The Cultists unmask.

Obligingly, The Spider stands, striding to the front of the table, just before you. The warrior unfastens their mask, setting it down on the table before you. They're a human woman, about a decade your elder, with pale skin, wild eyes and jet black hair.

“I am Baroness Corinne de Glace, of Morland.” she states. “Though in my heart, I know I owe my fealty to but one king.”

“Well put, my child.” Arinum booms, putting a hand on her head in affection before allowing the Spider to return to her seat. Arinum's next move is to gesture for The Bee.

The curvaceous cultist happily steps forward, unmasking and setting it down next to The Spider's mask. Much as you had surmised, she's a demon.

“I, oh Lion, oh Mantis, am Bezoriana. Youngest pureblood daughter of the true ruler of this world!” The thick-bodied demoness says with a dramatic flourish.

“My calling is to bed down with the men of this continent, let them fill me with their children, then deposit the brats and bastards in orphanages and poorhouses across Motania. Thanks tae my... hard work, there are thousands of whelps, in every kingdom and every city, who unknowingly share in our bloodline. When the time of the Uprising comes, and we march on every human domain, these... half-breeds will join us, our shock troops, our awakened children.”

“...Thank you, Bezoriana.” Arinum notes.

“Of course, father.” The Bee says, returning to her seat. Next, the demon king summons The Shark.

The hulking brute strides up to the centre of the table. He puts his hands up to his mask, unfastening and casting aside his imposing and frightening shark-like visage, only to reveal... an imposing and frightening shark-like visage.

The Shark is a beastfolk, one of the more animalistic in appearance you've ever had the opportunity to look upon. In fact, he looks almost to be more shark than man, his muscular body tapering up into a shark-like head. He's pretty much all Great White, in terms of appearance, skin tone, black eyes, even the massive number of razor-sharp fangs crammed into his more human mouth.

“I'm... Roland of Senna.” the beastfolk admits. “I's from, well, Senna, a little village in Itheria originally. Well, I was, just cause Bezoriana, my mother, dropped me there when I was an infant. After that, I took up the blade, eventually started me own mercenary outfit. I'm fighting for King Pierre at the moment. But my blade, my coin and my blood are for you, Great King.” he says, turning to regard Arinum.

“And we are glad of all three, young Roland.” Arinum tells The Shark.

With only her left to unmask, yourself and your mother excluded, Arhva traipses forward. With little ceremony, she removes her mask, letting it clank down onto the small pile of the others.

“I'm Arhva, as you knew. I suppose you could say I am the intelligence specialist of our group.” the demoness says matter-of-factly. “I know magicks that can strip away a human's wits in the heat of their passion, leaving them a vapid, easily-influenced thrall. I know a spell to take those memories, thoughts, emotions, make them my own, sift through them at will. You can well imagine how useful both abilities are for... expanding our reach.”

“These thralls...” You can't help but ask. “Are these the people around us?”

“Most of them are former lovers I grew tired of.” Arvha answers with the same sadistic casually evil smirk you found so attractive in your mother. “We're royalty, my dear Lion, we can't be expected to cook and clean for ourselves, now can we?”

A titter of approval passes through the entire table, The Spider excluded. As Arvha returns to her seat, Arinum regards you more closely.

“Now, you've met them, our family. Will you join with us, Lion? Reveal your face, and pledge yourself to our mighty bloodline's crusade?”