeled back to its original state, and he could only watch in horror as the terrible
events that he had sought to avert unfolded once more. And as the Elgaborians marched on and the Xanthilians
fell before them, Gordonderil whispered his final farewell to the dream of a better world, and he too was erased
by the terrible might of the Rod of Unmaking.

—

The idea for this piece was to take a common fantasy trope (a universe-altering talisman, a desperate attempt to avert
a terrible fate, etc.) and make it clear that the character who wields the power is not just naïve but completely
misguided. The outcome is of course disastrous, and Gordonderil’s hope for a better world is crushed at the very moment
it seems attainable.

This was written in response to the writing prompt, “The Rod of Unmaking crumbles reality in a desperate attempt to
avert a terrible fate.” The idea was to show not only the consequences of such a desperate act, but also to show the
futility of the act itself, and the ultimate cost of Gordonderil’s misguided optimism.

As a side note, a few grammatical fixes have been made to the original submission. The text was also slightly
rearranged to emphasize the emotional impact of the story, leading with the immediate sense of regret and loss.</s>
	model: https://huggingface.co/HanNayeoniee/LHK_DPO_v1
	prompt: https://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2019


	The High Gondonderil gazed on with horror as the Elgaborian legions marched at a single, pitiless pace into the once
	peaceful streets of Sar-Andrada, the capital city of the kingdom of Xanthil, located in a fantasy universe which might
	seem extremely confusing at present but which will doubtless make perfect sense to you, dear reader, once you realize
	that, like most fantasy universes, it’s basically just Tolkien’s Middle-earth with different names for things.

	Gordonderil was a wise old wizard, but he was not the greatest tactician. It was his disciple, the young but gifted
	Elondor, who was the true military genius. He had devised the strategy to lure the invading Elgaborians into the heart
	of Xanthil, where they would be funnelled into the narrow canyons of Sar-Andrada, and meet their doom at the hands of
	the Xanthilians, their own forces held in reserve to mop up the remnants.

	But Elondor had been captured by the enemy earlier in the day, and news of his capture had spread panic through the
	Xanthilian forces, causing them to break ranks and flee in a headlong rout. The Elgaborians could now march unimpeded
	on the city, and it was all Gondonderil’s fault for not heeding the whispers that Elondor, for all his genius, was
	perhaps a little too reckless, and for placing too much trust in the erratic young mage.

	Gordonderil mourned his error, but knew that he must take action to avert a disaster beyond reckoning. He hastened
	to the great temple of Pyrothil, where lay the fabled Rod of Unmaking, a talisman of immense power capable, as the
	legend went, of undoing anything it touched.

	He knew that this was a desperate measure, likely to unleash a terrible cataclysm as the universe struggled to make
	sense of the reversal, but in the chaos of his despair he had no choice but to wager the fate of all creation.

	Gordonderil took a steadying breath, and reached out to the Rod, already half-convinced that his trembling fingers
	could not possibly close around its hallowed hilt. But to his astonishment the task proved simple, and he grasped the
	Rod of Unmaking with an ease that would have been terrifying had he not been so utterly desperate.

	As he held the Rod aloft, the air itself seemed to ripple and distort, and the very fabric of reality trembled like
	a frightened leaf. In that final moment of decision, Gondonderil gazed once more on the encroaching Elgaborian columns,
	the doomed Xanthilians, and the ruined city, and in a voice that sounded as though it came from a million miles,
	he intoned the incantation of the Rod, and the world shuddered.

	In the moment before he was struck down by the backlash of his own folly, Gordonderil had a brief vision of a
	thousand possible realities, and in one of them the Xanthilians lived free upon their golden shore, and the
	Elgaborians had never known the light of life.

	But then the weight of fate returned, and Gordonderil was crushed beneath the relentless march of causality.
	All around him the world reeled back to its original state, and he could only watch in horror as the terrible
	events that he had sought to avert unfolded once more. And as the Elgaborians marched on and the Xanthilians
	fell before them, Gordonderil whispered his final farewell to the dream of a better world, and he too was erased
	by the terrible might of the Rod of Unmaking.

	—

	The idea for this piece was to take a common fantasy trope (a universe-altering talisman, a desperate attempt to avert
	a terrible fate, etc.) and make it clear that the character who wields the power is not just naïve but completely
	misguided. The outcome is of course disastrous, and Gordonderil’s hope for a better world is crushed at the very moment
	it seems attainable.

	This was written in response to the writing prompt, “The Rod of Unmaking crumbles reality in a desperate attempt to
	avert a terrible fate.” The idea was to show not only the consequences of such a desperate act, but also to show the
	futility of the act itself, and the ultimate cost of Gordonderil’s misguided optimism.

	As a side note, a few grammatical fixes have been made to the original submission. The text was also slightly
	rearranged to emphasize the emotional impact of the story, leading with the immediate sense of regret and loss.</s>