Joseph Jackals Juniro, from Purgatory Remix, a roleplay on RPG

Name: Joseph Jackals Juniro
Age: Twenty-Five
Backstage Pass: Do you know how depressingly, completely, utterly, pathetically, horrifyingly angsty you have to be for your local cult of demon worshipers to attempt (and fail) to sacrifice you to their dark lord when previously all they were known for was their wickedly good crumpets? As angsty as J.J.J was. Instead of being swallowed by the dark maw of a satan expy though, his soul was too bitter and pasty for the demon ahgodijustchippedanail, lord of all annoying accidents, and it was summarily cast out into the outskirts.

Physical Description: Have you ever seen a corpse? Have you ever seen a British person? Have you ever seen Mick Jagger on meth? Well, Joseph looks like the second one. He has a wild tangle of black hair that hangs own to his nose, his skin is shockingly white. Not white in the "I am Caucasian" way, but white in the "I am made of printer paper" way. His eyes are misty black, and he usually dresses in black and are you starting to see a pattern here? He's tried growing facial hair in the past, but that horrible rat beard that springs out every time he does has convinced him to keep it down to small wispish goatee. A black, small, wispish goatee.

Joseph in a suitably depressing picture post-shaving.

Personality

Personality Description: I don't enjoy doing these since I always deviate from the intended end. So I'll just roleplay this out and make up for it with a beefy history.

Equipment

He keeps with him a large notebook filled with poetry that's been divided into three sections.

Offensive: For use in defending himself in case of attack.
Personal: His own sad, sad, horribly, sad poetry. Much better at killing people than his offensive poetry and that's why he keeps it under wraps.
Calliope: His attempts (for Calliope's sake) to make poetry that is Epic.

He also has enough pens to choke the majority of Bulgaria (excluding infants and immigrants as well as assuming he used one pen per person).

History

History:
Imagine it, foggy London in the dead of night. Men and women scuttling across the street like cockroaches when all of a sudden they see figures in hoods. Black hoods with thick lining and blood spattered gloves walked through the streets dragging a screaming man behind them. No one did anything, everyone pretended not to notice, not out of fear, but out of a relief that someone was finally killing J.J.J. Jospeh was not a well liked manchild, he mostly spent his days holed up in his flat writing sad poems or over at the local bookstore annoying any attractive goth girl he saw. People didn't like him, but they weren't ready to lynch him until he dropped his notebook and some of his poems floated out. Only then was his true power revealed. A little kid picked the poem up and read it, he cried until he died of dehydration. The mother who went to pick up her shriveled corpse of a child? She caught a glimpse of it and committed suicide using the baby.

Nearby, a cult of demon worshipers happened to be enjoying their weekly mocha and scanning the crowd for new recruits saw him. Well, after being dragged into prison for writing poetry so depressing that it magically killed people they broke him out and dragged him through the streets. No one really did anything, no one really liked him in the first place. Thankfully, even the demon didn't like him. Once he was spit out of the demon's gullet and plopped down into the outskirts of purgatory. He spent a bit of a while there, and while his walk to the city wasn't really all that eventful, the mad machinations of the outskirts gave him a special ability he hadn't had before. First, it took away his color. It made him more a sketch than an actual human being and if you stare at him long enough he'll probably ask you what your problem is and you'll almost see those lines artists draw when they try to make a face. Still, probably not a good idea to stare at him. Next, it made this discoloration affect the environment around him, so that the colors in his immediate presence seemed muted and dull.

Lastly, and most importantly it gave him the power to touch and drain things of their color, if he persists in draining something after all of it's color is gone then its lines begin to fade until it just pops out of existence. Unfortunately, this does not work on other people or anything sentient really. Still, armed with this depressing array of powers he ventured into Grand City to make his fortune. He made nothing near a fortune. He actually made a negative fortune and is still paying his debts to The Fox off. He needs to get the head of the spear that pierced Christ, the droppa stones, and three female fingers. He's a bit squeamish about that last one. Still, he has a magical sponsor to protect him, a muse of epic poetry named Calliope. She saw him one day, killing pigeons by reading his rendition of Twinkle Twinkle little star at them so he would have something to eat for dinner and she mistakenly saw some spark for epic in his soul. There was no spark, but she took him in anyway and vowed to turn him into the sort of person who could create epic poetry. She's been fighting an uphill battle but bless her little heart she tries so much.

Optional
Theme Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N3N1MlvVc4
Quote: "Listen, life is like this big chocolate cake. Except when you open the cake it's full of wasps and hate and a wrinkly old person who tries to smother you in their fat folds. Then, when they finally get their hairy stomach on your face and you're about to die you realize that this wrinkly old person is you from the future."
-After a few bottles of Baileys.
"Life is suffering. And pain. And doom. Dooomy doom. Doooooooom. So doomy."
-After a few bottles of Prozac.

Joseph Jackals Juniro's Story

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