Erinyes Game
You wake up with a start, blinking stars out of your eyes as you try to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lights above. Looking around, you see a bunch of unfamiliar people sitting in a circle around a wide table, all of them looking just as disoriented as you feel. The room itself is dreary with dark furniture and decorations; the only bright thing other than the lights is a golden scale, glittering in the center of the table.
“About time you woke up!” says a cheery voice, a stark contrast to the other gloomy expressions around the table. “You’re the last to wake.” Turning to your left, you see a young woman smiling brightly at you. “How do you feel?”
Your tongue feels like sandpaper, and when you swallow, you feel a strange metal choker squeeze around your neck. “Could be better, thank you. Do you know what’s going on?”
She shakes her head, but before she can reply, a new voice booms out of the loudspeakers on the ceiling. “Greetings all! Welcome to my game: the Erinyes Game.” The deep voice announces.
One of the women sitting across from you raises her eyebrows and whispers, “Erinyes…”
“In this game, among the thirteen of you are three Furies. They are the killers. Everyone else is an Olympian. Some Olympians have special roles, those being Charon, who can protect one Olympian from crossing the river Styx every night, and the Oracle, who can see the true identity of one Olympian every day,” the voice explains.
“Killers?” mumbles the man next to you. “This must be some sick joke.”
“There are three phases: Hemera, Moirae, and Nyx,” the voice shows no signs of stopping. “Hemera is the daytime, where everyone can move freely and do as they please. Nyx is the nighttime, where the Furies choose and kill their victim. No one but the Furies can leave their rooms at this time, so keep this in mind. Moirae is short, not more than an hour in between Hemera and Nyx, where everyone must gather to pass judgement on one another. During this time, everyone must choose one Olympian to be executed. If the Olympians manage to get rid of all three Furies, they win. However, if the Furies kill you all, they win. So choose your victims carefully.”
One of the men sitting across from you merely looks unimpressed, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You have all been given a name, an alias to use if you will,” the voice continues. “You can call me Hades, though you will never actually meet me. Please take this time now to reach under your chairs and pull out the piece of paper telling you your name and your role. Do not reveal your paper to anyone else.”
Following Hades’s instructions, you reach down and find the paper, scanning it quickly.
Your name is Hestia. You’re a regular Olympian.
You breathe a quiet sigh of relief and glance around the table. Everyone’s facial expressions are hard to read. Maybe they’ve got great poker faces.
“Enough of my rambling,” says Hades. “Go on and find your rooms, the number of which is at the bottom of the paper. Since today is the first day, there will not be the Moirae phase, so enjoy your one free day.”
“Wait!” yells one man with a blue streak in his black hair. “What’s with these collar things around our necks? I don’t want to play your damn game!”
Hades’s laugh is cold, sending shivers down your back. “It makes sure that you play the game properly. If you break a rule, well, you’ll find out. And one of my rules is that you cannot opt out of the game, Poseidon.”
The man—Poseidon?—throws his paper down on the ground. “I will not play your game! You can’t intimidate me into it!”
The woman next to him jumps out of her seat, clinging to his arm. “Poseidon, please!”
“Let go of me, Da—”
“Demeter, my name is Demeter,” she corrects him quickly. “Please, Poseidon. You don’t know what Hades will do to you. He could kill you.”
Wrenching out of Demeter’s grasp, Poseidon starts to walk away. “I’d love to see him try. What’s a damn metal choker thing gonna do…”
He stops walking.
“…Poseidon?”
The metal choker around his neck makes an odd grinding sound. His voice chokes up as blood starts pouring from the choker.
“Poseidon!” Demeter steps forward slowly, tapping his shoulder. At that gentle touch, his head rolls right off his neck, landing in a puddle of his own blood. You gasp as the rest of his body pitches forward, collapsing on itself.
Demeter’s scream isn’t the only one you hear.
“About time you woke up!” says a cheery voice, a stark contrast to the other gloomy expressions around the table. “You’re the last to wake.” Turning to your left, you see a young woman smiling brightly at you. “How do you feel?”
Your tongue feels like sandpaper, and when you swallow, you feel a strange metal choker squeeze around your neck. “Could be better, thank you. Do you know what’s going on?”
She shakes her head, but before she can reply, a new voice booms out of the loudspeakers on the ceiling. “Greetings all! Welcome to my game: the Erinyes Game.” The deep voice announces.
One of the women sitting across from you raises her eyebrows and whispers, “Erinyes…”
“In this game, among the thirteen of you are three Furies. They are the killers. Everyone else is an Olympian. Some Olympians have special roles, those being Charon, who can protect one Olympian from crossing the river Styx every night, and the Oracle, who can see the true identity of one Olympian every day,” the voice explains.
“Killers?” mumbles the man next to you. “This must be some sick joke.”
“There are three phases: Hemera, Moirae, and Nyx,” the voice shows no signs of stopping. “Hemera is the daytime, where everyone can move freely and do as they please. Nyx is the nighttime, where the Furies choose and kill their victim. No one but the Furies can leave their rooms at this time, so keep this in mind. Moirae is short, not more than an hour in between Hemera and Nyx, where everyone must gather to pass judgement on one another. During this time, everyone must choose one Olympian to be executed. If the Olympians manage to get rid of all three Furies, they win. However, if the Furies kill you all, they win. So choose your victims carefully.”
One of the men sitting across from you merely looks unimpressed, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You have all been given a name, an alias to use if you will,” the voice continues. “You can call me Hades, though you will never actually meet me. Please take this time now to reach under your chairs and pull out the piece of paper telling you your name and your role. Do not reveal your paper to anyone else.”
Following Hades’s instructions, you reach down and find the paper, scanning it quickly.
Your name is Hestia. You’re a regular Olympian.
You breathe a quiet sigh of relief and glance around the table. Everyone’s facial expressions are hard to read. Maybe they’ve got great poker faces.
“Enough of my rambling,” says Hades. “Go on and find your rooms, the number of which is at the bottom of the paper. Since today is the first day, there will not be the Moirae phase, so enjoy your one free day.”
“Wait!” yells one man with a blue streak in his black hair. “What’s with these collar things around our necks? I don’t want to play your damn game!”
Hades’s laugh is cold, sending shivers down your back. “It makes sure that you play the game properly. If you break a rule, well, you’ll find out. And one of my rules is that you cannot opt out of the game, Poseidon.”
The man—Poseidon?—throws his paper down on the ground. “I will not play your game! You can’t intimidate me into it!”
The woman next to him jumps out of her seat, clinging to his arm. “Poseidon, please!”
“Let go of me, Da—”
“Demeter, my name is Demeter,” she corrects him quickly. “Please, Poseidon. You don’t know what Hades will do to you. He could kill you.”
Wrenching out of Demeter’s grasp, Poseidon starts to walk away. “I’d love to see him try. What’s a damn metal choker thing gonna do…”
He stops walking.
“…Poseidon?”
The metal choker around his neck makes an odd grinding sound. His voice chokes up as blood starts pouring from the choker.
“Poseidon!” Demeter steps forward slowly, tapping his shoulder. At that gentle touch, his head rolls right off his neck, landing in a puddle of his own blood. You gasp as the rest of his body pitches forward, collapsing on itself.
Demeter’s scream isn’t the only one you hear.