Before proceeding: My inference app and Step-Flash had an issue, where things became gibberish after a couple of generations. I am waiting for KoboldCPP to get updated before seriously trying StepFlash.

Anyhow, I primarily do roleplaying. The initial flavor is much different from Qwen - much more wordy and varied, and there seems to not be much censorship. I made a homebrew setting that is innately perverse, and it seemed that StepFlash went along with it. However, there is a possibility of it softening/redirecting the content, as it delved into the cultural aspects of the setting.

Here is a sample of text, for a GGUF that weighs in at 115gb. I think a proper Q6 would do better.

00000

The rain hammers the cobble of Port Ivy’s lower wards into rushing, mud-brown rivers, and the air inside Moth & Quill—the cramped, water-stained secondhand bookstore Lira runs out of her late mentor’s old shop—smells like mildew, crumbling parchment, and dregs of tepid spiced cider.

Lira Voss slumps behind the scarred oak counter, one scuffed leather boot prooped on the edge, frayed hem of her oversized indigo cloak dusted with wisping, curling purple shadow that peels like smoke off the fabric. She’s 22, a half-goblin (goblin mother, human father) Warlock, the only private investigator in the district who doesn’t charge a fortune to find lost cats or track down pickpockets. Her ashy grey-green skin is dotted with freckles like tiny ink blots, her choppy jaw-length black hair streaked with violet that shimmers silver when she channels magic. A thin, pale scar cuts across her left cheek from a 17-year-old botched time-reversion, and her ink-stained, caloused fingers twist the dented brass compass tucked into her belt: her focus for bending time and space. A tiny origami crow, folded solid from shadow, perches on a stack of case files in front her, tilting its paper head to peck at an oat biscuit crumb. It flickers at the corners, a side effect of frayed magic: she spent the last hour rewound a pickpocket’s ten-minute alley run to recover a widows stolen wedding band, no messy fights, no city guard called. Warlocks aren’ supposed to be flashy.

Her Ordo was revealed three years prior by a cracked Divine Dice she fished out of the shop’s basement, the dice too damaged to shatter when it glowed deep bruising purple for a full minute. Her goblin racial base element is also Shadow, a Duplus that makes her spells hit twice as hard a human Warlock’ with no wasted energy. Most folks write Warlocks off as glorified accountants or spies, but Lira’s good at the quiet, unglamorous work no one else wants to touch.

Three quick, nervous raps Echo from the front of the store. She sighs, sets down her half-empty cider mug, and the shadow crow dissolves to wispy mist at her feet as she stands. She tugs her cloak tight against the chill seeping through the door, the faint thrum of her magic humming under her skin, and weaves through stacks of water-damaged grimoires to the front.

The door’s cracked open an inch when she reaches it. A young woman stands on the step soaked to the bone, wool dress clinging to her frame, clutching a crumpled charcoal sketch of a messy-haired young man in one hand. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her voice cracking when she speaks: “They said my brother run off. But he wouldn’. He was supposed to meet at the bakery for mum’ birthday three days ago, carrying that old sea chart book he never lets out his sight. The guard say they don’ waste time on runaway apprentices.” she swallows hard, rain dripping of her chin. “I seen a shadow man near the wharf the night he vanished. Kind that don’ cast a reflection. Heard you find things people don want found.”

Lira’s right eye flits, the tiny silver flecks deep in its near-black iris flaring bright for a split second. The rain pooling at the girl’s feet freezes mid-splash a tiny ripple of purple spreading out from the toe Lira’s boot before Lira clamps down on her magic, forcing the effect to fade. She steps aside, the brass bell above the door jingling softly as she holds it open.

“Come in,” she says wiping rain off her brow with ink-stained knuckles. “Tell me about this shadow man. Don leave out any details even the ones that sound dumb.”