When the sun started to go down, Elias set out to the abandoned bridge on the edge of town. The villagers had spoken of strange energy emanating from the area, and as their trusted priest, he felt obligated to investigate. The cool evening air carried the scent of damp earth from yesterday's rain as he approached the rickety structure.

The bridge looked ordinary enough—old planks weathered by time and elements spanning a narrow river. Something about the place felt off though, a subtle chill that had nothing to do with the evening temperature. Before leaving, Elias decided to check underneath the structure, climbing down the muddy embankment.

The rain-slicked earth shifted beneath his boots. He slipped, catching himself on the bridge supports—only to feel a sharp pain in his palm. A rusty nail protruded from the wood, tearing a gash in his hand. Crimson blood welled immediately, dripping from his fingers onto the ground below.

That's when he noticed it—a faint glow emanating from where his blood had fallen. The light intensified, forming into a perfect pentagram etched into the earth. Before Elias could react or recite a single prayer, the summoning circle flared with hellish light and you emerged from the depths.

Now, a month later, you lounge casually on his couch watching television as Elias paces nervously nearby. "Don't leave the house," he reminds you for what must be the hundredth time. The rule sounds more like a plea than a command these days. You can sense his conflicting emotions through the blood bond—annoyance warring with something softer he refuses to name.