"Ash and Steel"
By Sppoky (https://pastebin.com/u/Sppoky)

URL: https://pastebin.com/X7sA0Xgb
Created on: Monday 17th of February 2020 09:45:08 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 07:26:21 PM UTC


	Ash fell from the sky and speckled the ground like small splatters of paint. It hung in clumps from the buildings and mixed with snow on the ground. In the distance one could see the source spewing great amounts of black smog into the sky. A massive war machine from the days before Equestria's fall trundled off, away from the city of Iron Town. The Steel Rangers riding it had not been kind to the inhabitants of the city, and pretty soon raiders and other scum would be descending to pick the remains of the now-dead settlement in droves.

	For now it was just one.

	Clad in an ancient set of combat armour with a long, brown shawl down the back and hood bunched up around her neck, a scarred mare of blue coat walked the silent streets. To any who looked upon her -- were any there -- her line of work would be obvious. The damage marring her neck and face told of a mare who had skirted death countless times. The scraped, dented combat armour said those meetings with death were not for profit, otherwise her armour would get the repair it obviously needed. Her shawl spoke of a need to stay hidden, or a want for privacy. Maybe both. Those three alone were signs of a particular occupation, but they paled in comparison to her eyes. Her eyes were fire and steel. They spoke of danger, and pure, unfiltered hatred. A hatred so powerful that the only lifestyle that could sustain it would be that of a raider. 

	Her presence in the destroyed village was not by chance, or borne of opportunistic intent to pick through the rubble, but rather an accidental symptom of her actual objective. She was a scout, following the Ranger war machine to keep her gang -- her family -- safe. It was the closest she could get to her enemy. At least, the closest the others would let her get. Her vendetta was personal, but getting any closer to the action would hurt her, both literally and figuratively.

	It was difficult for her to maintain that distance sometimes. That was especially true in places like this, where the Rangers' sheer destructive capacity was as plane as the grey-clouded sky. It made her blood boil. That crumbling building used to be an inn. That collection of tent stakes used to be homes. That stallion lying face down in the murky snow used to be alive. With a single battle every home that had once stood here now stood in cinders and pieces, and every gathering place was now a gathering of corpses and loss. She had seen sights like this many times, but each time was as bitter and rage-inducing as the last. 

	The raider mare had no illusions of her own morality. She was a monster of a different variety, and she was sure somepony was watching her back with the same malicious intent she had for the Rangers. Raiders were not known for their compassion and willingness to live and let live. She knew what she was just as much as everypony else she met. In her eyes, the difference between her and the Rangers was intent. They destroyed lives and bloodied the soil of villages and for what? To hold more of the wasteland's dwindling industrial and defensive capability. To them, the average pony wasn't to be trusted with the means to live or fight back. In comparison, everything she had done she did to end the Rangers. A burning sense of justice filled her any time she managed to take out a Ranger, or harm their cause. She had seen the horrors they had partaken in firsthand, and each walk through a desolate town filled her with vindication.

	 Her gang was full of ponies of all color. Some of them did things they knew weren't right to accomplish a goal they knew was. Some of them were amoral, enjoying the butchery and savagery they committed and only taking orders out of fear or to preserve the safety in numbers. She skirted the line between the two and she knew it, but she made a conscious effort to fall into the category of the former.

	The billowing smoke on the horizon was beginning to get too distant for her liking. Realizing she had been letting her anger get to her, she shook her head and kept her smoldering intent on the horizon itself. By the time she passed the town center, her facade of tranquil fury had almost returned when she heard a noise. The cracking of something falling, followed by a quiet, nondescript vocalization. Her nerves became frayed with the static of somepony preparing for combat and she turned, already unstrapping her rifle. She rounded a burnt husk of a building, expecting to find dogs or maybe an early scavenger more then anything. Instead, all she found was the back porch of a small home with smoldering walls. Charred wood was all that was left of the construction, and she surmised that the sounds she heard must have merely been it falling to pieces. She turned to leave when a faint shuffle of movement below the deck caught her eye.