origins.

Kirjo Riemu ( taken from another word for Sa.mpo "Kirjokansi", which kirjo on its own refers to a spectrum of colors/colorful & riemu which means joy or elation in finnish ) had a normal childhood for a brief while, an only child that was rather sociable, funny. The type that appreciated attention and would even make a fool of himself to have laughter directed his way. Though, keeping any friends was difficult, especially when any semblance of family was stripped from him early. Problematic orphan seeing as a source of happiness had been lost. He grew up looking out for himself, only counting on himself. If he wasn't dependable by his own terms, then he would've surely met an early demise or lived a rather boring and sad life. Faking a need for attention ( though there's some truth to be had there, ) stealing, running small scams from those that would likely believe a poor child, were his early ways to be able to treat himself to decent meals and new clothes or gadgets.

In his teens, he grew taller, was putting on some muscle and could hold his own in fisticuffs when it sometimes came down to a scuffle. He really didn't enjoy it, much better to be the audience of a brawl rather than risk getting your lights punched out. Kirjo prided himself on being quick on his feet, nimble. Some call it cowardly, but he was thinking of ways to catch his opponents off-guard when the chance arose. Someone match stronger than him would obviously win out, therefore he had to use what he could to his advantage. Getting into trouble with the wrong crowd would eventually draw eyes that thought him better on a metaphorical leash while utilizing the growing teen as near fodder. Proper training to turn quick steps into deadly ones, deft hands learning to wield knives, lithe fingers picking locks, pockets, and the like. Up through this period, he simply did jobs for a cut. Nothing too life threatening, though he was sure if caught it wouldn't have been too pretty. It's when a year or two passed by that he was tasked with things that did not settle too well.

Killing someone whether or not they deserve it is certainly a moral dilemma. But good or bad didn't matter, the pay was good. Kirjo had grown used to eating better, having time to himself, and at a certain point, his stealing only fed this avarice he started developing. Killing was somewhat of a distraction for the need to continuously feel notes between his fingers. That didn't really quite do it for his conscience, however. He still needed some sort of distraction there, a detachment from the negative feelings. And at first that's all it really was, pretending not to feel to the point that he was convinced he didn't. All his pretty crime previous to this helped perhaps. Oh, but he became rather serious, he didn't like who he was looking at in the mirror in his day to day. Forced smiles for himself, finding that exhilaration and thrill he gets from pilfering in his jobs that used to make him feel sick to his stomach. Wear a mask and become an actor just for yourself and you'll be sure to have a great time every time, guaranteed.

He lost his sense of self in the process, it becoming something more twisted and volatile. Taking a hit made him laugh, landing a hit made him laugh, crying and pleading for forgiveness only reserved to play up an act. Aeon came first, blessing the confused young lad to be an Emanator of the Elation. Here's some power, what type of power ? That's for Kirjo to discover. This did not grant him money nor riches. What had been certain is that he always felt watched, an audience always there, a need to hope that those eyes got a kick out of the act. At least it's something to work towards. And so, a hooded figure set out, finding out how far he could potentially go. Nothing ever came of it, not really. Even in one of his last jobs that he took up, requiring him to go after supposedly imbued special artifacts granted him nothing to draw on. Though, what did occur at that time was incessant yet infectious laughter. Odd pieces of armor that don't quite go with his preferred manner of dress.

Donning the name Sa.mpo Ko.ski came with his acceptance to the Tavern. The first name was engraved where he'd come across those relics he wore. He's not entirely sure of what it means, though it seems unique enough to cut him from any previous ties to crime if a Ma.sked Fo.ol decided to prey on that. The surname is simply a word he recalls from his upbringing. Nothing more but a small memory. He doesn't remember much.

The mask he receives feels like a mockery, since Aha supposedly has a hand in the whole process seeing as they value the revelry of the Tavern. His mask seems plain, something he doesn't want to have to use to cover up his looks which have helped him with odd jobs here and there. One upside is that it at least functions as a catalyst if the Laughter won't bother to explain the extent of his function as an Emanator or just what power resides within.