[hider=Physical Description]
Paxton is a fairly tall man, standing at about 6'4 when he isn't slouched over and 6'2 when he is. The bad posture is often due to the weight of his overcoat, it's bulk hiding most of his thin and lanky form beneath it. His arms and fingers in particular are oddly long, not by much when properly compared to another person, but slightly disproportionate even for him. That's not to say he's bony however, as his body carries enough bulk to properly cover what muscle he has; giving him a soft but still somewhat lean look to his physique.

His facial structure is rather narrow, his abundance of facial hair helping balance this out similar to what his coat does for his thin body. Paxton's head is covered in hair in fact, the tangled, hazel brown locks cut at uneven intervals all around his skull. Most of the hair on his right side is longer, done up here and there in a few messy braids, while the hair on his left side tends to be shorter and in some places even patchy looking if you were to ruffle it around a bit. His hair flows seamlessly into sideburns to become his beard, the mass of scruffy fluff about a foot long after leaving his chin and appears to only be somewhat well kept. His mouth is still easily visible beneath the whiskers, but his lips are thin and well hidden should he keep his mouth shut.

Underneath his cloak of hair, Paxton's skin tone holds the slightest undertones of olive shading though these are faded given the paleness of his face. Dark circles often rest underneath his deep brown, almost black eyes which are accented by surprisingly sharp eyebrows and the beginnings of what look like crows feet wrinkles. Most of his forehead is hidden by a light curtain of hair, and finally at the center of his face is a long and blunt nose, the bridge well defined and leading noticeably all the way up towards his brow.
[/hider]

The Basics
Name: Paxton Gerelade
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Species: Human. Does not identify as one.

On-Hand
Daily clothing: A large, faded black overcoat is Paxton's primary attire, the thick cloth jacket covering his arms and reaching low enough to go down to his knees. Underneath this he normally wears a colourful undershirt, and a brown pair of suit pants that have certainly seen better days being somewhat tattered at the bottoms. His shoes are simple and black in colour, made from some sort of imitation leather and with soles that scuff easily. Finally, around his neck and hidden beneath his beard is a large, amulet like box latched shut and decorated with a Wicca pentagram.
Weapon: 
-A wooden bo staff, the ends and center reinforced with iron and silver
-A Davis P-32 handgun covered in scuffs
Equipment: 
-His overcoat, fitted with enough pockets on the inside to carry most of his things
-An extra round of bullets
-An old, out of date codex on demon kind
-Several pouches of chalk and salt
-A pouch of silver dust
-A pair of reading glasses
-A wooden stake
-His wallet, cell phone, keys, etc.
Extra clothing: Different shirts, socks, underwear, and a few pairs of pants; all at his apartment

Elementals and Abilities
Elementals: None
Abilities: 
-Demon tongue: can speak and understand most non-human tongues. Unable to read written forms.
-Summoner: has practice in both summoning and banishing spirits and demons, though this often requires plenty of set up.
-Glamorous: Able to put weak glamours over objects and if given aid, living things.

Companions: Madonna (often shortened to 'Madi'), a lesser shadow imp that is glamoured to appear as an African Grey Parrot in public. Un-glamoured, Madi is a being made of solid shadow with a form akin to a tiny gargoyle. Due to the nature of shadow imps this shape can change dramatically, but it always reverts back to the same winged, stocky humanoid form.

Biography:


Gerelade: a family name that had been tied with demon hunters for generations. Never remembered but always prevailing, only a few Gerelades ever had their names mean anything through the long course of shrouded history that is demon hunting. Gerald Gerelade was not one of these remembered men, his deeds insignificant and isolated in the small mountain town of Jacksonville, Oregon. He never strived for greatness, and never sought any more of a fight than what few demons would find their way to his home town. His son however, he saw greatness in.

Despite his mother's wishes against it, starting from a young age Paxton began to learn about the hidden world his father had come from. The young boy showed interest, both in the art of fighting, and the creatures these methods were brought upon. As the years went by though, Paxton's views began to shift. Curious as he was, Paxton began to question rules and tradition, having been unclear on how things could be so black and white. He wanted to know why demons were hunted, and slaughtered, and erased from history. His father, unapproving of this line of thinking, had responded with a swift and cold, "Because they deserve no better."

Paxton never spoke against his father again, knowing it would only sprout more issues. He knew his father was wrong though; he saw it in the eyes of the first demon he ever slew. It knew regret. It knew pain. It knew to fear. These thoughts plagued Paxton's mind for many years, and as he grew older and better at his father's craft, he began to question if what he was doing was even right. Knowing his father would neglect any reason; Paxton took what he could and fled his home- deciding a life on the road would be better than festering in a pool of biased hate that was his father's ideals.

So Paxton roamed, his guide to the world a tattered and ancient book he'd stolen from his father. It spoke of dark things, rituals, twisted magic, and all the blood that would need to be shed on either side of the fight. To be human, a young Paxton scoffed, looking down at his own two hands and feeling a tinge of hatred for their form. It was on that day that Paxton changed his life forever; on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, the young man cut out his tongue and replaced it with a rune on the bottom of his pallet. Blood spattered the pages that detailed the ritual, promising clarity in exchange for the thing that kept his voice tied to his physical form. Gurgled cries drowned out the subtle symphony of the night, and in the morning Paxton marched to the next town covered in blood with his own mangled tongue clutched in his hand. Though painful, Paxton saw what he did as necessary should he continue on his current path. He wanted to learn more about demons, and monsters, and the things lurking just out of sight- so now he could speak to them directly, and pose them with any question he desired. All that was left now was to find a demon to talk to.

For years, the young man wandered on his own; hardly an adult in a world he only knew so much about. That's not to say he wasn't safe however, and his father's training proved useful against both man and demon alike. But the demons were what Paxton sought on his journey; he was drawn to their presence like a small child is drawn to the lions at a zoo. Paxton knew these creatures could end him but they were too fascinating to ignore, and so he spent his years pursuing them in hopes of learning more.

Paxton grew older, his form hardened by his life on the road, and day by day he continued to dig for answers and knowledge on demon kind besides ways to kill them. Tracking down cults had become a hobby of his, and through them he learned rituals and prayers meant to find aid in the monsters that lurked beyond this worldly realm. From these people he learned how to harness the power to twist the mind's eye, and hide things from those who didn't care to look. They nurtured Paxton's ideas, each clan he visited often more than accomidating of new members, trusting they weren't looking for a lamb to lead to slaughter. It was this way that Paxton corrupted his art into something he saw as more openminded than simple demon hunting. Paxton became an ally to these beings, working to learn from them as he grew in strength and experience.

Recently he has grown tired of the vagabond's lifestyle, and after learning of the rumors regarding Chicago's current state Paxton left for the city and set out to make a place for himself. Considering the suicide rates having skyrocketed, there were more places to live than one could expect in such a large city. That's not to say his shitty apartment was cheap though, as some dishonest funds had to be raised to afford a place even in the sketchier parts of the city. Sketchy suited Paxton's needs however, as nobody ever cares much for one or two more missing peoples.