Cursed Backgammon

Every night, the door opens.
You are stranded in a forgotten caravan inn somewhere in Anatolia. Until dawn, you sit at a backgammon board — and the thing across from you is not human.
Every guest wants a different price. The Nightmare snuffs out your candles. The Goblin takes your coin. The Vampire drinks your blood. And the one who comes last will ask for your soul.
You know backgammon. You don't know them.
The rules are the real rules. But the thing across the table cheats: it slides a checker, turns a die, miscounts a move as if by accident. Every cheat has a tell — a shifting glance, a guttering candle, a tapping finger.
Catch it, and you take a concession. Accuse it wrongly, and the stake doubles.
How much of yourself can you spend?
Charms and curses — Loaded dice, the evil eye, a warding amulet. Buy from the Djinn's stall with coin... or trade away a memory.

Four guests, four nights — Each with its own cheat, its own house rule, its own price.

The Blackening — Every cursed bargain draws you closer to them. Your reflection changes. Your hands darken.

Three endings — Run. Stay. Or take a seat on the other side of the table.

The Djinn's Table — The inn never closes. How many nights can you last?

As the candles die, the room goes dark.
Every candle you lose makes the tells harder to see. As your blood runs low, your hands begin to shake. Losing here isn't a score — it's whatever you put on the table.
Dawn is coming. Roll.