Outside, the grey stormy clouds completed the eerie scene of the old, gated mansion. Inside of the iron gate was a dry angel fountain, the petrified holy creatures holding a stoic, judgmental expression toward anyone coming up the driveway. The multi-storied building behind the fountain provided no comfort either. Various brown gashes decorated the outer wall where the paint had worn away, and as if this weren't bad enough, nature seemed to be beginning its push to take back the mansion, as vines snaked from the bottom upwards around the corners.

The inside was as eerie as the outside would imply. While kept clean by various maids and butlers, wear was apparent in the aging wood and paint of the halls and rooms. The dim lighting also revealed a flaw in the electricity.

"Alright, thank you all for coming." Came the deep, slightly southern voice of Joseph Mikkish Callahan, as he sat at the head of a long table.

"You all have a few things in common with me and each other. Exactly how much I don't know. I don't suppose there's any other Georgia boys in here?" Mikkish took a sip from his fine, red wine.

"If you received my invitation here, though, it means you fought with the cult. Now...I don't think anybody else here blew up any islands, but you're experience fighting this cult tells me something about you. Most people die or go insane fighting them, but not any of you." Mikkish paused a moment, slumped in his chair, and looked around at everyone.

"I know we will all work together just fine, but first, lets go around...and introduce ourselves. Tell us what you bring to the table. Oh, and by the way, this wine is for everyone. I got plenty of it." Mikkish said, holding up the bottle and looking around with an offering expression.