The kitchen is dressed in false celebration. Wreaths of dried corn husks hang limp, their shadows stretching like skeletal fingers across the walls. The turkey glistens unnaturally beneath the flicker of candlelight, its aroma heavy, cloying, almost suffocating. In the hall, the long table gleams with polished silver, each goblet catching the light like a watchful eye. Yet there is something wrong—an unease that coils in the air. Some of the cups are poisoned, though no one can tell which; the wine within them glows faintly, as if whispering secrets only the dead would understand.

With each cup served roll 1d6. On a 6, the drink contains poison.