The Horselords, Masters of the Plains
Proud and strong, the Centaurs are among the oldest of the peoples of
the World, and their kingdoms still stretch across the heart of the
plains, little changed from the nations they built in the first Age of
the World. Nobility and honor shine in the eyes of every Centaur, and
it is said that the deeds of ancient Centaur heroes were the
inspiration for the High King's conception of chivalry and the Code.
Ages of war and strife have thinned the numbers of these mighty beings,
but great Cohorts still ride to crusade from the depths of the plains.
The children of Kenaryn the Hunter, Centaurs have inherited their
father's sense of duty, and rarely feel content, even in times of
tranquility. Centaur Warriors are always galloping away to chase the
winds and hunt the enemies of the World. It is said that the Centaurs
were the first to teach the ways of Law and War to the Sons of Men, and
the Horse Princes are still strong allies of Humankind. Their feuds
with the Elves are legendary, going back Ages to the time when the
Beast Lords walked the World. Swift of hoof, true to their word and
strong in battle, Centaurs are worthy allies and deadly adversaries.
Their People
Among the largest of the World's Children, Centaurs possess the trunk,
head, and arms of a Human, wedded to the lower body of a horse. The
Human half of their bodies is no larger than that of an average Man,
but their horse bodies ensure that Centaurs stand at least a head
taller than most Humans, though they are not typically as tall as a
Half Giant. In terms of coloration, there are three main varieties of
Centaur: Bays, whose horse parts are covered with rich, golden brown
coats, Dapples with chalky gray coats, and Blacks, whose coats are the
color of night. Interestingly enough, the hair on a Centaur's head need
not match their coat, and runs from fair to honeyed-gold to red, brown,
and black, as with Humans. Centaurs place no special value on the color
of their coats - Blacks, Bays, and Dapples have equal status in their
eyes. Centaurs whose hair and coat match, however, are considered purer
of breeding, and tend to rise to positions of power and status among
their fellows.
Centaurs place a high priority on
grooming and personal cleanliness: their men favor closely cropped,
well kept beards, and both sexes tend to tie their hair back. Centaurs
disdain tattoos and piercings of any kind, and rarely wear jewelry or
other ornaments. Such practices, they believe, imply that one is
insecure about one's natural beauty. The only exception to this rule,
however, is their use of horseshoes. The Hooves of a Centaur are
virtually identical to those of common horses, and most Centaurs employ
horseshoes to minimize wear and increase the effectiveness of their
kicks in battle. Shoeing and re-shoeing ceremonies are a serious
occasion among the Horselords, and Centaurs who can pass through the
entire ordeal without any outward sign of discomfort are accorded high
honors. Unlike horses, Centaurs are perfectly capable of eating meat,
though they tend to eat less meat than Men, favoring fruits, breads,
and rich, spicy stews. They have little love for oats, and never eat
grass. Mocking a Centaur's diet is a sure way to earn his wrath.
Centaurs are remarkably strong,
with endurance equal to that of the hardiest Dwarf. Their equine bodies
leave them somewhat less agile than the average Man, but can take an
enormous amount of punishment in battle. Centaurs are not known for
their keen intellects. Indeed, the average Centaur is cleverer than a
Dwarf or Half Giant, but not exceedingly so. In Spirit, however,
Centaurs surpass all the Children of the World. The devotion of the
Centaurs to Kenaryn and the All-Father is legendary, and the Horse-men
master matters of Faith as easily as Warfare. Centaurs can run as
quickly as any other horse, and often use their hooves as weapons in
combat. Any Warrior who faces a Centaur in combat quickly learns to
fear their powerful kicks, and a battalion of armored Centaurs is
almost invincible on the field of battle.
Their Ways
Centaurs are gregarious and jovial, quick to laugh even in these grim
days. Honorable to a fault, Centaurs are more tolerant and trusting
than most peoples of the World, up until the point they think a
stranger has wronged them. Centaurs are as earnest and forthright in
war as there are in friendship, and have long memories when it comes to
holding grudges. Elves are the only folk Centaurs will meet with
hostility, for the memories of the bitter war the Horselords fought
with the Deathless Empire two Ages ago have yet to fade. Masters of
combat and battlefield tactics, Centaurs favor lances and greatswords
in combat, charging into battle in organized units called Waves that
are more destructive than a body of heavy Knights.
A proud people, Centaurs are prone
to boasting, and are highly competitive. Foot races are considered a
common form of greeting between old friends, and jumping contests,
tests of strength, and all manner of physical sports and games are a
mainstay of Centaur culture. Centaurs compete to keep themselves at the
peak of skill, as well as to test the mettle of friends and
acquaintances. Warriors and Hunters are the backbone of Centaur
society, and many of their more militaristic games have had a profound
impact on the culture of other races. The Human sport of jousting, for
example, is clearly a crude imitation of the Centaur sport called
Valtos, where Centaur warriors pluck metal hoops from the bodies of
their opponent using a lace or spear. Two-legged visitors to a Centaur
encampment are not expected to join in these games, but those who do
earn respect from their hosts even in defeat. Centaurs are also great
lovers of music, stories, and wine. Their celebrations tend to be loud,
raucous affairs lasting days at a time.
While Centaurs are fierce in battle
and earnest in celebration, Piety and Faith form the cornerstone of
their culture. Centaurs learned their concepts of honor from Kenaryn
himself, and have never wavered in their adoration of the Hunter and
the All-Father. Centaurs see a wide line between their pride and the
arrogance of the Elves, for even at their most boastful, Centaurs never
forget from whom their strength comes. "Hunter give me speed, Father
give me strength," is a common litany among Centaur Warriors. Centaur
Priests and Prelates are often the most cherished members of their
community. Centaurs pray before every battle, and often ride to combat
invoking the name of Kenaryn their father. Centaurs bear an unwavering
hatred for anything that defies the natural order, and every Centaur's
highest duty is the ongoing crusade against such aberrations. The
Twisted Legions of the Orcs, Drakes and all Dragonspawn, all other
monsters born of chaos, and the Undead are all attacked on sight by
Centaurs, and many young colts leave their cohorts behind to prove
their valor on personal crusades that can last for years.
The basic unit of Centaur society
is the Cohort, a small band of anywhere from twenty to sixty Centaurs
who are bound by strict oaths and ties of honor into the service of a
Liege Lord. Membership in a Cohort often is passed down through
generations, and the bonds of friendship and loyalty between members of
a Cohort cannot easily be measured. The most purebred and ablest
Warrior in a Cohort serves as its leader, and is in turn advised by one
or more Priests. While Cohorts often band together to build cities and
fortresses, some of their members are constantly riding away to follow
personal quests or as part of a crusade. According to ancient Centaur
legends, Kenaryn commanded the first Centaur to catch the wind in order
to teach him humility. Ages later, Centaurs are still trying; whenever
a Centaur rides away from his home, he is said to have "gone to catch
the breeze," a euphemism for the never-ending hunt against all that is
evil. The heartlands of the Centaur kingdoms boast great strongholds
where Cohorts and questers gather to trade, marry off their children,
and above all compete with other Centaurs. Centaurs favor tall, massive
architecture with ample interior spaces. Their equine bodies pose
certain difficulties for Centaurs when traveling to the cities of other
folk - they rarely fit inside small buildings, and typically shy away
from tight, enclosed spaces.
Centaurs value honor above all
things, and will knowingly lie only in the direst of emergencies. Of
all the peoples of the World, they have befriended more of their fellow
beings than any other. Centaurs have enjoyed a long friendship with the
Sons of Men, and many Horse-men are drawn to the Church of the
All-Father as Prelates or Crusaders. The Dwarves taught the Centaurs
the secrets of iron work long ago, and the greatest Centaur princes
still wear magnificent suits of Dwarf-forged plate mail that have been
handed down through countless generations. The Centaurs have even
managed to forge friendships with Giants in the past, and were the
architects of the Great Alliance of Men, Elves, and Giants that banded
together against the hordes of Chaos in the War of the Scourge. The
Centaurs fought at the forefront of that war, and suffered more losses
than any of the World's other children. In the days since the Turning,
the Centaurs have been dismayed by the disappearance of the All-Father
and Kenaryn their sire. The great Princes of the plain fear that some
great new conflict is brewing, and the Centaurs are gathering their
strength once again, watchful for the coming storm.
Their Lore
Bring forward the Sacred Scrolls, and hold them high. Unbind the
scrolls and look upon them: there you shall see the saga of our race
back unto the beginning: in those graven words the deeds of the Mighty
and the Wise shall live forever. Hearken to my tale, for in it the
hooves of fallen Heroes and vanished Cohorts still echo. Hearken to the
breeze � in it you can hear the voices of the Paragons, guiding us to
glory and honor. You have come to me for knowledge, Son of Man, and I
shall gladly give it to you. Long we waited for the birth of your
people, foretold by the Father of All, and when the Titans were born we
rejoiced at the news. Listen, then, and learn: twice before our elders
shared their wisdom with your kind, and we shall do so until the ending
of the World. It is up to you to hear, and listen, and learn. I pray to
the All-Father that it may be so.
The tale is long, full of glory and
despair, but it is the legacy of every Centaur to remember it, and keep
the Watch. Without wisdom, how shall we know the Path? Without the
examples of our Heroes, how shall we know Honor? Listen to me then, and
learn of the Burden that Kenaryn our father placed upon us. But enough
of the future: that is not ours to know. Now I must look to the past,
to times of joy and glory. Set aside the scrolls, for I have no need of
them. Age has taken my eyes from me, but rest assured: there was a time
when I could see� and I have seen.
I look back now to the Beginning,
when our race was born to Twilight. Many are the tales of Kenaryn, the
God you Humans know as the Hunter. Indeed his greatest love is the
hunt, but he is also the Protector: it was his arrows that held the
hosts of Chaos at bay before the creation of the world, when Kolaur the
Demon Prince shed even the All-Father's blood in battle. Bravest of the
Companions, Kenaryn slew the Dark Lord, and took his mighty spear,
Callanthyr, as his prize. When the world was new and empty Kenaryn
raced over its face, sprinting to every corner and running even among
the stars. As Braialla awakened and the new world flowered, the Hunter
made his way to Saedril, the Silver Moon, and there found out mother,
Saedron, entombed in a column of ice. At the mere sight of Saedron's
beauty Kenaryn's heart was enthralled, and his love for her has never
wavered. Kenaryn's hot tears melted the Saedron's icy prison, and the
Fate Weaver woke when she heard his honeyed voice. And so our Father
and Mother found each other, but born was a love that would be tinged
with sadness.
Kenaryn longed to return to
Aerynth, to serve his master Helgeron, the Father of All who the Elves
named Pandarrion. But Saedron was loath to leave her icy home, for to
linger too long away from Saedril would mean her death. Finally the
Silver Goddess consented to Kenaryn's wish that their children should
be of Aerynth, and so Saedron came down from the skies and the first
Centaurs were born on Aerynth. The first of our kind were the Paragons,
strong and true, in whose veins flowed the blood of Gods. Never again
shall their like be known on the face of Aerynth: Ennon the Thunderer,
Olroi Shadowchaser, Nandra Goldencoat, Trilius Truespear and many
others rode as the First Cohort. Mighty were their deeds!
Our mother taught us Wisdom, and
gave to us the art of writing, so that acts and words might never fade.
Beyond this, we knew little of our mother's ways: indeed, she showered
many more gifts on our cousins the Sidhe. But the Paragons felt no envy
or spite, for truly we Centaurs have ever been our father's children.
Thurin the Shaper, second only to Kenaryn in his devotion to the
All-Father, taught the Paragons the ways of stone and iron. Our eyes
were not so keen as those of the Firstborn Elves, so Thurin taught us
the secrets of fire, and we kindled great lamps and torches to banish
the gloom. Kenaryn taught us the skills of the hunt, the love of the
chase, and the ways of the bow and spear. The Hunter taught us also
song and sport, and wondrous were our revels in the Age of Twilight,
when the Gods walked among us.
Of all the things that the Hunter
taught us, there are two we Centaurs cherish most. The first was our
place in this world, which we learned early. For the Children of the
Gods were not alone in the long twilight. Beasts appeared and lurked in
fen, thicket, and forest: Kenaryn was quick to teach us their ways,
that we might hunt them. "For the Beasts," Kenaryn told his children,
"are born of no God, and their lords are terrible and treacherous. All
that the All-Father and the Seven Gods have wrought they would corrupt.
It falls to you to confound the savagery of Bear and Wolf, Boar and
Snake. Of all the Children of the Gods, the Centaurs shall be the
wardens and protectors: you must keep the Beasts at bay." And so we
joined the High Watch, which we keep to this day. And the second lesson
Kenaryn taught the Centaurs? We remember it as Ennon's Chase. Of all
the tales of that age, it is the most important story of all.
Ennon the Thunderer was the
greatest of our kind, first born of the Goddess and the first Tiros of
our race. Countless legends echo with his strength and valor, and it is
said that he was the swiftest thing ever to run on four legs: Ennon
once outraced an arrow shot from Kenaryn's bow, just to prove he could.
His gifts made him prideful, and then brash. Ennon challenged all of
his brothers to tests of strength and speed, and humbled them easily.
He then rode to the glades of the Sidhe, and mocked his cousin Elves
when they could keep up with him. When one of the Sidhe challenged
Ennon, the mighty Centaur kicked the Elf to the ground. The Elves were
roused to anger, and Gillestin Keeneyes shot Ennon with her bow,
grazing his perfect face. Thus was the First Blood spilled upon the
soil of Aerynth, and this act moved the very Gods to action.
Kenaryn chided Ennon, and warned
him of the dangers of false pride. "But my pride is not false!" the
brash Tiros replied, "I am better and stronger than Paragon or Sidhe
� who then shall oppose my will? I can do things that even you cannot
do!" Kenaryn scowled, but then he smiled. "So my son. You have grown
swifter, stronger, and more cunning than I? Prove it � chase you the
wind, and snare it, and bring it back to me alive." Ennon laughed at
the challenge, and sped away like lightning. And so Ennon's Chase
began. The All-Father had not yet fashioned Time, and so there is no
way to measure how long Ennon rode in his quest, but it was long
indeed. From the pillars of ice in the utter north to the boiling fens
of the south Ennon ran, but he hunted in vain. And so the first Tiros
learned the Ways of the Wind, and learned the difference between Pride,
always born of virtue, and Hubris, which can only destroy virtue. Ennon
learned that there is a Right beyond mere strength, and that only Honor
brings true glory. By the time Ennon returned to his people, he had
found a wisdom to match his strength and speed. With tears in his
bright eyes he humbled himself before Kenaryn, and then rode to the
Sidhe he had wronged. King Giliandor forgave Ennon his earlier slurs,
and in the spans that followed Gillestin and Ennon became sure friends,
and Ennon bore the archer Sidhe on his back in many hunts and quests.
Gillestin's kin were less forgiving. The Elves kept to their mistrust,
and so the Centaurs and Elves came to dwell far apart. Unto the end of
his days Ennon bore the scar upon his face with humility, and never
again questioned his father's will. The Paragons and every Centaur born
of them shall always strive to follow Ennon's example.
Ennon did many great deeds in the
Long Twilight, but the memory of them is tinged with sorrow, for we
also remember Ennon's fall. The Centaurs lived far from the Sidhe in
those days, but the Elves were not the only ones who suffered when the
Dragon stirred in the deeps. Tremor and storm ravaged our cities, and
Kenaryn rallied the First Cohort, shouting that some unknown doom was
at hand. And so our father led us out onto the plains, and we raced the
wind to bring aid to the Elves. From afar the Paragons saw the light of
the Dragon's flame, so bright that it dazzled their eyes. They saw the
Golden Moon consumed in flames, and heard the dying wails of
Volliandra. Their hearts were filled with despair at the sight, but
that despair soon turned to terror, for before Volliandra's screams had
even ended we heard Saedron scream in pain. A black mark appeared on
the Silver Moon, and something hideous fell from there onto the face of
Aerynth, into the midst of our devastated cities. The cries of their
women and children tore the hearts of Ennon and the Paragons. "Look to
your own!" Kenaryn called. "I shall aid my Lord!" And so Kenaryn raced
away with the speed of a ray of starlight, to drive the Dragon away
with his mighty spear. Ennon and the Paragons ran back to their broken
hearths, and found Grallokur waiting for them. I will not speak of that
horrible battle, except to say that when it was done our race had lost
more than half of its numbers, and Ennon the Thunderer was dead. Even
the might of the Paragons could not slay Grallokur, but they did manage
to wound it, driving the terror away into the wilds.
When Kenaryn returned to the first
city from the field of Hennan Gallorach, his despair and rage knew no
bounds. After burying Ennon with honor and dignity, the Hunter cried
out to the heavens for vengeance, and began the Long Hunt to take
revenge against the Devourer. Many of the Paragons went with him, but
only the swiftest and cleverest could match their father's pace. The
Long Hunt continues to this day, and each year the champions of the
Karredani Games, bravest and brightest of our race, leave the Cohorts
to seek the Hunter and join his chase. No mortal can tell how many
times Kenaryn and Grallokur have faced each other, or how many hunters
have fallen to the Terror's venomed claws. At the End of Days the Long
Hunt will finally end, and Kenaryn will face Grallokur in a final
battle to determine the fate of Aerynth. The Centaurs have trained for
that final battle since the first age of the world, and we shall be
ready.
And what of Saedron? The pain she
felt at the death of her twin, the pain that manifested as Grallokur
itself, has driven her to madness. It broke Kenaryn's heart to learn
that his beloved was the source of so much pain, and our father and
mother have rarely spoken since. Some Paragons wise in the ways of
healing journeyed to the Silver Moon in the wake of Grallokur's attack,
ferried there on the White Ship of the Sidhe. They found our mother
raving in her sleep. Their arts could not calm her, and the prophecies
that flew from Saedron's lips terrified them. Thirteen Dooms our mother
spoke, so the legends say. The wisest of the Paragons have kept them
secret, and in all the Ages since these prophecies have not been
revealed until they come to pass. Alas, far too many of them have. When
our mother awoke, she was not herself. She banished the Paragons from
her silver palace, telling them that Saedron, Mother of Night, had no
children � especially none so twisted and ugly as these. We remember
our mother, and we honor her, but the Ages have given us precious
little reason to sing her praises.
And so our ways changed. The
Centaurs were transformed in the light of the newborn sun from one
cohort to many, and each Tiros led his band far into the wilds, to hunt
beasts and search for traces of the Devourer. The new sun singed the
face of Aerynth, giving rise to deserts that divided our lands from the
Elves. We have always dwelt apart from the other Children of the World,
for this is the place Kenaryn ordained for us. Whenever dire threats
have risen to imperil all of Aerynth, however, the cohorts have always
left their mark on the history of the world.
The first time came near the end of
the Age of Twilight, when the Sidhe turned their back on the
All-Father. In our distant cities we heard rumor of the wickedness of
the Elves, how the despair the Dragon left in its wake poisoned their
souls. For a long while we did nothing. But when the Tiroi of the
Cohorts learned that the Deathless Empire had taken traffic with the
dreaded Beast Lords, we acted. Our emissaries to Emperor Sillestor were
met with scorn, and the Elves denied their very heritage, claiming a
Beast Lord as their father. The offense was too grave to be endured,
and so all the Cohorts assembled, and we made war against our cousins.
The Elves called Demons to their aid, and Elemental spirits, and even
the Beast Lords themselves took the field. It was too much for the
Paragons to endure. Many of Ennon's kin fell in that dreaded war, and
our people suffered losses second only to the coming of Grallokur. The
magic of the Elves was too powerful, yet our faith never wavered.
Golladar Grimhelm, Marshall of the Cohorts, managed to hold the Elvish
armies at bay with his tactical genius, while Olroi Shadowchaser raced
through the wild seeking our father. Olroi found the Hunter and brought
him back to the wide plains, but even the Hunter's strength could not
turn the tide, for he was but one God, while the Beast Lords attacked
in legions. All hope faded, and Golladar sent word to all our armies
that there was nothing left to do but to die well. But at the last our
faith and our virtue were rewarded: Helgeron the All-Father returned to
Aerynth with His Archons, and His wrath tamed the Beast Lords and broke
the Deathless Empire. The treason of the Elves was punished, and their
blasphemous ways were mended. The few Centaurs who had survived
withdrew to the vast plains, and there we took up the Great Watch and
the Long Hunt again.
It was long before our people
regained a shadow of their former strength and glory, but our diligence
never wavered. When the All-Father set the Sun in motion and began the
count of time we Centaurs rejoiced and praised his name. We realized
soon after that all Centaurs born to this new age had lost the
immortality of the Paragons, but still we praised the All-Father. Our
scouts and hunters had seen the Burning Lands, and we knew all too well
the threat the fixed Sun posed to all of Aerynth. Grallokur and the
Taming had taught us the necessities of sacrifice. In those early days
we met the Titans of Ardan, wandering in the wilds, and we taught them
archery, hunting, and the way of arms. We also taught them of the
All-Father, and told them tales of the Dragon and the Taming and the
treachery of the Elves. We also met the Dwarves, Thurin's sons, who of
all the World's children are closest in their temper to us. In time the
men of Ardan came to war with the Deathless Empire, but we knew little
of that conflict, for we dwelt far away across endless deserts and
plains, and our attentions were diverted. Other things awakened on that
first dawn, things far fouler than Titans.
The Paragons had found many strange
and wondrous places while they roamed the long twilight: strangest of
all were the ancient places, sprawling ruins of grim pyramids and
monuments. The forlorn heaps of stone seemed older than even Braialla's
awakening, and Kenaryn could not tell whose hands had raised them. We
stood watch over them, for they were places of ill omen. Thus it was
that we were there when the builders of those forlorn monuments
awakened, stirred from sleep by the beginning of time. They were the
Scaly Ones, tall reptiles that walked like men, and they were quick to
move against us with dark weapons and foul magic. Many Centaurs were
captured and sacrificed by these elder horrors, and we were shocked to
learn that these Scaly Ones worshipped the Dragon, and called
themselves its children. The Cohorts quickly gathered, and we rode to
war against this new enemy. The effort took years, but finally our
virtue bore us to victory. We put all of their hideous priests to the
sword, burned their libraries and pulled down their cities. But even in
our victory we were guided by virtue, and still knew mercy: Trilius
Truespear, last of the Paragons and Marshal of the Cohorts, decreed
that the last of the Scaly Ones should be spared. The warriors and
servants of the scaly breed were strong and valiant, and knew little of
the dark paths their masters walked: Trilius deemed their lives worth
sparing. Once the reptilian theocracy was broken, the few Scaly Ones
that remained descended into savagery, withdrawing into the marshes and
jungles. The Scaly Ones are still fierce, and hostile to all who enter
their lands, but their dark ambitions pose no threat to Aerynth. Should
this change, the cohorts will be quick to ride to ride to war again.
There were other conflicts fought
in those days, unseen by the Men of Ardan or the Elves. Many cohorts
launched raids into the Burning Lands against the Khalinviri, the
forsaken Elves who, in their madness, had also taken up worship of the
Dragon. Trilius Truespear met his end in battle with an exiled cult of
Ardani wizards who sought to open the Gates to Chaos. The last of the
Paragons had died, but their memory lives on in song and scroll. Every
Centaur lives their life in the hope that we may prove ourselves equal
to their shining example. Long was the Age of Days, and most of it
passed in peace and harmony for our kind. Then we found the Free,
wandering Humans who had escaped the yoke of Elvish slavery. They told
us their story, and in turn we taught them our laws and the ways of the
All-Father, for all of Humanity had forgotten. The Wise Ones looked to
Saedron's prophecies, and found the answer to this riddle: the Blood
Curse of the Elves had ruined Ardan and humbled the Titans. We told our
new charges all that we remembered of Ardan and their lost heritage,
and armed them so that they might take their vengeance. Many Cohorts
rode with them when the time came to strike back at their masters, and
Torvagau the Liberator was borne to battle by Hyrkos the Huntmaster,
one of the mightiest Centaurs of that age. The Cohorts were so
scattered in those days that it took years for the word of the Human's
plight to reach them. But the messengers rode hard, and the Centaur
legions gathered again for war against the Elvish Host. The war that
met us, however, was not the fight we had expected.
You are a student of history, so
you must know of the Irekei and the Chaos Gate. With sorrow in my heart
I look now to the War of the Scourge. Countless Centaurs died in that
bitter war, and our cities were laid waste by hordes of demons. The
crucible of war forged many heroes, and doomed most of them. The Dark
Lords twisted the very flesh of Aerynth, and it looked as though all
the World's Children might perish. Our wisest called to Kenaryn for
aid, but our father did not come, and we feared that the Hunter had
fallen to the scourge of Chaos. Never have we known a darker hour.
The Tiroi gathered in a great
council, and most believed that a good death was the only hope for our
people. A young Tiros named Vargos spoke last, and turned the tide of
history. Vargos counseled that the only hope was an alliance of all the
races of Aerynth, that the friendships we knew of old must be
rekindled. The other lords heard his wisdom, and so began our greatest
mission. For most of a decade our emissaries sped across the hideous
battlefields, trying to gather the lords of Aerynth while the Cohorts
fought for their very survival. The way was hard and fraught with many
arguments, but Vargos finally succeeded in forging the Grand Alliance.
The Sons of Men came quickly to our side, and in time even the Giants
joined us. The Elves, their hearts still full of spite, were the last
to join the common cause. Alas, the Dwarves never emerged from their
hidden holds. Their strength might have turned the tide, but it stayed
hidden.
The Grand Alliance was our greatest
triumph, but alas, even it came too late. The Dark Lords were too many,
and too strong. Our generals rejoiced when we heard the news that
Shadowbane, the Sword of Destiny, had been recovered against all hope,
but the treacherous Elves turned on Beregund and took the blade. Their
folly caused the mighty weapon to be lost, and the dark deeds nearly
shattered the Alliance, but wisdom prevailed. All hope was lost, but
then Aerynth was delivered, just as it had been in the times of the
Taming. Helgaron the All-Father came again to Aerynth, and before His
strength and the might of the Archons no army could stand. Kenaryn
returned to fight at his Lord's side, and at last the Centaurs were
reunited with our father. When the All-Father invaded the very pits of
Chaos, a phalanx of the mightiest Centaurs rode in the first ranks of
the assault. Alas, Malog's treachery nearly sold them all to doom, and
Vargos died by the Traitor God's hand, blocking the axe stroke meant
for Helgaron Himself. The All-Father and most of His legions escaped
the Maimed God's trap, and the Chaos Gate was shut.
On the fields of victory Helgaron
praised the Cohorts for their valor and their wisdom. It pleased Him
that we had aided the Men of Ardan, and forged the Grand Alliance. As
reward He gave our kind dominion over all the plains and the wilds, but
elevated Men above all the other races. The Elves were bitter at His
word, but the Centaurs felt no spite: our cousins were truly the
All-Father's favored children, and who were we to dispute His will?
Your race has always seemed young to us, young and brash. There is much
you have to be prideful for, but too often your pride becomes hubris.
You have yet to learn Ennon's lesson. When at last you do, there could
be no greater rulers upon Aerynth. May that day come soon!
As we had advised the Sons of Men
before, so the Centaurs offered counsel in the new age, the Age of
Kings. Our Sacred Scrolls served as one foundation of the Holy Church
of the All-Father, and we were overjoyed when the Human, Elvish, and
Centaur churches united into one body. Many of our folk serve the Holy
Church to this day. Some foresaw that the Age of Kings would be a time
of harmony, with the Grand Alliance keeping the peace and the
All-Father's vision of plenty and happiness finally fulfilled. Alas, it
was not to be.
While the Elves withdrew into the
courts and the Sons of Men scattered across Aerynth, we Centaurs
returned to the wilds and the vast plains and took up the Great Watch
again. Some three hundred years after the War of the Scourge ended, new
threats cast their shadow over us. Grallokur returned to civilized
lands, leaving havoc and death in his wake. Kenaryn roused the
mightiest among us, and they drove the Terror away, but at a terrible
cost. As Kenaryn and many of the Cohorts chased the Terror, and new
threat revealed itself in the depths of the wild. The Beast Lords, long
barred from Aerynth after the Taming, had at last found new ways to
make their mark upon our world.
As Saedron's prophecies had
foretold, the Beast Lords were no longer content with their mundane
children, and bore new spawn: Beast Men, hideous fusions of their forms
with the shape of the All-Father, their greatest enemy. Wolf, Bear,
Bat, Wolverine, and many more now walked on two legs, and turned claw
and fang on all the Children of the World. The Tiroi sent warnings to
the lords of the Alliance, but there was little heed � the Elves
could not be stirred from their reverie, the Holy Church was slow to
act, and the Sons of Men were too embroiled with their own feuds and
troubles. At last the Cohorts dealt with the beast spawn ourselves:
after all, Kenaryn had set his children to the Great Watch, and never
have we neglected that duty.
The hunt was long, and our numbers
were too thinned by the hand of Chaos for complete victory. We broke
the petty nations of the Beast Men and scattered their dark cults, but
the effort pulled us far from the lands of the Grand Alliance, and in
the end only drove the beast men into every corner of Aerynth. Victory
eluded us, but our next war would have a different outcome. As all the
World's children know, in the eighth century of the Age of Kings, Malog
returned from Chaos, bearing a new name but filled with old hatred and
treachery. He brought hordes of new horrors with him: Orcs and Grobolds
and mighty Ogres, and was quick to find new allies on Aerynth. The
Minotaurs flocked to his dark banner, as did several clans of Giants
and even some savage Men. Again we warned the lords of the Grand
Alliance, and this time they all roused themselves. As it had been at
the last age, so it was in the War of Ashes: the Children of the Gods
stood together, and finally Kenaryn himself fought beside Torvald the
Titan in the final battle. Their efforts sent Morloch to his richly
deserved doom.
But victory brought little comfort,
for ancient tensions poisoned the friendship between Humans, Elves, and
Men. The Holy Church grew narrow in its views, and our wisest ones
found more quarrels with the Patriarch than commonalities. The Cohorts
withdrew from the affairs of Elves and Men, and we withdrew our advice
and counsel from our cousins.
All too quickly the Deathless
Empire fell to warring with the Ten Kingdoms of men, and the Cohorts
renounced the Grand Alliance. The Tiroi were so entrenched in their
grief at its failure that they were blinded to the consequences of
their actions. Tired of bickering and vendetta, the Centaurs returned
to the Long Hunt and the Great Watch. We thought that what we did was
just and right, for we were only following our father's will. Alas,
without even seeing it, hubris had corrupted us. It was not pride that
led us to make our gravest error, but despair. For the Eighth Prophecy
of Saedron came to pass soon after, and Aerynth shattered when King
Cambruin fell. And with the Turning came plagues unimaginable:
pestilence, isolation, cataclysm, undead, new beasts, all were
unleashed.
The Cohorts found themselves cut
off, scattered across the fragments of our world. But each wise one and
each Tiros knew what we must do � the shock of the Turning shook us
from our Hubris. If our wisdom and our voices had been present in the
courts of the Elves and the halls of Cambruin, might not this disaster
have been averted? Who were we, the sons of Kenaryn, to grow impatient
with the hubris of Elves and Men, both the children of Helgaron our
father's lord? To withdraw and despair, that is the Elvish way. To rage
blindly against hardship is the Human way. We have always followed a
different path. And so, as the Gate roads opened, we have returned from
our seclusion to help drive back the darkness.
Ours is a mighty destiny, fraught
with hardship and sorrow, but we Horse Lords have always borne it
without complaint. If we do not, who can? Darkness and Chaos have
always stirred, thirsty for blood and souls. Without the Long Hunt and
the Watch they would surely have triumphed long ago. Indeed, the test
that awaits this generation shall be the darkest ever known, and many
of our bravest and wisest deem that we cannot win the coming battle. So
be it. The Centaurs have faced dire odds before.
There are many who think us fools,
that we Centaurs live for ideals that have no place in this world. That
may be, but I say this: the world is as the Gods have made it: all we
who are mortal can do is to live our lives with honor and strive to
fight for virtue. If all we can hope for is to die, then we must die
well. To do less would mean betraying the Father of All. It is a hard
course we ride, but we shall not waver. We seek an ideal, as intangible
as the wind itself. But so long as the winds blow, we shall chase it,
and we shall never tire.