Angharad

Name: Angharad Mad Saint of Blackfinger
Age: 45 (physically about twenty)
Gender: female
Race: Kroatan
Powers:  Incredible Strength, incredible durability, resistance to fire and heat, heightened senses, near technopathic ability with technology
Skills: Melee combat, hunting, Scavenging, marksmanship, scavenging, incredibly skilled mechanic, master of survival, tinkerer, craftswoman,
Items: Scavenged armor, pump shotgun, several grenades, twin bone knives (made from the sharpened bone of a Sandsaur), caltrops, BuffUp (A stimulant drug cocktail), Her car The Shovelface,
Appearance: Kharna is a formidable looking woman, standing at around 6 ft tall, and with a powerful and athletic build, she has deep tan skin, with fiery orange eyes, and dark red hair put up in a wild mohawk, her angular face is often decorated by some form of striking war paint, and she has piercings on her nose, lips, and ears. The most striking detail of her visage is none of this, it is the deep red scar that runs from her right cheekbone to her lips.
Background: A legend in the great Salt plains born beneath the burning peak of Mount Misery, Angharad known to the wastelands of the Acolyte of the V8, and Angel of Combustion has lived in the wastes for as long as she can remember. Born with no parents and raised by a pack of scavenging rocknaks (hideous dog-like creatures) Angharad is more feral force of nature than woman. Kicked from her pack when she reached adulthood, the feral woman wandered the wastes alone for months, scavenging what she cool off of fly swarmed corpses, and corpses. For what seemed like forever she wandered aimlessly through the wastes, the Salt Flats, the Brack marshes, all the way to the Plains of Silence. Baked by the sun, half starved, and crazed by isolation she was close to losing what few scraps of sanity she possessed. That's when she heard it, the song, the song of ignition , of revolution and revolution blessed be! The roar of the engine and rumble of the rubber! She did not know what she was seeing, when she witnessed the car rumble through the wastes, fast as fear and tougher than a sand shark's gonads. Yet she knew one thing, deep down in the fiery engine of her soul....she wanted one, she wanted one bad.

Following the car's trail she eventually came across the town it came from, and feral as she was tried in vain to enter. She had always wondered what kind of creature she was, and had never seen so many of her kind before! But they turned her away, disturbed by her feral unspeaking nature and eery eyes. Shot at and shooed off by the outpost's many tower guards she took to simply watching what she could from afar. Slowly she learned the language, the customs, the norms of the wastelanders, and having fashioned clothes for her form from pelts approached the gates once more. Now accepted into their ranks this was when she gained her name 'Angharad' or 'Wild Girl', so ended her life as a feral and the prologue to a legend of the wastes.

So many years later, now with numerous tales in her head, scars on her skin, and trophies on her dash Angharad is a true legend of the wastes. Each one she devotes to her strange pantheon of automotive gods, a self-made religion that both captivates and confuses others. She is a veteran of many death races, dozens of arena  brawls, and numerous wasteland wars, and is still standing and (relatively sane). Her ultimate goal is to create the ultimate automotive vehicle, her dreams and zeal made steel, the Gezamkuntswerk of her imagination. Now as invaders from other realms spread into Ungara in search of conquest or whatever else, she sees the portals to other worlds as but another adventure to place under her belt, and maybe a chance for some spare parts.