Chapter 3: A Game of Drones
Beneath the long shadow of the castle, the old names were struck from the rolls one by one. Thesus went away in search of another banner, Tempest took the road alone, and Lysander, Treon, Flamus, and Nobal were sent out into the wider world with varying degrees of ceremony and regret. In their place came stranger folk. Tarin Cinder, a dwarf whose battered gear had plainly traveled farther than he cared to explain, took up the sword; Sael Oaken arrived on a borrowed mule that seemed happier about the parting than he did and offered his service as a priest; and Sneezeboots, an elven thief, drifted upriver on a barge with little in his pockets save confidence. Thus was the new fellowship begun—not with trumpets or prophecy, but with paperwork, questionable transportation, and men whose names would have given the ancient kings pause.
Others followed. Boomblade came down from the mountain pass beneath a weather-stained cloak, while Talen Sable maintained, with a straight face, that he had taken a wrong turn three towns earlier and somehow arrived at the Training Grounds. Most curious of all was Yakblast, the mage: he reached the gates after dark, was soon heard in the market asking questions about the maze beneath the castle that no sensible man would ask, and eventually produced a sealed letter whose author he declined to name. Whether this marked him as a wizard of hidden purpose or merely a man with poor judgment remained to be seen. The company grew, faltered, assembled itself anew, and endured the small indignities by which great quests are so often preceded.
At last there came a day when there were no more recruits to interview, no more old heroes to dismiss, and no further excuse to remain beneath the safe light of the castle. The chosen adventurers gathered their weapons and provisions and stood before the stairway descending into the earth. Below them waited the maze: black corridors without pity, doors that had not opened in years, and whatever hungry things had learned to live where sunlight was only a rumor. Behind them lay beds, ale, warm fires, and every sensible argument for staying home. One by one they descended anyway, until the last of them vanished into the dark—and somewhere beneath the stones, something was waiting.
(L to R) Boomblade, Tarin Cinder, Sael Oaken, Sneezeboots, Yakblast, Talen Sable
Training AI to play the game is one goal, and having it write an interesting narratives of its adventures is another. I imagine a time when I have the AI scheduled to play for a couple hours a day, then email me a description of what took place.
Each game session produces a text file narrative. For now I am uploading them to ChatGPT and saying "integrate these together and produce a rich fantasy narrative of no more than 3 paragraphs, in the style of Tolkien and George R.R. Martin."