What happens if you’re just another salespony in postapocalyptia, a blacksmith by and large focused on running your store day by day? Other ponies can fight and die in the "good fight," but for you, trade caravans come and go, random repair work around town keeps food on the table, and every so often you make enough at once to treat yourself. And in the stillness and privacy of the night, the ghost of a smile graces your muzzle as you work at your forge, making your mark on the Wasteland in small ways.

Just over two centuries ago, the climax of the Great War unleashed the terrible potential of pony kind, bringing forth the ruination of all. Balefire scorched the land of Equestria, and in one fiery instant the bones and hopes of a people mixed with ash and radiation of the newly created wasteland. A calmness swept the land.

In the years following the Battle of the Hoof, the New Lunar Commonwealth grew and tried to thrive. The Followers of the Apocalypse joined them in trying to make the world a better place. Threnody, a young pegasus heartmender, works hard to heal the hearts and minds of ponies who went through the terrible trials of the Battle of the Hoof.

They say that you never realize how old you are until you look at the changes in the world around you. On that thought, let me just say: damn, I've gotten old.

Old doesn't even do what's happened to me justice though. In actual years, I'm ancient. Two hundred seventy-three to be exact, yet physically I look younger then I ever have. Ignoring the sleek metal and plastic augments that make up a lot of my body, what's left of me looks almost like a child. My coat is rich, unscarred, and silky with a pleasant gleam; my mane hasn't the slightest indication of fading or any grey hairs to be seen. Gone are all of the marks that my travels through this world left.

For over two hundred years, everypony in Equestria believed that Scootaloo, the first Dashite, had died from complications from the megaspells. The truth is considerably stranger, and two hundred and ten years after the bombs fell, the truth comes to light when a group of Scavengers come across her in magical stasis.

The wasteland is a living hell...but it is a hell of a place to live. There is more to find than you could ever imagine. It is a frontier filled with infinite possibilities. Join Tumbleweed, a swashbuckling tribal merchant of the Gloryroad Company and the mysterious, gun slinging Calypto, as they walk the untamable Interprovincial Road 95, trailblazing the path for new trade routes. All the while, they find themselves irreversibly entangled in the events surrounding powerful magical artifacts that up heave the balance of power within the wasteland.

The Continent of Sall'han, half a world away. In Sall'han the skies are blue and clear, and sunlight strikes with unequine intensity. This place was spared the holocaust of the bombs, and it's now a place where civilization is rebuilding, quickly. Sall'han is isolated by an ocean, and within, a sea of sand, a wasteland even before the dark skies. For now, these disparate civilizations are separated by sand. This will not last. When these black spots on a very large map become filled, what will occur? What are the odd transmissions coming from a place unassailable?