The Imperial Wasteland. Vastitas et Ignem Bellum, spoken by the striped Horses living here. I never got what they were saying, and I'm sure some were experimenting with Dash. All I know is because of what one Zebra said, they named an entire damn place after it. If that isn't proof of how this world's fucked, i don't know what is. It aint so bad here, I guess. I got a bed, a bottle of Sparkle-Cola, and enough shell to take on a Hellhound Horde. Food, Shelter, Guns, that's all a pony like me needs. Wildmares stay their distance from me, as does everypony else here. So bloody Xenophobic I tell ya, see a Raider wearing junk on him and soon you get your ass shot. Unarmed even, but that's beside the point. It wasn't easy at first. Like most ponies out here, I was born and raised in a Stable. Cramped, grey, and the food was shit. Branded a damn number on my neck like a cow to the slaughter. All the kiddies got it, but only recently did I find out why that was. My name is Lux, and I'm a Raider. This is my Tale.