Buzzzz...
A menacing buzz emanated from the black hexagram sigil, its sound akin to a tormented electrical current. Everyone, except Alban, bore a deep frown - the oppressive aura radiating from it sent shivers down everyone's spines, except for Alban, who wore a smug grin. After all, he knew who was coming to help him.
With a burst of dizzying rotation, the sigil unleashed a swirling green vortex. From its depths emerged a wizened figure - a two-meter-tall man, gaunt and aged, with long black hair and a chest-length beard framing his ghostly pale face. His pitch-black eyes, devoid of pupils or iris, resembled bottomless pits, capable of striking fear into the hearts of even the bravest child and making him wet his pants if he appeared in front of him in the middle of the night. Clad in a simple, plain black robe, he clutched a weathered wooden staff, his very presence exuding an air of malevolent energy, anyone who is not blind can see that he is not a good person.
