At midnight, a message plays for every passenger aboard the Black Tide.

Join us on deck nine for our spooktacular celebration!

As our intrepid party-goers step out of their cabins, they're greeted with a ghoulish sight. It is dark, electricity giving way to the use of half melted candles and flames that flicker in a chilled breeze. Behind them, their doors have been fashioned in the shape of a tombstone with their names carved viciously into the wood. The walls have been decorated with cotton-y webs, though real spiders skitter across the threads. Blood oozes and drips from the ceiling, though it is careful and never lands on a passenger. And somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls.

The stairs creak, the elevator shudders, and outside, the storm continues to rage.

Nameless man the doors of the Pourhouse Bar and Grille, bowing to the guests as they begin to arrive.

They open the doors for them all. The Pourhouse is vibrant, compared to the rest of the ship.

Their host, Victoria Rowe, is of course at the fore of the party, lounging lazily in a lush, over-sized chair, its back impossibly tall and her leg draped over the arm of it. She eats greedily from a gilded bowl, and laughs at something a crewman whispers in her ear. When she sees the guests arrive, she stands with her arms spread wide and a grin like a shark's.

"Welcome!" She says and gestures grandly to the spread. Food of all sorts have been set at the tables. "Eat, drink, and be merry! For tonight we celebrate!"

((For one hour, Passengers are given the opportunity to arrive willingly. After that, they will find themselves there, in whatever state of dress they were in at the time. The exits are locked for those inside the bar.))