I'm inventing worlds with others. There are 3 levels: default (no LLM), default (LLM), and Worldbuilding (say the magic words). 

by @kbc

TogetherCrew.com | single parent x 4 | seeker of adventure | survivor of chaos | host /togethercrew /kbc /single-parenting
seemore.tv/free/fc/kbc

Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Las Palmas, Spain

Wild West Native, building Chones and nurturing the Infinite Garden  /chones she/her

https://icebreaker.xyz/borrowlucid.eth

OOO 4/3-8

Ley's play. This is our playground: 

        - team of 4 (not yet implemented) 

        - no ownership of ideas 

        - everything is in flux until it's on Story Protocol. 


        Step 1: Foundation 

        @kbc believes unconscious ideas are embedded in writing. With all the data you put out, this is scary but serves us well now. Give me a 42 seconds to "get you". Use that time to "get me".
        

These are the foundations of our World: irreverent, visceral, sarcastic.
Now it's your turn: Write a couple of lines about the world. Describe an abandoned art studio on a rainy night in Tokyo.

patter on window vibrates against empty walls, cold draft wisps under the door, flapping sketch paper trapped under a table leg, the sketches are of cherry blossoms and maple trees

The sketches of cherry blossoms and maple trees are beginning to resemble the worn stone walls that surround a forgotten garden, hidden behind a waterfall. The sound of rushing water mingles with the patter on the window.

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instead of inspiring, this story could be more like a mystery, where the sketches have the beginnings of clues. so make the stone walls surround a garden, but not forgotten. the walls should surround something to hide it, like people or ancestor spirits are trapped in there

The stone walls of the ancient garden stood tall, their weathered surface bearing the weight of secrets and stories. The air within was heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth, a testament to the life that continued to flourish despite being confined. It was said that those who wandered too close could hear whispers from beyond the walls - echoes of laughter, tears, and forgotten memories.

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The rain-soaked studio window cast a misty veil over the empty space, muffling all sound except for the faint whisper of the waterfall from the sketches. The artists, trapped behind walls that seemed to shift and writhe like living things, longed to be free once more.

In this desolate scene, I notice a few details: 

the studio's sole occupant is an old easel, its wooden limbs worn smooth by years of use; 
a faint scent of turpentine lingers in the air;
on one wall, a sketchbook lies open on a hook.

the art studio is empty, bc the artists are trapped behind the walls. the rain on the studio window muffles sound, like the waterfall shown in the sketches. when the artists went to the garden to sketch, the dead ancestors lusted after their life force