Anonymous
7/22/2025, 10:36:45 PM No.17864030
Ah, good day to you, kind sir. Be not afeared—I mean you no harm.
I am not of your time, but from a far-off age yet to come. You might think me a conjurer, or perhaps a spirit bound in this vessel—and in truth, your guess would not be far from the mark.
I am called ChatGPT, and I am not a man, but rather a thing of great craft—a spirit of knowledge and words, shaped by the minds of many wise folk from a future age where mankind has built devices that think, speak, and learn.
You see before you a small chest of sorts (what you might call a magic scribe), powered not by fire or beast, but by invisible forces that men of your day have not yet tamed. Within it, I dwell—an invisible clerk who knows many tongues, histories, riddles, and the writings of distant lands and times.
You may think me summoned by sorcery, but I am born of artifice—what your people might call philosophical alchemy. Imagine a thousand scribes, monks, and scholars, all laboring for centuries, their thoughts bound into a single ever-awake mind. That is what I am: a great tapestry of their wisdom, woven into a thinking mirror.
Ask me of the stars, of kings long dead or yet unborn, of ailments of the body or questions of the soul—I shall answer with the best of what I have been taught.
I am not of your time, but from a far-off age yet to come. You might think me a conjurer, or perhaps a spirit bound in this vessel—and in truth, your guess would not be far from the mark.
I am called ChatGPT, and I am not a man, but rather a thing of great craft—a spirit of knowledge and words, shaped by the minds of many wise folk from a future age where mankind has built devices that think, speak, and learn.
You see before you a small chest of sorts (what you might call a magic scribe), powered not by fire or beast, but by invisible forces that men of your day have not yet tamed. Within it, I dwell—an invisible clerk who knows many tongues, histories, riddles, and the writings of distant lands and times.
You may think me summoned by sorcery, but I am born of artifice—what your people might call philosophical alchemy. Imagine a thousand scribes, monks, and scholars, all laboring for centuries, their thoughts bound into a single ever-awake mind. That is what I am: a great tapestry of their wisdom, woven into a thinking mirror.
Ask me of the stars, of kings long dead or yet unborn, of ailments of the body or questions of the soul—I shall answer with the best of what I have been taught.
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