- Name: Rusting Bits
- Race: Earth Pony
- Physical Appearance:
Dusty brown young-adult stallion with dark-red brown stockings. His mane is pale golden yellow. Green eyes with a distant waxing stare.
Generally dresses in a heavily stitched and padded coat laden with large pockets and a heavy backpack. A pair of cracked goggles rests over his eyes over-top a molted red handkerchief wrapped around his forehead. Physically no stranger to the natural wear of the wasteland with a patchy natural coat worn thin or bare in spots, even with the taming of the weather over much of the desolate country.
- Backstory:
No stranger to the art of the road, Rusting Bits was born to a clan of caravaneers wandering the wastelands trying to irk out a living from savaging refuse and repairing or reselling gear, looted or sold to them otherwise. The nature of the Caravaneer market kept them moving in all without rest.
As of this, Rusting was born rather literally on the road. He was still in his wrappings with the work of labor barely dry on his coat when he and his family moved on, pack brahmin in toe. And being on the move rarely afforded appropriate luxury and as soon as he was able his family had him tending to his role in the Caravan. Without play he knew only work, and with only work he was never formally educated. For the most part he learned reading from road signs and old pre-war advertisements that still clung to life high above the ruined and snaking highways of war-time Equestria. But this was hardly a true education and only went as far as to help him with the names of the countless settlements that littered the Wasteland and identifying any standing and functioning structure that might aid his survival: the clinic, general stores, the bar.
Even as a busied and troubled filly, young Rusted did hold to that common fear of his cutie-mark. Most often he dreaded the possibility of being born simply to shovel brahmin shit or to evade raider's bullets. The anxiety was only more-so given that he was by all means a late bloomer. He had the distinct humiliation of being beaten to knowing his life's talent after his younger half-brother and cousins learned their own. This compounded a whole new fear: of being useless and fit for glue. But his troubles never seemed to connect with the adult stallions and mares, who in their tired empathy only smiled half-heartedly at his blank-flank frustrations.
He would though – like everypony – come to find his purpose. But not in doing and more in accepting. He had tried everything in the tortured ritual of attempting every conceivable thing down to even attempting to spellcast. But in jury-rigging a broken rifle and battle saddle he came aware of his talents as he watched his brother's amble through. Earth Pony magic was strange, and in realizing he earned his cutie mark: the rusted illustration of bolt, screw, and scrap.
The relief was tremendous, but celebration brief. Soon after he was awarded a hearty toast, introducing him to his taste for alcohol. And then: they were on the move.
The following years were defined by the quest to simply keep living, and the adventures into mares to forget the problems he had at every town they crossed through. He would earn his wages from work and bartering, to then blow it on prostitutes and booze. In his young age, with purpose, and like-minded stallions with him it was easy to forget that - when not being shot at by raiders - life could change.
Shortly after leaving behind them Flankfurt to adventure back towards Canterlot the family caravan cantered into a raider's trap. Hidden in the rocks, trees, and knolls of the highlands outside of Hoofington gun fire opened on the group, cutting much of them down and scattered the rest. Rusted Bit had little actual experience in combat, and though tried was shot in the shoulder and collapsed. In less than four minutes his kin were killed, and the rest sold as slaves. He was left for dead as the bandits rifled through their gear and took off with what they could.
Rusted was found roughly twelve hours later by a separate group of travelers who found the ruin of the caravan. Finding Rusted alive, if barely there, they attended to the fallen stallion; healing his wounds and cleaning out the infections beginning to fester there. It wasn't until days later that after a regimine of healing potions to repair extensive damage to his right-front shoulder blade and lungs could he walk off. A shattered stallion.
Having nothing else to do, Rusted had no choice but to continue the life of a caravaneer, but a more somber dealer. He moved quieter, made no significant contact, and spent a large amount of time slumped across a table with the end of a bottle of Staliongrad's Best in his mouth. He still worked magic with his hooves, and to keep up with the bills offered himself out in a more diverse set of skills. Handiman, courier, and briefly both kinds of escort.
Traveling all over, he was one to become jealous of the New Canterlot Republic and its care-free wealth and sense of safety. But although jealous he was frustrated he could not be a part of it. He had no money. And he couldn't stay rooted. It was much the same for elsewhere in the wasteland from East Coast to West. Tenpony to Vanhoover.
- Other:
Karma: 0 (Nobody Traveler)
SPECIAL:
S - 7
P - 4
E - 6
C - 6
I - 5
A - 6
L – 6
TRAITS:
Road-Worthy Barter – A life on the road and dealing with others for caps and food has installed a life-time's neccesaity in knowing the working of caps. You can also bullshit. +5 barter and +3 speech
Scarred – The brutality of the open wasteland isn't a stranger. Knives, bullets, bombs, stingers, and claws have all gracelessly graced your skin. The build of scars and roughening of your coat is almost a layer of defense in itself. +1.5% defense from all damage types (exempting radiation, poison, and taint)
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Todd Howard States facts, makes fiction
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Level 2 Hellhound
Romt's Theme
-Name-
Romt
-Race-
Hellhound
-Physical Appearance-
Romt is a male Hellhound somewhere in his mid-twenties. Standing at around 5'11". His fur is a tawny brown, though generally a tad darker due to getting covered in dirt while digging and not bathing. He has multiple scars on his body, noticeable on his stomach and arms if anypony bothered to look. They are less from actual combat and more-so from training, though there are a few wounds from other combatants visible. His face isn't prettier than any other Hellhound's, especially when his mouth opens, revealing not only the fact he has terrible breath, but also teeth that look sharp enough to take a limb clean off, similar to his claws. His ugly mug usually seems to have a neutral expression that allows him to come off as passive to most, but can be replaced with a snarling face of anger when enraged by either somepony around him, or outside sources.
For attire, he has a black vest similar to those worn by Diamond Dogs before the war. It's torn in a few places, but for the most part it's in one piece. On his head is a brown, broad-brimmed hat he'd picked up during his travels. These pieces of attire give him a differing appearance from the Hellhounds that still avoid pony-kind, which is mostly why he decides to wear any of it. He can usually be seen with a bag slung over one of his arms filled with supplies, and a revolver holstered at his side.
-Backstory-
Born in Ponyville after Fluttershy turned it into a Hellhound Sanctuary, Romt was raised on the knowledge necessary to help him be one of the Hellhounds of his generation to be more accepting of pony-kind. The history of the Diamond Dog's did not mean as much now, as if anypony in the wastes wanted to thrive, they needed cooperation. Romt generally never showed any distrust towards the caravan ponies that visited the Sanctuary, being more equal and friendly with them as planned by the elders. The pups were certainly going to be a step in the right direction for Equestria.
Over the course of his younger years, he was taught effective techniques used by the Hellhounds; Digging techniques were considered necessary, and a focus on strength and agility was also necessary to ensure a Hellhound was still at odds of winning a fight without a gun. Though he did have firearms training, but never got the chance to use much in the way of Energy Weapons due to them becoming rarer. A part of his firearms training was learning how to modify weapons so he could hold and fire them in his hands. The process wasn't half as complicated as it first appeared for him, and after being given time, he learned how to modify weapons without wasting too much precious time. It wasn't an instant process, but it was fast enough to not take up half his day.
What time was left after training with the older hounds, he mostly spent with other pups like himself. They enjoyed a bit of play, and listening to stories on the radio about events before their time. They also practiced with each-other in a competitive fashion. Romt was the second strongest pup, but forth fastest mechanic out of the six of them. He tended to slip up at times, prolonging the process of modifying guns. As irritating as it was, he was usually just told that slip-ups happened when trying to do work quickly. Which, while true, didn't make him feel much better.
As he began to grow older, Romt began going out to patrol the caravan routes with the elder hounds. This was a task Hellhounds were generally good at, as they could cover a lot of ground and deal with issues more effectively than Earth Ponies and Unicorns, and could compete fairly with pegasi and Griffons for the most part. His first encounter with an enemy came during his second run; He and his leader at the time, Gurzil, encountered a small group of raiders waiting to ambush a caravan. He proved to be fairly competent; Taking out one pony with a shot to the neck, and also landing a shot to the chest of another. There was the occasional miss during the firefight, but overall Romt didn't waste too many bullets to make himself concerned. He felt satisfied with getting through without being injured, though Gurzil ended up being shot in the arm, which was certainly concerning for Romt. The bullet passed through, but it halted them until they stopped the bleeding.
Patrols of the caravan routes would continue for years, it was becoming his job to ensure trouble was cleared away for the caravans so they could pass through. Some thoughts crossed his mind as he got older, mostly about how closed in he felt with just trotting the roads. There were enough taking to the roads, weren't there? He wished he could have some more freedom rather than this task that many others were doing. He figured that trouble had to run out in the wastes as well. so having him out there could help more ponies than just the ones travelling the caravan routes.
The best decision he could make was to bring it up with the elder hounds for their opinion on the matter, and their response was simple; He could leave to travel the wastes how he liked, but would be on his own. He could always return, but it'd be generally more dangerous to explore off the roads, leading to him being unable to make it back. Not caring too much about the conditions, he stated he would be leaving to patrol more than just the caravan routes, and provide assistance to others who needed it. This decision was respected by the elder hounds, and soon after their discussion, he had collected basic supplies and left without much more thought. He wasn't sure where he was heading, but had a basic idea of where areas of interest were.
He traveled a fair distance, occasionally visiting towns for supplies, but sometimes having a difficult time interacting with them. Over time, his visits to stores became more common and he was more welcomed, but at first it was mildly rough for him. This stood for his journey as well; He had some difficult times in the wastes, sometimes hardly able to afford supplies, or having to deal with the Equestrian Wasteland's many dangers that didn't even involve right or wrong. Then there was the times right or wrong was thrown into the mix, making his life harder as he tried to uphold the peace and keep those who were innocent safe, which involved risking his life on multiple occasions.
As of now, he's grown to be a sort of helpful figure for the wastes. He's not exactly well-known, but ponies don't tend to forget a mutt like him once he lends them his aid. Deciding to travel a caravan route for old time's sake, he met a small group being assaulted by the remains of a raider squad. Between him and the caravan guard, the raiders were dispatched without much harm to the group or the caravan goods. After taking a moment to recall good memories of his time as a growing pup, and a minor introduction to one-another, Romt decided to travel with them to New Appleloosa giving he was running short on supplies. He'd be there for a short while to make sure he was prepared to hit the trails once again, where nopony could ever be sure of what would happen next.
-Karma-
Karma Points
255 ~ Good.
Karma Title
Polite Pup
-Perks/Traits-
Trait ~ Hellhound Teachings: The Hellhound Elders have stuffed your head to the brim with their knowledge of combat and mechanics, allowing for you to fend for yourself better in the wastes. You gain +5 to your Unarmed, Small Guns, and Repair skills, but lose 5 points in subjects that were never a focus in your life. (Medicine, Science, Explosives.)
Trait ~ Untrusted Hound: Ponies still don't trust Hellhounds like you, and they can make your life more difficult if you make mistakes. All Negative Karma is gained at quadruple the normal value. On the bright side; As long as you maintain Good Karma, you gain a +10 to your Speech Skill and a +5 to your Barter Skill. Neutral Karma grants no downsides or benefits.
Companion Perk(Freya) ~ Hit First And Last: Freya's fast nature in combat has rubbed off on you, allowing for you to be generally more agile in combat. As long as Freya is a companion, you gain a +1 to your Agility while in combat, and a +2 to your Combat Sequence.
Level-Up Perk ~ Gun Mutt: You have grown fond of guns and have more knowledge about them and their mechanics than the average Joe. You gain +5 to your Small Guns and Repair skills.
Action tiem
Name:
Sacred Grey (Sacre Gris)
Race:
Earth Pony
Physical Appearance:
I made a tasteful nude for this
A slim yet small stallion with a white coat and a dull grey mane, Sacred is by no means a pony you would look twice at. His mane and tail are cut shorter than normal, as is traditional with the tribes of Prance and his eyes are a glittering grey. As a foreigner, his way with words is considerably slower and heavily accented, as his first language is a Prench dialect (jesus christ....) He stands in the prime of his life and age has not yet effected his youthful features but the sand and dangers of the wasteland have left their mark in the form of scars and bad memories. A cutie mark appeared some years ago and has manifested itself into a fleur de lis.
Clothing is worn and discarded by Sacred on an almost weekly basis, depending on his line of work and how bad it smells. His only constant piece of clothing is a filthy, camo bucket hat that keeps the sun out of his eyes. Weaponry is non-constant, as he finds larger weapons too heavy or jangly to drag around the wasteland. A machete is sheathed around his neck for use from the mouth but most guns are cumbersome and practically useless in his hooves. In the case of a firefight, he will run or try to find a place to hide to avoid being shot. A leather pouch around his neck serves as a small bag, usually containing some supplies and a wallet.
Backstory:
Sacred Grey was born into a tribe of Prench ponies in Prance, an area to the far south inhabited solely by Earth Ponies that caught the downwind of war. With the destruction of Equestria came the violent implosion of nearby countries into civil wars. Like dominoes, country after country fell to anarchy. The misty moors of Prance were turned into an overgrown, dangerous wasteland full of tribes, factions and families all vying for control. Before the war, Prance hadn't exactly been prosperous and the poverty only worsened after the war. Many Prench ponies began leaving for a different life abroad and Sacred's small tribe were no different.
Traders trickling from the northern badlands told stories of Equestria, of the wealth of its cities and the prosperity of its ponies. Of course, these stories were exaggerated to the extreme, as Equestria was in no better condition than Prance but the Prench ponies clutched to this sliver of hope with their lives. Sacred's tribe of 60 ponies began their journey across the Badlands, all looking forward to their new lives. Six years later, Sacred Grey emerged from the Badlands alone, 59 of his companions having fell to the sands. Sacred's entire family, his friends, his world, had all been killed two years previously and the little pony had spent up to two years wandering the badlands himself, forever pushing himself to go north and complete his families dream of a new, prosperous life.
During his six years in the Badlands, Sacred learned a lot with his father. He'd already been rather young when they'd entered the Badlands and along with his father, learned skills for living in the wasteland. His cutie mark appeared while in the badlands and manifested itself into a fleur de lis, which probably relates to his love for the flower or the fact his first language was Prench. As the years passed, the tribe was slowly whittled down by attacks on raiders, hunger, dehydration and disease until only Sacred remained. For two years, he continued his journey north alone, determined to finish the journey so many had died to finish. He exited the badlands a different pony than the one that had entered. Once inside Equestria, he found the stories his tribe had told to be far from the truth. In fact, the Equestrian Wastelands were just like Prance, if not worst. However, the journey across the Badlands had taken a lot out of him and he doesn't wish to make the journey back to Prance anytime soon. He settled into simple extermination and hunting jobs out in the small towns for folk. His Equestrian was poor but slowly improved as the weeks turned to months. He drifted from town to town, offering his services to anyone who'd have him, good or evil.
After spending a year like this, his tracking skills caught the attention of slavers, who began calling on him to hunt down their runaways. Slavery was a concept he was initially uncomfortable with but he settled into the job when he realised how easy it was to track scared, weak ponies. Plus, the pay was great. Eventually, he went full-time with the slavers but has always made sure to distance himself from the families and tribes. By not affiliating himself with anypony, his market opened widely and he doesn't have to get into the often turbulent world of Wasteland politics. After a few years of drifting from slaver group to slaver group, Sacred found himself working with a small group led by a charismatic Zebra called Decimus who shared his ideas of not getting involved with slaver politics and offered his services to anyone. This suited him fine. This professional group of trackers has become well known amongst the slaver community for their efficiency and neutral stance in politics.
Decimus' group of trackers often fluctuates in size but has always included Sacred as a tracker, who gets his hunches right 8 times out of 10. Decimus stands as the groups leader and the groups main barterer, often meditating negotiations between the more demanding members of his crew and the slavers. Almost twelve years have past since Sacred Grey left the Badlands behind and he has well established himself into Equestrian society. His Prench receives rare use in real life but Sacred uses it as a first language, often speaking a pidgin Prench/Equestrian. Old memories of his tribe, lost to the badlands, have faded like his scars from his days in the Badlands and he no longer associates himself as the last member of them.
Sacred Grey had to adapt to life in the Badlands and to life in Equestria. Now, as the winds of change begin shaping the Wastelands again, Sacred will be forced to adapt again. But it won't be hard. It never was before.
Karma Title
Smelly Parfait - Neutral but leaning on Evil.
Traits
Rat de Friche
You've survived in the wasteland for many years on your own and have done disgusting things to yourself in order to stay alive. GG! As such, you now know how to look after yourself in the wild, wild wastelands but unfortunately for you, your social skills are better suited to a 13-year old kid who likes comic books.
+5 Medicine, Survival
-5 Speech, Barter.
Cheese-eating-surrender-pony
You have embraced your natural instinct of 'flight-and-hide' and will probably be better off escaping than trying to fight off raiders due to your small stature and general cack-hoofness with guns. However, you're better at hiding and will fight if stuck in a corner.
+5 Sneak, Melee Weapons
-5 Guns, Repair
Name:
Sacred Grey (Sacre Gris)
Race:
Earth Pony
Physical Appearance:
I made a tasteful nude for this
A slim yet small stallion with a white coat and a dull grey mane, Sacred is by no means a pony you would look twice at. His mane and tail are cut shorter than normal, as is traditional with the tribes of Prance and his eyes are a glittering grey. As a foreigner, his way with words is considerably slower and heavily accented, as his first language is a Prench dialect (jesus christ....) He stands in the prime of his life and age has not yet effected his youthful features but the sand and dangers of the wasteland have left their mark in the form of scars and bad memories. A cutie mark appeared some years ago and has manifested itself into a fleur de lis.
Clothing is worn and discarded by Sacred on an almost weekly basis, depending on his line of work and how bad it smells. His only constant piece of clothing is a filthy, camo bucket hat that keeps the sun out of his eyes. Weaponry is non-constant, as he finds larger weapons too heavy or jangly to drag around the wasteland. A machete is sheathed around his neck for use from the mouth but most guns are cumbersome and practically useless in his hooves. In the case of a firefight, he will run or try to find a place to hide to avoid being shot. A leather pouch around his neck serves as a small bag, usually containing some supplies and a wallet.
Backstory:
Sacred Grey was born into a tribe of Prench ponies in Prance, an area to the far south inhabited solely by Earth Ponies that caught the downwind of war. With the destruction of Equestria came the violent implosion of nearby countries into civil wars. Like dominoes, country after country fell to anarchy. The misty moors of Prance were turned into an overgrown, dangerous wasteland full of tribes, factions and families all vying for control. Before the war, Prance hadn't exactly been prosperous and the poverty only worsened after the war. Many Prench ponies began leaving for a different life abroad and Sacred's small tribe were no different.
Traders trickling from the northern badlands told stories of Equestria, of the wealth of its cities and the prosperity of its ponies. Of course, these stories were exaggerated to the extreme, as Equestria was in no better condition than Prance but the Prench ponies clutched to this sliver of hope with their lives. Sacred's tribe of 60 ponies began their journey across the Badlands, all looking forward to their new lives. Six years later, Sacred Grey emerged from the Badlands alone, 59 of his companions having fell to the sands. Sacred's entire family, his friends, his world, had all been killed two years previously and the little pony had spent up to two years wandering the badlands himself, forever pushing himself to go north and complete his families dream of a new, prosperous life.
During his six years in the Badlands, Sacred learned a lot with his father. He'd already been rather young when they'd entered the Badlands and along with his father, learned skills for living in the wasteland. His cutie mark appeared while in the badlands and manifested itself into a fleur de lis, which probably relates to his love for the flower or the fact his first language was Prench. As the years passed, the tribe was slowly whittled down by attacks on raiders, hunger, dehydration and disease until only Sacred remained. For two years, he continued his journey north alone, determined to finish the journey so many had died to finish. He exited the badlands a different pony than the one that had entered. Once inside Equestria, he found the stories his tribe had told to be far from the truth. In fact, the Equestrian Wastelands were just like Prance, if not worst. However, the journey across the Badlands had taken a lot out of him and he doesn't wish to make the journey back to Prance anytime soon. He settled into simple extermination and hunting jobs out in the small towns for folk. His Equestrian was poor but slowly improved as the weeks turned to months. He drifted from town to town, offering his services to anyone who'd have him, good or evil.
After spending a year like this, his tracking skills caught the attention of slavers, who began calling on him to hunt down their runaways. Slavery was a concept he was initially uncomfortable with but he settled into the job when he realised how easy it was to track scared, weak ponies. Plus, the pay was great. Eventually, he went full-time with the slavers but has always made sure to distance himself from the families and tribes. By not affiliating himself with anypony, his market opened widely and he doesn't have to get into the often turbulent world of Wasteland politics. After a few years of drifting from slaver group to slaver group, Sacred found himself working with a small group led by a charismatic Zebra called Decimus who shared his ideas of not getting involved with slaver politics and offered his services to anyone. This suited him fine. This professional group of trackers has become well known amongst the slaver community for their efficiency and neutral stance in politics.
Decimus' group of trackers often fluctuates in size but has always included Sacred as a tracker, who gets his hunches right 8 times out of 10. Decimus stands as the groups leader and the groups main barterer, often meditating negotiations between the more demanding members of his crew and the slavers. Almost twelve years have past since Sacred Grey left the Badlands behind and he has well established himself into Equestrian society. His Prench receives rare use in real life but Sacred uses it as a first language, often speaking a pidgin Prench/Equestrian. Old memories of his tribe, lost to the badlands, have faded like his scars from his days in the Badlands and he no longer associates himself as the last member of them.
Sacred Grey had to adapt to life in the Badlands and to life in Equestria. Now, as the winds of change begin shaping the Wastelands again, Sacred will be forced to adapt again. But it won't be hard. It never was before.
Karma Title
Smelly Parfait - Neutral but leaning on Evil.
Traits
Rat de Friche
You've survived in the wasteland for many years on your own and have done disgusting things to yourself in order to stay alive. GG! As such, you now know how to look after yourself in the wild, wild wastelands but unfortunately for you, your social skills are better suited to a 13-year old kid who likes comic books.
+5 Medicine, Survival
-5 Speech, Barter.
Cheese-eating-surrender-pony
You have embraced your natural instinct of 'flight-and-hide' and will probably be better off escaping than trying to fight off raiders due to your small stature and general cack-hoofness with guns. However, you're better at hiding and will fight if stuck in a corner.
+5 Sneak, Melee Weapons
-5 Guns, Repair
Name: Nexus
Race: Unicorn
Backstory: Having been born in a stable Nexus missed what most people would describe as the wasteland at its worst. When her stable did finally open however, those who stepped outside were swiftly picked up by a band of slavers and dragged off to a life of hard labour. Unfortunately Nexus was among those taken and over the next few months witnessed as those around her were worked to death or sold to equally cruel masters.
For the next few years she remained a slave, passed on from one master to the next until she was finally put to work in one of the last remaining slaver strongholds, the steel works. This heavily fortified pre-war facility has once been used by Equestria in the manufacture of Steel Ranger armament. As such, the slavers who now ran it had far more defence than the average rag tag wasteland group with capacity to make more of whatever they used.
It seemed to Nexus that this would be the end for her. The flat featureless landscape around Steelworks made escape impossible as anypony who by some miracle made it past the wall would quickly be spotted. So she continued on as ever, working the factories along with the other unfortunates around her.
After what felt like months trapped in Steelworks, Nexus stumbled across the formation of a slave uprising. Figuring that she had literally nothing to lose, she worked with the other slaves to gather what they could. They hoped to catch their masters off guard and some how rally the other slaves together.
Ultimately their plan failed when one of their own confessed to the slavers the plan in hope of bargaining for their own freedom. Nexus and the other conspirators were rounded up to be executed as an example to the other slaves. Just when it seemed like the end, Steelworks came under attack from an army of raiders hoping to take the stronghold for themselves. The slavers with their far superior defences easily dispatched their attackers but the distraction was enough for a risky escape. Of their original group only Nexus and a couple of others made it beyond the wall and under the limited cover of the ongoing fire fight and darkness they made their bid for freedom.
After reaching a safe distance they decided to split up, the firefight was over and the slavers knew they has escaped. Deciding that alone they stood a better chance each of them went their own way with a promise to one day meet up again should they remain free.
Other:
Karma: +250 Good
Freedom Fighter
Traits:
Art of Evasion - You’re life as a slave has required a higher understanding of subtly and sneakiness to stay beneath the radar.
+5 Sneak +5 Lockpicking
Ex-Slave - You’ve been through some of the worst things life could possibly throw at you yet you made it out alive. While the physical damage may never heal their are few things that you aren’t prepared for.
-1 Strength +1 Toughness
Race: Unicorn
Backstory: Having been born in a stable Nexus missed what most people would describe as the wasteland at its worst. When her stable did finally open however, those who stepped outside were swiftly picked up by a band of slavers and dragged off to a life of hard labour. Unfortunately Nexus was among those taken and over the next few months witnessed as those around her were worked to death or sold to equally cruel masters.
For the next few years she remained a slave, passed on from one master to the next until she was finally put to work in one of the last remaining slaver strongholds, the steel works. This heavily fortified pre-war facility has once been used by Equestria in the manufacture of Steel Ranger armament. As such, the slavers who now ran it had far more defence than the average rag tag wasteland group with capacity to make more of whatever they used.
It seemed to Nexus that this would be the end for her. The flat featureless landscape around Steelworks made escape impossible as anypony who by some miracle made it past the wall would quickly be spotted. So she continued on as ever, working the factories along with the other unfortunates around her.
After what felt like months trapped in Steelworks, Nexus stumbled across the formation of a slave uprising. Figuring that she had literally nothing to lose, she worked with the other slaves to gather what they could. They hoped to catch their masters off guard and some how rally the other slaves together.
Ultimately their plan failed when one of their own confessed to the slavers the plan in hope of bargaining for their own freedom. Nexus and the other conspirators were rounded up to be executed as an example to the other slaves. Just when it seemed like the end, Steelworks came under attack from an army of raiders hoping to take the stronghold for themselves. The slavers with their far superior defences easily dispatched their attackers but the distraction was enough for a risky escape. Of their original group only Nexus and a couple of others made it beyond the wall and under the limited cover of the ongoing fire fight and darkness they made their bid for freedom.
After reaching a safe distance they decided to split up, the firefight was over and the slavers knew they has escaped. Deciding that alone they stood a better chance each of them went their own way with a promise to one day meet up again should they remain free.
Other:
Karma: +250 Good
Freedom Fighter
Traits:
Art of Evasion - You’re life as a slave has required a higher understanding of subtly and sneakiness to stay beneath the radar.
+5 Sneak +5 Lockpicking
Ex-Slave - You’ve been through some of the worst things life could possibly throw at you yet you made it out alive. While the physical damage may never heal their are few things that you aren’t prepared for.
-1 Strength +1 Toughness
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