bobert778

Demon Hunter: Chicago

"I am actually," Paxton replied, an almost cheery tone to his voice as he finished outlining the circle with salt. With the borders done Paxton took a piece of chalk in hand and stepped inside the circle, crouching down and scraping lines across the floor in a slow and precise manor. Each little change in course of the thick white lines he lay out was second guessed by a moment of pause before being continued in a few more hesitant but fluid motions.

"I'm ah," Paxton started again, pausing to guide the chalk a little farther before sharply turning it in a new direction, "I'm summoning someone whom I owe a favor of sorts. Every few years we make a point of seeing each other- it in part has to do with a contract I got roped into but I like to consider him a friend." Paxton finished his short story with an incoherent swear, followed by him spitting on the ground and working to wipe away an error he'd made in his etchings. He was back to work soon enough though, and had begun working on a few complex looking symbols to dot the areas between the larger lines he'd drawn. The main design of the circle was similar to a pentagram, but was sloping to one side in a way that made the curve of it's points look like a crescent moon. The space that the pentagram didn't occupy held a large spiral, the center of it twisting into a figure-8 with two dots put in it's middles.

From her corner of the room, Madi let out an irritated hiss and dropped the bloody, half eaten palm she'd been gnawing on. The hiss was directed at Paxton, more directly the symbols underneath him, and in protest the imp's glamour peeled away to reveal the creature beneath. Mostly a blob of shadow, Madi was crouched low on her perch with dull, silver eyes glaring towards the chalk on the ground. As if gravity had suddenly shifted, her body flew sideways and splattered against the wall, flattening out and melting down to the ground until she was on the floor.

"Madi." Paxton huffed sternly, watching as the pool of shadow tried to cross the room towards him. This was met with another loud hiss, and the shadow on the ground sprung upwards in a burst of ashes. The parrot that emerged from the dust cloud fluttered off to the bedroom, the door slamming behind her despite the bird not having physically touched it.

Paxton barred his teeth towards the shut door, letting out a small grunt before returning to the symbols he was working on. He'd finished the first which rested inside the center of the pentagram, it looking like some sort of complex Chinese character contained inside a lopsided oval. All along it's edges there were smears and smudges; the ghosts of the various errors made while trying to perfect the symbol he needed. The beginnings of such marks already existed in the space where he was working on the second symbol, it being composed so far of mostly zig-zagging lines.

Demon Hunter: Chicago

"He'll help pay rent for this month, and maybe more if his credit card is still good. I'll need to do that tomorrow though- effectively leave the trail cold," Paxton sighed, tossing the disemboweled wallet onto the coffee table. There hadn't been much in there: a little bit of cash, debit card, credit card, and a bunch of receipts that had been stuffed in with the cash. Tomorrow would be busy, but necessary to keep law enforcement in the dark regarding where these 'missing people' went. It was a clever tactic as Paxton often saw it; take a day to pose as the victim through a glamour, buy some things with their money, visit their home one last time and then vanish. It'd leave people confused and hurt, but murder wasn't the obvious go to for the police this way and that was what mattered. It took a lot of effort to pull off as well, Paxton often stalking potential targets for a week or even two to learn their habits and routines, as well as where they lived.

Paxton was brought out of his scheming thoughts by the sound of bones cracking. Pushing himself forward so he could look around Akira and towards the door, Paxton watched as Madi briefly shifted in and out of her glamour as she began attacking the corpses fingers. It was quite the entrancing sight, watching as puffs of ash and wisps of smoke rushed up and down the small creature to reveal or conceal needle like teeth and jagged claws. What was a bird's wing one moment quickly became a slashing palm the next, then faded back again as soon as the arm was no longer needed. The imp had already gnawed off two fingers and was going to work on the middle digit, smearing blood on itself and the corpses clothing.

"Alright, alright, I do need some of him!" Paxton snickered, commanding the imp's attention momentarily. As Paxton forced himself off the couch, the imp shifted back under it's glamour and let out a screech of protest once it's owner began to near. "No, he'll start to stink. Look, take his hand, I don't need that, but leave me so I can work," Paxton replied, seemingly carrying on a one way conversation with a cranky bird. The parrot screeched again, this time less frustrated as it hopped off the corpse as Paxton turned to head for the kitchen. He was there for only a moment, digging through a drawer to retrieve the cleaver he used for things like this. He brought a cutting board as well, the once white plastic tinted pink after it's many uses, and Paxton promptly knelt down on the ground beside the corpse. In a practiced routine, he grabbed hold of the corpse's arm, placed it on the cutting board, and brought the cleaver down on the already bloody wrist. The moment the hand was off, Madi had it in her beak and was already waddling off happily like she'd just found $20 on the ground. Not that the imp cared for money; it just knew it normally meant good things.

Paxton watched the bird make it's way over to the wooden stand he'd set up for. The perch was basically a coat rack held in place at the bottom by a brick, but it was functional like many of the things in Paxton's life. "Finally," he then muttered, looking down at the bloody cutting board and cleaver. Ready to do what he'd originally needed the corpse for, Paxton left it and the kitchen tools on the ground so he could go to his room. He always kept chalk and salt with him in his coat, but those were for summonings that weren't at home. Here in the apartment it was easier since everything wasn't packed away to be kept safe, and after a short search Paxton returned to the living room with a box of course salt, and a few sticks of chalk in hand. "You can like, turn on the TV or something if you want, Akira. I might be a little while trying to get a few symbols right- I'm doing this one from memory," Paxton mentioned as he opened the salt box to begin outlining the summoning circle. "And remember not to answer the cell phone if it rings. That guy's boss is probably pissed he didn't show up for work on time again," Paxton added, taking baby steps as the salt poured onto the floor in a steady stream.

Demon Hunter: Chicago

@lavulman

"Madi likes fingers; believe me," Paxton muttered, eyeing a few faint scars that crisscrossed up and down his right pinkie and middle finger. Both hands were quickly made busy as he began fumbling with the corpse, rolling it onto it's front and working to pick it up so the body could hang over his shoulder. Though he didn't want to admit it Paxton hadn't realized Akira had been in the area, and so most of his focus went to dealing with the body as to not appear phased by her appearance. Through a bit of effort and a couple grunts of frustration, Paxton eventually managed to stand up with the body slung over his left shoulder, and his staff in his right hand. This effectively kept his arms full, his left arm being needed to hold onto the body's legs, and so when Akira jumped down to join him Paxton could only greet her with a smile.

"Nice to see you too; and we can share once we get home. Not like I found anything interesting on him; just a wallet, a phone we can pawn, and some keys to an apartment god knows where in this city. If we can figure it out though that means there might be a lot more stuff to flip," Paxton began to explain as he and Akira started walking. Home wasn't too far from here, it being one of the reasons Paxton was in the area. Normally when out hunting he preferred leaving distance between his dwelling and the bloodshed, but inconsistency was key in keeping a low profile when dealing with something as serious as murder. Things were bad in Chicago, but that wasn't keeping the cops from doing their jobs, and it was why Paxton never left the bodies should the people he robbed be unfortunate enough to pass on.

There weren't a whole lot of people out at this hour in this part of town, the districts around Washington Park weren't very touristy and had a reputation for being a bad area to hang around in. Every once and a while you'd go down a street and see a bunch of busted up cars with one really expensive looking sports car sitting in among them. The guy with the sports car was never an honest man; something Paxton could respect despite his bias on material things being 'stupid' to put it simply.

It took about twenty minutes to walk home, most of it silent dotted with a few attempts at small talk. No topic seemed to properly stick though, conversation always seeming harder when you had to focus on not dropping a dead body. Luckily their apartment was just around the corner, in the middle of the block with the main gate locked up like a miniature prison. All you needed was a key though, and after that it was just a short climb to the third floor. As Paxton hiked up the last few steps he felt his shoulder beginning to hurt, and rather hurriedly fumbled with the door lock so that he could shoulder his way into the crumby three room apartment. Akira did her best to keep the place clean, but at the end of the day no matter how much perfume you spray on a piece of shit it's still a piece of shit. It was a simple set up; the front door led to the common room which was a combination living room, kitchen, and second bedroom. The wallpaper was dirty and faded, the decorative flowers peeling off here and there with the only break in the gloom being a single window that lent a wonderful view of the fire escape and alley out back. The floor was some cheap hardwood that scratched easily, and most of the room was occupied by a coffee table, TV stand, and an old looking couch that folded out into a bed. The far right of the room became a kitchen, basically defined by the presence of a stove, a few drawers, and a mini fridge to store things in. Past the kitchen was the bathroom, which was just big enough to move around in but left little space for anything else besides the toilet and shower. Then finally to the left of the common room was the bedroom, where Paxton both slept and kept his crap out of the way by hiding it in his closet or just leaving it on the floor in there.

"Home sweet home," Paxton sighed, dropping the body as soon as he was through the door. He intended to deal with it soon, so he wasn't too worried about where he put it or if it got blood anywhere. Stains like that blended pretty easily with the other permanent discolorations that dotted the walls. Already at the window, Madi was busy tapping away at the glass waiting to be let in. Paxton grinned at the sight of her, or it rather considering that Madi was more of a thing. Regardless of it's status in a world beyond it's home, the shadow imp made a useful companion and Paxton had grown attached to it over the years, what few they had known each other. As soon as the window was open Madi fluttered inside and instantly began moving towards the corpse that lay slumped against the wall. "Bones," it squawked, twisting it's head and eyeing the exposed knuckles on each hand.

Paxton meanwhile removed the dead man's previous belongings from his over coat before removing the heavy jacket all together, throwing everything onto the coffee table and dropping down onto the nearby couch. "Like I said, just what you'd expect to find on any average joe," Paxton remarked, picking up the wallet and opening it up, "or, 'average Austin' I should say," he then corrected, throwing the mans drivers licence back onto the table before rummaging through the rest of the cheap leather wallet.

Demon Hunter: Chicago

I don't quite get why people are leaving like they are either but to each traveler their own. Anyways, I don't plan on leaving considering I just got here and honestly I wasn't aware of any sort of direction just like most people seem to understand. As for sub plots and whatnot, I say we just let things form naturally and let character go where they want; see what people have planned. There's a summoning at the warehouse or something? Cool. Flesh it out; how do characters learn of this, how would other characters learn of it, etc.

To the IC!

EDIT: Alright, hope it's good. I wanted to write something tonight since I'll be working most of tomorrow and didn't want to keep you waiting, lavulman. If there's anything weird about the post I'll fix it next I have time :)

Demon Hunter: Chicago

Alright, finished my IC post. Sorry that took so long; it took a few tries before the style of writing felt proper. Been a while since I wrote anything IC :P

Demon Hunter: Chicago

Hurriedly a lone figure rushed down one of the many back streets of Chicago, panting heavily as they dashed down another alleyway and turned another corner. "I'm going to be fucking late," the young man grumbled under his breath, his heart pounding to the same rhythm as his sneakers smacking against the pavement. Another back street, another set of alleys, and in the distance the sound of sirens blared through the twilit air. Skidding to a stop, the runner halted himself as he realized the sirens were growing closer, and jumped back at the sight of a car speeding down the alley he was about to turn onto.

"Maniac!" the runner screamed in frustration as the vehicle whipped by, narrowly avoiding everything in the alley before it swerved out onto a road. Further angered by the delay, the lone figure chose to wait a few more moments and let the lagging police cars whiz by in the same fashion the law breaker had before resuming his journey. Even with all that time to stop and think, the poor man hadn't noticed the shadow lurking just behind him.

Another back street, another set of dumpsters and stagnant puddles to avoid, and it all brought the runner closer to his goal. He'd never needed to take this many short cuts before; only today had the metro been delayed and it was his last chance to prove he could be on time for work. If there was such a thing as luck, his had run out just today and sadly the lurking shadows knew this would cost him dearly.

Up ahead a set of trash cans crashed out into the middle of the alleyway, forcefully knocked over by some unseen force. The runner was having none of it, ready to jump over the cylinders and even kick whatever raccoon had knocked the damn things over. As he neared the trash cans though, it was no raccoon that showed it's face.

Lurching out from directly behind the trash cans, a massive wall of shadow surged out onto the pavement and swelled to blockade the entire alley. Huge black talons dug into the asphalt as bristled hairs scrapped the buildings on either side of the titanic beast that has suddenly taken form. It's jaws practically ripped open as a primal roar escaped it, a soulless void peering out into the world from within the creature's maw. It's eyes burned like dying stars, whiter than the ghostly face of the runner that stood before it. Slowly it began to rear up, massive paws oozing shadow as the creature swelled to an even greater size.

Unable to scream, the lone man turned on his heels and bolted, urine running down his pant leg as he nearly leaped with each starting step. Fear engulfed him, fueling his escape as he sprinted back the way he came. Running as fast as he was, the poor guy had no time to react when from around the corner a pole flew out to clothesline him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dumbass," Paxton snickered, standing over his now unconscious victim. He was a young man, maybe 20 years old or so, and had clearly been in very good shape to hit the ground as hard as he had. We was wearing some shitty one piece uniform that bore the colours of the gas station a few blocks from here, and he had a bag with him- score.

Paxton grunted unhappily, rolling his shoulder where he'd felt his muscle give when he'd been holding out his staff to intercept his target. The kid had quite the set of legs on him, and it had gotten his head a one way ticket onto the pavement where a slow trickle of blood had begun to run off into a nearby, garbage filled puddle. Bleeding out like that, he'd be dead soon. Kneeling down to better examine his work, Paxton began to rummage through the runner's bag and pockets, instantly stowing anything he found to be valuable in one of his many coat pockets. A wallet, keys to an apartment, some cheap cell phone, some cash, and a pen. Everything else Paxton saw as trash- the school work he'd dug out being stuffed back into the bag before the bag itself was hurled into a nearby dumpster.

From down the alley, a loud screech sounded and Paxton looked up from the body beneath him to see a rapidly shrinking shadow approaching. In a puff of ash, the shadow congealed into the familiar form of a grey parrot which was quickly flapping over to where Paxton was crouched down. The bird landed on his shoulder in a practiced motion, squawking noisily as it's feathers ruffled up.

"Yes, you did well!" Paxton shouted angrily, lifting his hands to cover his ears in response to the bird's shriek.

"Well?" the bird mimicked, cocking it's head expectantly.

"You can eat one of his fingers once we're home. I don't have any treats for you right now," Paxton spat bitterly, his mood still sour due to the pain in his shoulder and now ears.

"Home!" the bird mimicked once more, spreading it's wings and taking off down the alleyway. The beating of it's wings quickly grew distant, and Paxton sighed as the ambiance of the city filled the slowly darkening air. Even if it wasn't the first time he'd moved a body, Paxton knew it was hard to be inconspicuous even with glamours. Putting his staff down, Paxton sighed as he began to mutter a few words in a language foreign to anyone born of this world. The syllables snapped out of his mouth and fizzled as they contacted the air, and as Paxton's chanting quickened he placed a hand on the body laying before him. A slight shimmer worked it's way through the air and around the quickly cooling corpse, and Paxton grinned. It was a simple glamour- nobody wanted to see a body, so they'd see whatever they thought made sense. So long as he didn't get any second glances, nobody would notice or care as Paxton lugged his freshly made corpse back to his apartment.

Demon Hunter: Chicago

I got close to finishing, but I need to leave for work now. I'll post tonight; I promise :)

If anyone can answer this by the time I get back, just so I can be sure; about what time is it in RP? Like, characters are eating dinner so it's some time in the evening but how late exactly just for consistency's sake?

Demon Hunter: Chicago

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.

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.

Demon Hunter: Chicago

Sorry for not having posted anything and for the radio silence. I've been kept kinda busy the last few days trying to get out and see a few people. Anyways, if I don't post IC tonight expect something tomorrow :)

Demon Hunter: Chicago

Is this still alive? I've got an app. Lavulman should be able to post his soon as well.

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.

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.