Calyan

Calyan looked like 'Mad Men' and the 90's spat out a baby. He was easily over six foot, with a strong jaw and an easy smile. The Oxford blue suit that he wore was haphazardly tucked, and his tie looked like it had been in a perfect knot a few hours ago, but had since been pulled loose. He had ice blue eyes that shined through his wavy black 'curtains' hairstyle, and his skin was unblemished but the red in his cheeks, most likely from the glass of ice that used to be Scotch.
A small wooden walking stick was always sat somewhere near his person, a rich cherry wood length stained dark, with strange black markings traveling the entire piece, spiraling up to a cloudy round gem of some sort. It certainly didn't look helpful for his posture, nor did he seem to have any problems getting about.

Calyan had been around for awhile now. In fact - he had been around long enough that people over the years had conjured legends and myths about him, and he had accrued quite a few titles: Crossroads Demon, The Trickster, and quite a few that he was sure just translated into unmentionably horrible curse words.

Truthfully though, he was just in the business of barter. One tiny little insignificant soul, for a lifetime of having him at your beck and call. He would give his patrons anything that their hearts desired, and more often than not imagination was the limit. With a glut of magic expertise, and a host of souls already collected, he had learned to bend the rules of the impossible, and he would do it with a smile on his face.

I'm open to any great idea, but ideally Calyan would be interacting with someone desperate, reckless, or atheist enough to sell their soul. His deal isn't some sort of trick - he'll actively work at making his patron's dreams come true, whatever they might be. Why? Perhaps to honor the spirit of the agreement, to soothe that conscience he's pushed to the back of his mind, or a little bit of both.