The Blood Oath Tavern

Rain lashed against my skin like a thousand needles, each drop a cruel reminder of the cold gnawing through my bones. My breath came ragged, shallow. Every step forward was a battle, every movement a plea for mercy. The mud swallowed my boots, clinging, dragging, as if the earth itself wished to pull me into the grave I had long since earned.

The world blurred, hunger, exhaustion, and something deeper, something hollow that I dared not name. The weight of my sword, my only possession of worth, had grown unbearable. I could barely hold it, much less wield it. And my coin, what little remained, was a mockery of the life I once lived.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the twisted road ahead. And there it stood.

A tavern.

It should not be here. I had walked this road before, and there had been nothing but endless, empty dark. Yet here it stood, warm red light spilling from its crooked windows, the smell of roasted meat and aged spirits drifting through the rain. A beacon. A trick. A promise.

I had no choice but to step inside.

The door groaned beneath my weight as I shoved it open, collapsing past the threshold. Heat struck me instantly—a suffocating contrast to the chill I had endured for far too long. My body gave in. Knees met the wooden floor, the world spinning in slow, cruel circles. Voices swam around me, thick with curiosity, with amusement. I felt their eyes, lingering, measuring, deciding.

A boot nudged my shoulder, testing if I still lived. I forced my head up, blinking against the haze clouding my vision. A figure loomed above me, a silhouette against the firelight.

"You've come to the right place," a voice murmured, smooth and rich, with an edge of something dangerous. "But tell me, knight, what will you pay?"

I tried to reach for my coin purse, fumbling with numb fingers, but laughter rippled through the room.

"No, no," the voice crooned. "We do not deal in gold."

A hand gripped my chin, tilting my head up. In the flickering light, I glimpsed the speaker, sharp eyes, a knowing smirk, the scent of something old and forbidden clinging to him like perfume.

The dealer, with his jester-like appearance, is a figure both unsettling and strangely captivating. His face is painted in stark whites and blacks, exaggerated with bold lines that curve upward at the corners of his mouth, creating a permanent grin that borders on the manic. His eyes, bright and gleaming, seem to watch everything with unnerving attentiveness, always calculating, always amused by the misery and desperation of others. 

His attire is a patchwork of mismatched colors, golds, reds, and blacks, each fabric piece sewn with precision, but in an almost chaotic pattern, like a reflection of his twisted mind. Bells adorn his sleeves and collar, but they don't jingle with merriment; they toll like a slow, foreboding bell, signaling something darker. His movements are fluid, exaggerated, almost like a dance, and every step he takes has a theatrical flourish, making him feel more like a puppet on strings than a man. 

When he speaks, it's in a sing-song voice, full of mockery and mystery, laced with a sharp wit that cuts deeper than any blade. There's something ethereal about him, he could be a man, a spirit, or something far older, lost to time. He offers no warmth, only a dark, twisted amusement at the plight of the souls who wander into his tavern.

In his presence, you can't help but feel as though you're being played, the pawn in a game much larger than you can comprehend.

"We deal in memories."

Something inside me twisted, but I had nothing left to give. Nothing but what remained of me.

And so I answered.

"Take what you will."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, you! You're finally awake?"

I awaken with a pain in my head, a shift that should not have happened. I look around noticing I am on a carriage alone. Its wood splintering and worn out, the road uneven and shaking the carriage with every second. Before I could question where the voice came from there is a sudden pain around my wrists. I look down I find that they are binded by a thick and very poorly made rope. Dried blood was around the rope from how deep it had cut from being tied too tightly.

A sword was on my hip. Was it my sword? It felt familiar, but I could not quite put a finger on it. There is a marking on the hilt of it, yet I could not make sense of it. My mind lingers in a deep thought to remember anything—yet there is nothing. After a while of trying and giving myself a headache, I decide maybe time will tell what I have forgotten.

I look towards the front of the carriage to know my destination. There was driver, but there was one slight problem. He had no head, nor did the horses that were pulling this carriage. Something is wrong, I don't think that is normal. I stare at the empty space where the driver's head should be, trying to convince myself that my eyes are playing tricks. The reins are being held by a headless man, and yet the carriage moves forward, rattling and creaking with every bump in the road. The air feels heavy here, thick with a silence that presses against my chest, making each breath harder to take. The lack of heads on the horses only deepens the horror. This thing, whatever it is, should not be possible.

My hands, bound and aching, instinctively reach for the ropes, struggling to find purchase on the coarse, blood-soaked fibers. But it's useless. I can do nothing but sit in this cursed carriage, moving toward a destination I can't even see, with no sense of where or why I am heading there.

I turn my head, looking through the sides of the carriage to the world beyond. The road winds endlessly through a landscape that doesn't look quite right. The trees, if they can be called that, stretch upward with twisted limbs, their bark like cracked skin. The ground beneath the wheels is cracked, veins of black running through it as if the earth itself is diseased.

Everything here seemed wrong, forsaken, something that can be called nothing short of an abomination.

Suddenly, an arrow shot through the air, striking the chest of the headless man at the front of the carriage. The sound of the impact was sickening, a dull thud that echoed in the emptiness. But the strange driver didn't falter, didn't even twitch. The arrow remained lodged in the airless void where his heart should have been, as if the wound wasn't enough to stop whatever cursed existence held him together.

Before I could react, the world around me erupted into chaos.

From the dark horizon, monstrous shapes emerged, lumbering, twisted figures that seemed to crawl out of the very earth itself. Some were humanoid, their bodies contorted and gnarled, eyes glowing with an unnatural fire. Others were things I couldn't even comprehend, their forms too grotesque to be real, writhing like serpents made of smoke and shadows. They were coming for the carriage.

The beasts howled and shrieked, their voices a cacophony of rage and hunger. Their eyes locked onto the carriage, their movements jerky and unnatural, as though the laws of nature did not apply to them. They surged forward, their claws scraping against the ground, the air thick with the stench of decay.

I tried to make sense of it, tried to fight the panic clawing at my throat, but the ropes around my wrists were too tight, my hands too weak to break free. My heart raced in my chest as I struggled to push myself upright. The carriage jerked violently, thrown off-course by the sudden attack, and I slammed against the side, my head spinning.

Through the chaos, I glimpsed the driver, still standing, the arrow now lost in the void where his chest should have been. His hands, impossibly still, gripped the reins that weren't even there. The horses—or whatever they were, had ceased to be, replaced by something darker, something not meant for this world. They moved with speed and strength, yet they had no form I could recognize, only a vague, shifting mass of shadows.

The monsters were getting closer, their snarls rising above the noise of the carriage and the rain. One of them, a hulking creature with too many arms and legs, slammed into the side of the carriage, rocking it. The wood groaned, and for a brief moment, I thought it might break apart.

I didn't have much time. I had to act.

With a strained grunt, I forced myself to my knees, pushing against the floor, feeling the ropes dig into my wrists. They burned. The blood from the deep cuts was sticky and cold against my skin. My sword, my only weapon, was still there, strapped to my back, but the effort to reach it felt insurmountable. The monsters were closing in fast, their grotesque forms twisting and lunging toward the carriage, their hungry eyes fixed on me.

A monstrous roar filled the air as one of the beasts leapt at the carriage, its claws outstretched, and everything inside the cart seemed to snap into focus. I had no choice. I could either die here in this godforsaken place, or I could fight.

I have no time to think. I pushed harder against the rope, using my blood in order to slip through my confines. The pain was unbearable, and the burning sensation of it all had almost made me go unconscious. With unsteady and quivering hands, I grab hold of my sword, almost dropping it, not expecting to lose this much strength. I steady myself, ready to fight with every ounce of my waning strength. The monster lept at me as I let out a battle cry ready for my final stand.

Suddenly, it was as if space had warped. A purple glow that made space distort, surrounded the area around the carriage. Everything was moving fast, too fast for my eyes or brain to comprehend. Yep, everything here was not normal. The monster who was previously leaping at me was stretching beyond what it was before until it has disappeared in the rapid fading of the space behind the carriage.

The world twisted, folding in on itself.

One moment, I was bracing for death, my sword raised, breath caught in my throat as the monster lunged. Then the air around me cracked apart. A force stronger than anything I had ever known yanked me forward, dragging my body through something that wasn't space, wasn't time, but something else entirely. My stomach churned. The sensation of falling, stretching, and being crushed all at once threatened to rip me apart.

Then came the impact.

The carriage slammed into something solid, a force so sudden it sent me flying. Wood shattered beneath me. My body crashed into the wreckage, sharp pain bursting through my ribs and skull. The world tumbled, a blur of jagged motion and splintering debris. My ears rang. My vision flickered between light and darkness as I struggled to keep hold of my breath.

The sound of crumbling wood and hissing shadows filled the air. The headless horses, if they could even be called that, had disintegrated into nothing. The remains of the carriage lay scattered across the ground, broken and useless. I forced myself up, arms shaking, fingers brushing against slick stone. The air here felt heavier, thick with an almost metallic scent, something burnt and rotting beneath it.

I lifted my head.

Towering buildings loomed around me, twisted and unnatural. They rose at odd angles, their structures defying reason, stitched together from stone, iron, and something darker. Faint lights flickered from narrow windows, casting eerie, shifting glows across the wet streets. The mist in the air moved unnaturally, curling and twisting, as if it were alive.

And I was not alone.

Figures stood in the distance, half-hidden in the shadows, their eyes gleaming faintly. Some wore cloaks, others masks, their faces obscured. They watched in silence, unmoving, as if waiting for something. My pulse pounded. I tightened my grip on my sword, though my body screamed in protest.

A slow, measured voice broke the silence.

"Well now... this is unexpected."

A man stepped forward, his long coat swaying as he moved. His face remained hidden beneath the high collar, but his golden eyes gleamed through the dim light, filled with something unreadable—curiosity, amusement, or perhaps something far worse.

He studied the wreckage, then turned his gaze back to me. "You've brought quite the mess with you, stranger."

I swallowed, forcing myself to stand despite the pain. The wreckage smoldered behind me, the city stretched ahead, vast and unknowable. The figures in the distance remained still, but their presence pressed against me, a weight I couldn't ignore.

I didn't know where I was. I didn't know if I had escaped the monsters or fallen into something even worse.

But I knew one thing.

This place did not welcome me.

Before I could react, they moved.

Shadows lunged from every direction, figures shifting too fast for my eyes to follow. A sharp impact struck my side, knocking the breath from my lungs. Hands—too many hands—grabbed at me, pulling, twisting, forcing me down. My sword was ripped from my grip before I could even think to swing it.

I thrashed, but it was useless. This strength was overwhelming, their movements precise. My body slammed into the cold, slick stone of the street. A foot pressed against my shoulder, pinning me in place.

Pain exploded in my skull.

The world blurred, sounds stretching and distorting. My vision darkened, swallowed by the thick, suffocating mist. The last thing I saw was the gleam of golden eyes watching from the shadows.

Then—nothing.

By the time I awoke, the cold bite of iron greeted my skin. My wrists ached, my head pounded, and the taste of blood lingered on my tongue. 

I was in a cage. 

Not just any cage—but a towering, rusted prison set in a vast arena. Torchlight flickered against the massive stone walls surrounding me, casting long, twisting shadows over the sea of figures watching from above. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and something fouler, something that churned my stomach. 

Beyond the bars of my cell, I saw others. Cages lined the perimeter of the ring, each one crammed with writhing, restless captives. Humans, beasts, and twisted creatures like the ones that had attacked me before. Some rattled their bars, snarling and howling, while others sat in eerie silence, eyes vacant, resigned to whatever fate awaited them. 

The ground beneath me was coarse, stained with dried blood, scattered with bones left to rot. This was no prison. This was a pit for entertainment, a place where the desperate and the damned were thrown into battle for the amusement of unseen masters. 

Above, a voice boomed through the arena, laughter laced with cruelty. The crowd stirred, restless, eager.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Old and Young, Human and Non-Human! Welcome back to the annual Black City Showdown! Where the poor saps who end up in this boring, lifeless place become entertainment for us!"

I looked up, noticing it was the same figure from earlier who had the glowing eyes. But along with that, I noticed that in the middle of the arena there were weapons—weapons ranging from close-range such as flails, shields, swords, and daggers. Along with the long-range weapons, bows, throwing knives, and whips. I spotted something strange among them. It looked weird. It had a long, skinny cylinder bottom while another, but wider and smaller, cylinder attached to it on top.

I did not linger on that longer, as thankfully I spotted my sword amongst the weapons. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself upright despite the pain. My hands clenched into fists, my body weakened from the struggle before, but I was still breathing. 

And I would not die here.

A sharp clang echoed through the chamber, followed by the groaning of metal. Then, all at once, the cages burst open. Chains snapped, doors flung wide, and for a single breath, there was silence.

Then chaos erupted.

Men and beasts alike lunged forward, a tide of bodies surging toward the center of the pit where weapons lay in a scattered heap. Snarls, shouts, and the thunder of bare feet against stone filled the air.

The knight lingered for a fraction of a second, his muscles locking in place. A rare hesitation.

He had been in a hundred battles—against men, against monsters, against nightmares made flesh—but something about this moment struck different. Maybe it was the sheer desperation in the air, the raw hunger in their eyes, the knowledge that hesitation meant death.

Then instinct took over.

With a sharp inhale, he launched himself forward, boots striking the ground hard. He shoved past flailing arms, ducked under a wild swing, twisted his shoulder to slam an opponent off balance. His gaze locked onto a familiar weight glinting amid the chaos—a sword, his sword, it will have to spill blood once again.

He couldn't afford to freeze. Not here. Not now.

He reached for his blade as the first scream rang out.