From the crater called Fillydelphia to the ruins of Ponyville, a legend is told to the hopeless travellers of the wasteland. A pony, a wanderer who roamed the wastes, never stopping anywhere for more than a day or two to solve any problems that had befallen his new destination.
Though many have claimed to see the wanderer, few are confident in describing his physical appearance, though one detail remains consistent throughout all descriptions; his clothing. It is said that the wanderer shrouds himself in a poncho, with white patterns, all but completely faded from the worn fabric. Patches of oddly coloured and textured fabrics were sown into the old poncho, evident repairs of past damages. A battered, dusty cowboy hat sat atop the wanderers head, obscuring his face, leaving only a muzzle to poke out from the shadows.
The wanderer himself is considered a legend, but his mere existence is’t the only legend surrounding him. Some say he’s a ghostly apparition, a spirit of vengeance that has vowed to defend the innocents of the wasteland and destroy the evil that lurks in the hearts of all ponies. Some say the wanderer is no single pony, but a title, passed on from father to son, when the father grows old or perishes. No pony knows the truth behind the mysterious stranger, but their is a truth behind him.
If you were to pull the poncho from the strangers body, you would find a slender frame, with seldom any hair, just pink flesh, scorched from balefire. Removing the hat from his head would reveal few long, curly, brown hairs, dangling from his scarred scalp.
Though many ghouls may clutch to their pasts, the stranger does not, as he abandoned even his own name. A name known by many as a wanderer, even before the great war. A name that brought laughter and happiness as opposed to justice and retribution. A name that was rarely spoken as more than a memory. A legend, now lost to time. Though the legend of Cheese Sandwhich is long gone, he still lives on as a new legend, a mysterious stranger, a horse with no name.