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Name: Jago Delmar
Age: 13
Gender: male
Race: Portugess/native barzilian mix
DoB: August 12, 1994
PoB: Heliopolis favela slums of Sao Paulo, Brazil
Nationality: Brazilian


Disclaimer: This charcter was originally created by Birvan. He had no name and a very basic idea. Due to a conversation and brain stroming session we had one night, togeather we came up with some new ideas for this old charcter of Brivan's. In the end Birvan put him into my care with the task to name him and flesh out who he is.

Basic concept copyright of Birvan
Expantion copyright of Gallen Storm


His Life:

I never had much of a life, no. When I was born my ma died, complications in my birth that came afterwards. She was very sick, I was told, before she had me and that she used all her strength to make sure I would live. Sadly, what I was born into was hell. The city of Sao Paulo, my home, all pretty and resort like, yet that’s ‘cos the business people get to have such luck while we the workers have nothing. All I have known as a real home has been the muddy roads and trash filled streets of Hilopiles.

From the time I was born to the age of 5, I was taught the cruel lesson that people like me were worthless, expendable. I was taught we never would get to be like the rich and that our place was in Hilopiles. By the age of 5, I was told I had to work for one the factories around the slums of the city.

As a Child laborer in a sweat shop:

At the age or 5, I started to work for one the factories in the city. It belonged to some American sport gear company, have no idea what they called themselves, it was a job that paid what would be 25 cents in American money, or so I was told by the older workers.

Anyway I started work at 5, as a gopher, getting material for the older kids and old ladies who worked in the factory sewing and what not. During this time I was trained how to use the sewing machines and how to hand sew. The old lady who taught me, Mary we called her because she looked like the Lord’s Mother, my first project. It was a pair of shoes based off of one the mock designs the sport company had. In the end these became my first and only pair of shoes I would ever wear in my life. Because of some issues with work safety the company was required to have all there employees wear shoes, so I got to make and own my own pair of shoes, yet I only was allowed to wear them in the factory and had to leave them there when I went home at the end of the day.

The end of the day...sigh...was always fun, retuning home to my dad who either was not home, because he was off working at his job, or was home asleep. The times I did get to see him though were the best! Every Friday he and I would get off from work about the same time and he take me to the city so we could go fishing off at the piers. But soon those days ended as my dad’s job became more hectic and he started to talk about heading to America or Europe to find a better life for him and me. During this time the company that owned our sweat shop was starting to go under, so said some the old ladies.

Into The Frying Pan/On the Ship:

Then the day came, one hot Monday morning I made my way to the Factory to find the doors chained shut and a few of my fellow co-workers sitting at the wall. They said to me that the factory closed due to financial issues in the US causing the Factory to close, though others said it was because the Americans had issues with people like us making clothing for them. Either way I was out of a job and times would get hard for my dad and me.

For the next few weeks I had more time to run the streets with the other kids who followed me around. We stole bread and got in fights with other groups. One group’s leader I beat the s**t out of after he mocked me on losing my job. I broke his arm and gave him a bloody nose, but the lousy s**t deserved it, specially after he mocked God saying, "God did not exist, cause if he did we would not be in the mess we were in."

I just can not stand people who question or mock our Lord or God.

Soon, as the week came to a close, my father came in late one night and woke me from my ragged mattress which was in the corner of our one room home, next to his. He was excited as he looked at me in the dim lantern light. He told me he had struck a deal and that we where going to be heading to the US, that when we got there, we would be able to find decent jobs and I could get an education. I did not like the idea though. All our lives the Americans and those of the upper class kept us down and made our lives miserable, now my Dad was going to take us to their door step and beg for a better life. Sadly, I said nothing, I just smiled and nodded. He told me the following night we would be heading to a ship that would take us to the US. We would find out that was a lie.

The following night we quickly packed what little possessions we had and made our way to the docks, where the ship was docked. As we walked up two burly men walked up and greeted us. They pointed to the ship we where to take and one of the men ushered me along leaving my dad behind. As we walked I heard my dad start to question the other guy, his voice started to sound angry and as I turned to see what my father was getting mad about, I witnessed the other man pull out a hand gun and shoot my Dad twice in the chest. The last thing I remember was dropping my bag and crying out my dad’s name trying to run to him...then there was a hot thawp on the back my head and soon darkness.

I awoke hours later in a small cramped space with other people, women and children, some my age. As I rubbed my sore head and looked around, I remembered the warnings the old ladies and mothers of our town would say: "Be careful around the docks, watch out for the black-market traders." The fool, my father must have made a deal with them to get us to the states and instead was tricked. I sat there my knees to my chest as I scowled at the people around me. I did not want to be near them, weak, pathetic people, who willingly came into this form a life, or were dumb enough to be tricked...like my dad. Ironically, most of them did not want to have anything to do with me, which was fine. Though in time I did become close with one boy who I would watch a month later be sold to some brothel where he would live out his days doing favors for old business men.

Each port we came too was the same. The black market guys selling us like cattle to brothels or sweatshops, showing us off as merchandise and the crowd staring at us as if we where not humans but animals. Each time they came to me I made a fuss and sometimes made a scene. One time I bit the hand of a perspective "buyer" only to get myself a good beating form the black marketers. Soon they stopped trying to sell me and put me to work clearing the ship. I became there ship rat, which did not bother me. I knew more hiding places then they knew existed and pretty much had free reign of the ship. When they did find me, it was usually to give me more jobs or to give me a good beating while they were in a drunken state. Still I found ways to pay them back for the pain, sometimes ways that paid back that pain in tenfold.


How he got to the Island

It had been a year since I was taken and I knew the time was to come when the Captinao would try to get rid of me. That day came on cold morning when the ship docked at this old factory sitting in the middle of the sea. I was told it was some oil rig and that eth man that lived here was interested in me. I tried to fight like I did so many other times to get away and hide on the ship, but I failed and was soon carried up onto the rig. There I was greeted by a group of men in uniform and one big bald guy. In a matter of minutes the trade was made and I was off in the care of the bald guy. He forcefully dragged me to a chopper which sat on the other side of the platform. As he dragged me I fought clawing, bighting, kicking, yet nothing stopped this guy. He son threw me into the cockpit and strapped me in locking the chopper door. In a mater of seconds we where in the air and heading to where I would live for the rest my life.

Personality:

All Jago's life has been living in the slums of Brazil and growing up in a sweat shop. Because of this, Jago had to be strong and tough. He comes across to most people as a little no good street punk kid, with his torn-up shirt and shorts, messy brown hair, dirty light tan skin and bare feet. His dirty skin and nasty smell due to him not liking to take baths completes the image. Yet he does not let people's judgment get to him and usually will give an evil grin to those who look at him with an uncomfortable stare.

He likes to pick fights with other kids, and is known to bully the kids he was around in the sweat shop. Those who saw him as the strongest kid, followed Jago around the city on off days from the factory and with him as leader, they would steal food or small trinkets from shops. Usually getting chased down the street by the shop owner or cop. Though he is Catholic and respects God, to the point he will physically fight anyone who bad mouths the Lord, he twist the faith to fit his life style and has been known to say, "Jesus did not like people selling stuff in the temple, so I am just doing his bidding." Sometimes he would go as far as to pick pocket wealthy folk or US tourist who ventured to close to the lower class areas of the city.

Though Jago comes across as tough and has a dislike of weak people, he does exhibit a softer side. This gentle side is only seen in his art. From the training he received in the sweat shop, Jago was able to perfect his sewing skills and soon started to make little rag dolls of comic strip characters he saw in the city news paper. Some these little dolls he sold to the children who lived in the slums. Though he hates showing it, he enjoys seeing little kids smile.

Overall Jago likes to be a trouble maker, through vandalizing property and tormenting people he meets through mean practical jokes.

Charming isn't he? sweatdrop




Interest:

Scaring Girls
Fighting
Getting in trouble
Sewing-Though he was forced to do it, he still like the art form. He enjoys
creating things
marbels
Scavaging dumpsters for stuff
eating
The ocean
Soccer/Football
Smokeing

Dislikes

weak people
police
People who try and give him charity
The upperclass
People who think they are better then him
baths
people who disrespect God, jesus, or the Vrigen Marry
Shop keepers- they always chase me with a broom
Drugs- An older kid he adored ODed and died infrotn of Jago when he was
8. Since that day he ahs hated seeing anyone take drugs and has
gotten in fist figths with otehr kids who get hooked.

Skills:

Sewing
Harmonica playing
Language:
Portugess
English- learned from an old women who looked out for him while in
the sweat shop
Marbels
Pick pocketing
Actting-hey how else could I make the cop guys belive that was my watch
I stole?
Lieing
large Vocabulary of cuse words



Theme Songs:

Phil Colins- Another Day in Paradise
The Rasmus Feat Apocalyptica- Life Burns
Disturbed- Land of Confusion
The Rasmus -In The Shadows
X-Japan -Art of Life
Though this song is in english, it is ahrd to understand, I have posted the lyrics on the second page of this thread. Read along when you hear this song, I feel it repersents the inner workings of Jago to a degree

Friends To A Rat

Child Slavery/ Sweat Shops

The Transformation From Boy To Vermin

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Non Cannon Rp Links

I can't help but be very amused at the possiblities if he and my own character ever met on the Island. blaugh

For everyone Gallen Alaxander Marcuss is still alive, this is just a new concept to play with while I wait for the next chnace to join.