Name: "The name's Elijah Brown, but you can call me 'Eli' if you'd like."
Sex: Male
Appearance: African American, approximately 14 years old, tall with a stocky build, wide hazel eyes, short curly black hair cut close to his head and hidden under an old cap. Scars covering his forearms and the lower left side of his face.
Bio: "My life story? I guess I can start back when I was a youngun back in OK. Things were good- no, that ain't true. Things were just alright, really. They were good as they were gonna get for a well-to-do black family trying to survive outside of places like Harlem and Bronzeville. My Ma and Pa used to run a pharmacy and chemist shop just inside the city limits of Tulsa, the only one left in the area. Whenever someone needed medicine, chemical supplies, or what-have-you, they would come to the shop. I was an only child, and it got pretty lonely sometimes, so when I wasn't studying or helping my parents run the shop, I would always talk to the stranger characters who I came across. Heard an awful lot about some boys in Kansas who were giving the Texans a run for their money. As a family, we just ran our shop and kept our heads low. They had already killed black folks to keep them out of the town way back in the day, and my Ma was convinced it would happen again despite my Pa's wishes. Keeping our heads down wasn't enough.
One night, a mob of whites and some crooked police came into the street where we lived, and started trying to drive us out. They came down the street like a storm, throwing rocks, beating black people, even shooting at us as we hid. They got to the store, barricaded the door with us inside, and burned the place to the ground. My parents didn't make it, but I just barely did, managing to jump out a window and earning these scars in the process. Once I realized that I wasn't dead, I hid myself behind some boxes until the mob left. Then I grabbed a few bottles of acids and other useful solutions that survived the fire and ran for it. There wasn't nobody in that town who was gonna help me, so I sure as hell wasn't gonna stick around after that.
I traveled all over the place for a while. I went east through Springfield to St. Louis. There, I heard about the Wild Men again. About how they were part of a free and fighting people, and about how they help each other if you earn their respect and about how they don't take nothing from nobody. That sounded good to me. I decided to bounce back west, going through Kansas City and then south to Wichita. I was gonna find them and join them, no matter what. After some time, I finally met up with the gang and explained myself. After a 'demonstration' that involved burning down some poor bastard's shack with a vial no larger than my thumb, I was accepted into the gang. That brings us to today, I guess."
What is your character's expertly good at that would help the gang they are in?(try to keep it unique from other characters if you can): "What I'm good at, huh? Well, the gang keeps me around mostly because I'm good with chemicals. Bombs, flares, poison gas, incendiaries. If you name it and know what it does, I can find a way to build it. You see, here's what I do: I take stuff I learned from my Ma and Pa, mix it with stuff I learned from the gang, and make myself one deadly sonofabitch. I ain't just a killer, though. Sometimes I help the Irish lady by making soaps, painkillers, medicine. That sort of thing. I guess you could call me something of a chemist.
Also, I sorta have a sense for danger. No, I ain't a coward. It's just that, well, I can usually tell when something's gonna go sour before most other folks can. Trust me, it helps. I also have a good scorecard when it comes to judging folks' character."
