Clarence Walsh

A farmboy being thrust into greatness, or an early grave.


ST 11 (10)
DX 11 (10)
IQ 10 (10)
HT 12 (20)

Common Sense (10)

Youth (-2, 17 years old)


Guns (Pistol) – 11 (.5)
Guns (Rifle) – 11 (.5)
Guns (Shotgun) – 11 (.5)
Wrestling – 10 (1)
Riding (Horse) – 11 (2)
Chemistry – 10 (2)
Animal Handling – 10 (2)
Area Knowledge (Abilene) – 14 (6)
Fishing – 10 (.5)
Orienteering – 9 (.5)
Mechanic (Steam Engine) – 12 (4)
Mechanic (Clockwork) -12 (4)
Mechanic (Simple Machine) -12 (4)
Woodworking – 9 (.5)
Spanish – 9 (.5)
Administration (Farm) – 10 (1)
Gambling – 9 (.5)
Merchant – 10 (1)
Blacksmith – 10 (4)
Brawling – 11 (1)
Naturalist – 10 (2)
Teamster – 10 (1)
Cooking – 11 (1)
Tracking – 11 (2)


Clarence Walsh was a common boy, in almost every way: average height, middling looks, and a typical farm-kid’s wiry build. In school he proved a passable student who enjoyed his studies, but not one inclined to greatness in any book-learning subject. He was a credible farmer, taught by his parents on a relatively young homestead; but while he worked hard at it, and was reasonably skilled, he lacked the luck that every farmer seemed to need to truly succeed. Even his beasts merely tolerated him, and never seemed to give their all for him – and perhaps that’s why he gravitated toward machine-farming. He’d while away night after night in the barn, tinkering with the family’s steam engines to gain a little more power, modifying the farming implements to gain that extra smidgen of efficiency. He even attempted a bit of basic chemistry, searching for some combination of fuels or some additive to the steam tank’s water that would push those engines just a little bit harder.

Even mediocre things come to an end, though, and Clarence’s life is currently in a bit of an upheaval. His parents are recently deceased from a bout of cholera, leaving their farm and possessions to him. Clarence himself has only been on his feet two weeks, barely long enough to see his folks interred. But during his convalescence, and following their passing, he had a lot of time to think. Is this all he wanted? Was there some true calling out there that he’d never been exposed to? While he mulls over his options, deciding between a life of adventure or a life on the farm, he’s been spending the last several evenings in town. He does his best to remember not to gamble, and to drink in moderation, and he spends his nights listening to the tales being told around the bar: tales of war, of massive steam engines, of nights on the trail under the stars, of gunfights in the streets….

Clarence Walsh

Gunsmoke, Steam, and Blood ardentspork TeamNutmeg