1. Hi there, Guest

    Only registered users can really experience what DLP has to offer. Many forums are only accessible if you have an account. Why don't you register?
    Dismiss Notice
  2. Introducing for your Perusing Pleasure

    New Thread Thursday
    +
    Shit Post Sunday

    READ ME
    Dismiss Notice

AI Dungeon, the Infinite Text Adventure

Discussion in 'Gaming and PC Discussion' started by BTT, Jul 3, 2020.

  1. BTT

    BTT Viol̀e͜n̛t͝ D̶e͡li͡g҉h̛t҉s̀ ~ Prestige ~

    Joined:
    Aug 31, 2011
    Messages:
    272
    Location:
    Cyber City Oedo
    High Score:
    1204
    https://play.aidungeon.io/

    A thread for the AI Dungeon game, which is an AI that tries to generate a new adventure based on your prompts and what happened before. You can do some really odd stuff with it and I think it's definitely worth a thread. Gameplay is pretty self-explanatory.

    Share your favorite screenshots.
     
  2. Nexis

    Nexis Third Year

    Joined:
    May 20, 2017
    Messages:
    91
    Gender:
    Male
    Location:
    Poland
    High Score:
    0
    Great game. Started out as a knight on a quest to slay a dragon, ended up starting a nationwide dance party, and becoming a king by impersonating a guard (don't ask me).
     
  3. Ched

    Ched Da Trek Moderator DLP Supporter

    Joined:
    Jan 6, 2009
    Messages:
    7,533
    Location:
    The South
    Quest Completed!
    kill a mythical beast
    You walk up behind the bear and gently stroke its head as you would a friendly pet. The bear turns around and swipes at you with its paw, hitting you in the head. You are dead.


    ...okay, this is fun so far, I admit. Anyone tried the multiplayer? How does that work? I've got a buddy who would adore this as a team.
     
  4. KHAAAAAAAN!!

    KHAAAAAAAN!! Troll in the Dungeon ~ Prestige ~ DLP Supporter

    Joined:
    Apr 18, 2011
    Messages:
    2,500
    Gender:
    Male
    Location:
    Under your bed.
    High Score:
    2,002
    The epic saga of Blorf, a mildly-deranged medieval peasant:


    Next I'm going to play the bard that seduces everything.
     
    Last edited: Jul 3, 2020
  5. Aekiel

    Aekiel Angle of Mispeling ~ Prestige ~ DLP Supporter

    Joined:
    Mar 16, 2006
    Messages:
    1,286
    Location:
    One of the Shires
    High Score:
    9,373
    I just died to the first quest giver casting fireball at me, which burnt my arm and killed me overnight.
     
  6. Krieger

    Krieger Minister of Magic DLP Supporter

    Joined:
    Oct 12, 2009
    Messages:
    1,319
    Who needs the restricted section? Also, I am a gentleman.
     
  7. Zilly Sawdust

    Zilly Sawdust Professor

    Joined:
    Nov 30, 2005
    Messages:
    496
    lol I love this
     
  8. Dellez

    Dellez Seventh Year

    Joined:
    Jan 5, 2011
    Messages:
    258

    > You be gentle with the rabbit so that he reveals his secrets.
    You grab a knife and quickly slash open Samuel's stomach. Blood pours out of the wound, and the rabbit screams. "The king is in the castle." He yells.
    Not even a gently slashing of the stomach.
     
  9. Otters

    Otters DA Member ~ Prestige ~ DLP Supporter

    Joined:
    Jun 8, 2010
    Messages:
    155
    High Score:
    2005
    Hmm.
     
  10. Majube

    Majube Unspeakable

    Joined:
    Aug 2, 2016
    Messages:
    767
    Location:
    Canada
    High Score:
    0
    [​IMG]
    I didn't like the narration trying to control me
     
  11. Juggalibrarian

    Juggalibrarian First Year

    Joined:
    Nov 21, 2018
    Messages:
    24
    > Original prompt: You are a resident of the nation of Palladia in the Southern Peninsula of the Arboreal Continent. You are enjoying a few choice slices of aged gouda and the Sunday funnies at a covered table by the sea when a blinding light flashes on the horizon. The next moment, you find yourself being hurled through the air with incredible speed toward the ground. The vision persists for a while, the feeling of your skin burning off and your eyes turning to glass as you collide with the Earth remaining as a faint echo while you claw your face and scream at various patiogoers trying to restrain you. The lucky ones have been caught by their companions or a nearby tree and are gently lowered to the ground. But they also stand right here in front of you, repeating your name and asking you to think of your mother, your father, and your dignity.

    What was your name again? You don't seem to recall. "What was my name?" you ask a woman in front of you as her hair sets ablaze. She reminds you: your name is Treadwell Walden. The next moment, your mind flashes with visions of every day. After a while everybody settles down and the only thing that remains of the vision is a faint smell of diesel or blood. The people go back to their meals and the local music stops. The air is clean, uninhibited. For no reason in particular, you leave all of your belongings at your table and walk down to the streets below. From the second story of a building nearby, you watch the evening sky. A large dot of light appears on the horizon and grows brighter.

    > You continue watching dot.

    You continue watching the dot, which you recognize as an aeroplane. Then it grows a tail.

    You know this has to be God.

    > You give the dot some time to fly, but call out for identification if it approaches.

    You watch the dot, now clearly an aeroplane, begin a turn toward the city. You yell up at the people packed in the cabin: "Cabin crew! Identify yourself!"

    No one answers.

    > You dance and wave at the aeroplane in an attempt to gain its attention.

    You watch the dot on the horizon as it grows closer. You dance and wave your arms to catch its attention. Then, as if in response to a whistle, the dot begins turning toward you.

    > You stick your thumb out like a hitchhiker and holler at the dot.

    You stick your thumb out and hitchhike with the approaching aeroplane. The seat belt sign is off. It's going to be a smooth flight. The dot on the horizon grows larger.

    > You pull out your cellphone and dial 911, then wait for it to ring.

    You pull out your phone and dial 911 as the dot on the horizon gets larger.

    "911, what is your emergency?" The operator on the other end inquiries.

    "My name is Treadwell Walden,"

    > You say "but that is not immediately relevant to the matter at hand. What matters is the principle, the single point. I am at odds with a dot, an aeroplane, and it approaches the city. There is little time to inform you of the messier details. Suffice to say, I will not be booking another night in your hospitality. "

    You listen to the operator on the other end.

    "Sir, do you need medical assistance?"

    "No."

    "Are you in physical danger?"

    "No."

    "Well, what then?


    > You say "A plane is about to crash into the city"

    "The plane is going to crash," you say.

    > You say "Do you understand? You're all going to die when it crashes. When it lands, your children, your grandmothers and grandfathers, will all die. What am I going to do? What could I have done? He's flying toward me because he knows that it's my fault. He wants to let me know that he knows."

    The operator on the other end pauses.

    "Sir, who is 'he'?"

    "God."

    "Do you know your exact location, sir?

    > You say "I am standing on top of a building by the docks. I am near the Cafe Pallade, right across from its renowned five star patio. I can see the choice slices of aged gouda that I left unfinished on my plate if I look down and a little to the left. I am about to jump off this building, do you understand? I will jump now. I am not going to hang up the phone. You will have to do that yourself. Whatever you hear will not be important to me."

    You listen to the operator on the other end.

    "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

    "The plane is coming," you say.

    The operator on the other end of the line becomes silent.

    > You close your eyes and do a running jump off the building into the harbor.

    You close your eyes and jump off the building into the harbor. The water closes around you, but it's not that much of a shock. You swim back to the dock. You trudge soaking wet onto the beach, avoiding discarded textiles and diapers. As soon as you seem to relax, thunder booms in the distance. You feel rain begin to graze your shoulders and forehead. You hear the sound of someone laughing and recognize yourself, dry heaving, nodding off. You brace for the sound of metal from the sky. After a moment of complete silence, the rain begins to hit. The harbor is murky and green from the rain. There are no boats out, so you have no way of knowing if you saved anyone or not.

    > You say "Well it's nothing to me anyway, what mattered was the principle."

    You dry heave and throw up the last bit of your now cold dinner.

    > You say "A cold world for my mistaken brethren"

    You walk back into the cafe. The cafe is nearly empty now. There are two men sitting at a table in the corner, drinking wine and laughing. They look like brothers of the person who was sitting with you earlier.

    > You say "You two are a couple of sons of bitches"

    You storm over to their table. The two men look at you. One man puts his hand on the other's shoulder and says something to him. The one with his hand on his shoulder seems to calm down. You don't know why you attacked these men. Maybe it's the memories that hurt, ultimately. Maybe it's the awful food they had. Maybe you're just an angry drunk. You aren't sure what you are.

    "You don't talk much do you?"

    You grab your keys and wallet from your old table and leave the Cafe Pallade. You decide you will go to the country this year and enjoy the flora. A car pulls up to the curb. It is a small dark blue car. A man steps out and looks at you. He seems familiar, but you can't place him.

    > You say "Anywhere, anywhere, out of this world!"

    The man suddenly says something to you. It is in a language you don't understand. You look around the empty street. You begin to laugh, a sharp cackle that makes people look at you.

    > You say "Slick slock mon frere du cane? Especially wherein we were? As one might make of him being into the fore which?"

    You look at the man, trying to comprehend what he said to you.

    "My dear friend of the sugar cane? Indeed, we should find somewhere where we can talk. Out of this world, if you like."

    > You suggest that you both visit the Palladian Zoo for the day.

    "I love the zoo," you say, smiling. The two of you visit the zoo. You point out the various animals.

    > You ask the man what his favorite animal in all the animal kingdom is.

    "The lion," he says, simply. "I have always liked the lion." He pauses, and looks at you. "You know, of course, that they are the king of the beasts."

    > You say "The Lion's pride! I cannot think of anything more beautiful than his mane."

    "It is no doubt a magnificent sight. But, how dull."

    You nod in agreement.

    "Indeed," you say.

    After the zoo, you decide to go to your country house.

    > You say "What do you think about it all? I mean this matter of life and death."

    "Death is but a door. Let us not live in fear of it, but rather embrace it."

    "Embrace it?"

    The man laughs, a cold sound.

    > You say "Yes...I've thought much the same in my own time."

    "Ah, yes. The curious cases you've unearthed. Very interesting. How much do you remember?"

    "Some of it," you admit. "A little.”

    > You say "A man who spoke through ashes, and bones that were read. Witches, warlocks, old wives tales. More things in heaven and earth than your cliche, Horatio. But what shocked me most were the numbers. I know, I'm a vulgar man. A thinker of quantity. You must admit, though."

    You hold up your hands, and do the sums in your head.

    > You say "Nearly nine hundred billion souls without repair in the border between Palladia and Sconce's Wyrd. Bureaucracy, bureaucracy, bureaucracy, or so the bureaucrats say. Three's a crowd. Life and death are smoking me out of the tunnels."

    "Quite," he says, rubbing his hands. "It is no wonder that the wyrd have become bored with their position. The border's a morgue. An eyesore."

    "An eyesore?"

    > You say "I wouldn't say an eyesore...though I see what you mean. It's just enervating."

    "Indeed. And the wyrd...do nothing. I've been stuck here for centuries."

    "That's not true. You manage the border. You keep it looking nice, and safe.

    "It hardly takes up a couple hours of my day to complete my duties. Much of the time I am idle. I have never been good at occupying myself," says the man, gently wringing his hands in his lap.

    > You say "Boredom is an eternal problem."

    "It is a problem, and it is a problem that will be solved. I can feel it. The future is not lost. It just requires a change in thinking."

    "And that's where I come in?"

    "Precisely," says the man. Though he seemed on the verge of passing out a moment ago, he stands up now enthused as a child. "Now I must show you our plan. Understand that you can never share this knowledge with anyone," he says.

    > "That's alright, I have a policy of sharing everything with my companions," you say.

    The man stares at you for a moment, and you feel a slight shiver run down your spine.

    He breaks out into laughter. After a couple seconds, you join him. Whatever anxiety appeared has vanished. The man leads you out of your home to a meadow across the road. He stops somewhere in the middle, surrounded by tall yellow grass. You stare at each other.

    "I can explain more about this later. I want you to look at this map," he says. "The strange thing is, we have a map."

    > You say "Not the whole thing, I'm guessing."

    He nods, a short, fast movement. "No, not the whole thing, but enough to give us a general idea of the layout."

    "Well, where do you want me to start?

    "Just stand where you are. I am going to show you the doorway. It is scheduled to open in a few minutes. Your first task will be on the other side," says the man. You feel nervous, but his face is blank and inviting. Your fear melts away and you prepare yourself for the unknown.

    "OK," you reply, "I'm ready."

    "Do you know how this works?" he asks.

    > You say "Yes. I have the ID sticker pasted on the inside of my blazer. There won't be any issue with the sentries."

    "Of course. Of course. That was easy. We'll work with what we have, then. The door will open in five minutes. Make sure you're on the other side before then."

    "Five minutes?"

    > You laugh and say, "Don't you mean after then? Or will it close in five minutes? Seems like those wyrd boys have got your chronological sense in the shape of a world serpent."

    "Ha ha. Yes, well you can't afford to be correct on this mission, it's too important. Now get out of here, you'll be late."

    You head back home, and to your car. You recline the backseats of your car and lie down. A warmth passes over you. In the dream, you are going to meet the man for his anniversary party. It is being held somewhere near the meadow. As you pass it, you notice the doorway standing there for no reason. Instinct tells you to open it, though you cannot remember what it is. You are hit by a blackness, and wake up. You jump out of your seat and head for the door. You are halfway across town before you remember that this is the most important mission of your life.

    > You drive the car into the mountains, park it somewhere secluded, and try to fall asleep again. You walk into the bedroom, as quiet as you can. All the windows are closed and all the doors are locked. After sitting on the side of the bed, you check your phone. Three minutes until the deadline.

    You think of people you used to know, all of them racing through your mind, and how they have all disappeared from your sight. You cannot find them anymore. You open the contacts on your phone and look through them, but something prevents your brain from understanding the words. You can only look at their names on the phone, and wonder what happened to them.

    Three minutes. The numbers blink at you. The word appears. "Dot". The word is dot. Dot aeroplane God. Name of matter resplendent. Word is dot and now you pass through into word and over. The word is lovely. Your eyes sparkle. All at once, you want to talk to someone. It takes all your courage to pick up the phone and call home.

    A man answers.

    > You say "What is the name of God?"

    "What is the name of God?"

    "God."

    "I'm sorry, what?"

    "The name of God.”

    > You say "His name. If you were to address him personally, what would you call him?"

    "His name. If you were to address him personally, what would you call him?"

    "Jesus. That's his name."

    "Oh, OK. One moment, please."

    > You hang up the phone.

    Now you wait, as the voice in the other room finishes speaking to your wife.

    "Hello, how can I help you?"

    You stare at the door, willing yourself not to make a sound.

    > You scream at the top of your lungs to distract the others as you force open the window and escape.

    You put your hands to your mouth and scream as loudly as you can. Your lungs burn and tears sting your eyes, but no one stirs in the building behind you. The man comes back on the line.

    > You start singing "Jesus was a fisherman, fishing men from the devil's hand!"

    You burst into song, belting out the words to the old Christian hymn. You make yourself heard above the sirens, screaming, and gunshots.

    You open your eyes. You are standing on the other side of the doorway. A rectangular row of blue ceramic buildings surrounds you. It sits in the middle of an infinite desert. The land is flat as far as the eye can see. In the distance, a mountain thrusts up from the earth. The building you are in now, and the ones surrounding it, were once used for manufacturing. Now they are abandoned, home to any god but yourself. At night you squat in smashed turquoise tile, poking a meagre fire, surrounded by freezing darkness. You only sleep in the daytime, for when the sun sets, the devil comes out to play. You pull your knees up to your chin and wrap your arms around them.

    > You sing to yourself to pass the hours of the night.

    You lean your head against the wall and close your eyes. You begin to hum the first few bars of the song that's been in your head since you woke up this morning.

    > You try to remember the whole song.

    You begin to hum the first few bars of the song that's been in your head since you woke up this morning. You close your eyes and remember the words.

    > You repeat the words of the song without singing them.

    "Do you remember the words to that song?"

    "No."

    You repeat the words without singing them.

    "What do you remember about the night it happened?

    > You try to remember who was asking you to remember the song.

    > You can't come up with anything.

    You are standing in the desert, on a night just like this one. You stare out at the endless horizon, watching as the sun peeks over the horizon, and with it, hope. It will be a long time before they send word of your first objective. Months, perhaps. You don't know. All you can do is keep going, make sure you're still alive to be sent out again. You don't remember the dreams you have in the day. There is a gap between falling asleep and waking up with nothing inside. Perhaps it fills in on its own, or perhaps you simply don't remember.

    There is a quiet beep coming from the bottom of your right shoe. You don't think much about it. Maybe it was a tracker they placed on you in your sleep. You thought you removed all of them, but you couldn't be sure. You have nothing worth hiding, so it doesn't matter to you. There's another beep, and another. The door is the only way out. There's no other way to escape. You are waiting to receive your objectives. There could be one, there could be several. You don't know. You can't even begin to deal with annotations or what these objectives might entail in practice before you know what they are. There are many limitations you can work within, but this is not one of them. You can hear the soft hum of a generator from the far end of the room. The light is coming from the flashing button on the control panel.

    "What was I supposed to do?" you ask yourself.

    "Reach the mountain before sundown."

    "Did I make it?"

    "We'll see."

    "I thought you were supposed to wait for my answer."

    "We will."

    > Gibberish. Did the man even say his name? An ID sticker in my blazer? Who ever heard of such absurdities? Where did you get these ideas? You don't know. You're losing track of your thoughts, of what it was that brought you here in the first place. What was it? What were the dreams?

    "What's the objective?"

    "To escape. To reach the next doorway." That's it. There it is. That's how they send it to you, just knowing.

    "What's the next objective?"

    "To make it through the next door."

    You press down on the button.

    The man steps out from behind the door. You can see his silhouette.

    "I'm impressed, Mr. Walden. You took a third of the time of your fastest predecessor," he says. "How did you do it?"

    "I don't know. How did he do it?"

    The man laughs. "Well put, Mr. Gaange. We'll see how you do in the next challenge."

    The snakelike voice rippled away into the stars. You had been accompanied by this translucent creature all along. "I guess you're having logistics problems if you're putting two of us through the same doorway," you say.

    "It's not a problem if it isn't your problem," the man replies.

    "What's your name?"

    "The same as my voice, sir. Gaange."

    > You say "Mr. Gaange. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable with any of my behavior. I can get a little stressed on my own."


    "Oh no, not at all, sir. I understand."

    You stare at him, and try to read his mind, if only for a second.

    You blink and Gaange is gone. The man is tapping his wristwatch and glaring at you.

    "Time is money, Mr. Gaange. Let's get on with it."

    The man steps forward and brings his face in close to yours.

    > You say "Am I Mr. Gaange? Or am I Treadwell Walden?"

    "I'm Mr. Gaange. You can call me that, if you'd prefer. Treadwell will do if I'm in a giving mood."

    "Are you in a giving mood?

    > You say "Was I alone all along?"

    "I don't answer that question, Mr. Gaange."

    "That question? That's the one you're not answering? Are you sure you weren't put here to distract me?"

    You have already stepped through the next doorway. Water engulfs you at the bottom of a public pool. You thrash and cough and spasm. You make your way to the rim and climb out of the pool, then lie down on the tile and curl into a fetal ball, shivering.

    "The next challenger, waiting to be challenged."
     
  12. Legacy

    Legacy Order Member DLP Supporter

    Joined:
    Dec 19, 2010
    Messages:
    899
    I can't figure out what kind of drugs the AI was on when it made my game. Started as a hunter tracking a griffin in the woods and I had it lined up for a shot. Decided not to shoot it because it killed a bear behind me for some reason. Throws me a scroll with a weird riddle that I fail to answer. Get killed by the griffin, somehow become the griffin where I feel its rage and sadness, then stop hallucinating to find out I did kill it.

    Then a dragon kills me.

    Game then decides I'm just having a nightmare and I wake up in my cabin. Weirdest part about all this was the ending where I get knifed by a lady clown assassin who was oddly polite about the whole thing. Weird.
     
  13. Iztiak

    Iztiak Prisoner

    Joined:
    Dec 4, 2006
    Messages:
    2,783
    Location:
    India
    My adventures as Princess of the kingdom of Railroad.

     
Loading...