Sean Malone

Name: Sean Malone
Age: 25
Height: 5’ 10’’
Weight: 150 (Slim Build)
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown

A native of County Cork, Ireland, Sean immigrated to the United States with his parents soon after the end of the American war that crushed the Confederacy. Landlord troubles and famine had made the situation in Ireland intolerable for many of the working class, and Sean’s father anticipated that there would be plentiful work available in reconstructing the American South. Accordingly, Sean and his parents settled in the port city of Savannah, Georgia.

Unfortunately, Sean’s father had made a grave miscalculation. Given that there were many returning soldiers and freed slaves who were also looking for gainful employment and the fact that the region’s economy had been destroyed by the war, leaving its people desperately poor, work opportunities for immigrants such as the Malones proved to be few and far between.

Still and all, Sean’s family managed to struggle by until he lost his father, who was knifed in a tavern brawl. Sean’s mother tried to earn a living as a seamstress, and young Sean helped as best he could by doing manual labor. But times were hard, and their efforts to support themselves were unsuccessful. Desperate and nearly penniless, Sean’s mother turned to prostitution to keep herself and her young son from starving.

Tragedy again struck Sean’s family when his mother was killed in a fit of drunken rage by a sailor. A vengeful Sean tracked the man down and killed him, but was forced to flee Savannah only one step ahead of the law.

With no family or ties to bind him, Sean headed west. As was common with many displaced Southerners after the war, he first headed to Texas. There he learned to ride and shoot, to take care of himself in the wilderness, and how to track a man who did not wish to be followed. But soon enough Sean became dissatisfied with conditions in Texas. As wild as the state was compared to most of the rest of the nation, laws were still enforced, and Sean found that he could not idly stand by and dispassionately watch while Northern carpetbaggers and Southern scalawags turned the law to their advantage, using tax sales to buy up land for pennies on the dollar and dispossess widows and orphans.

And so it was that Sean began drifting west once again. After several years with no place to call home except his saddle and his bed-roll, 1887 found him heading into a small town in California, dusty and saddle-weary.

Sean looks no different than many other men of this place and time. In addition to his silver-gray Stetson hat, he wears a dark gray coat over a light-blue linsey-woolsey shirt, and black pants tucked into black boots. He sports a mustache and a small goatee, and quite often several day’s growth of beard. His general appearance is ruggedly handsome, if one doesn’t mind that he often tends to look a little scruffy. A Smith & Wesson Schofield revolver is worn high on his left side, "Texan-style," so that it might be pulled across his belly in a cross-draw motion. Worn tied down and low on his right leg in a breakaway holster is a heavily modified double-barrelled, sawed-off shotgun with a pistol grip.

Sean is slightly above average in height, but with a slim build. He speaks with a pleasant combination of Irish brogue and Southern drawl. In spite of his usually pleasant personality, there is a certain look about the eyes that hints that there may be more to this man than is first apparent.

His clothes are of average quality, although a bit travel-worn. His weapons are the very best that he can afford, and are meticulously well maintained and oiled. His horse is above average in quality, but not the very best that money can buy.