Rosenade

Since days long past, the empire of Anersius was serviced by various sects. Centaurs who had dedicated their entire lives and beings to a singular cause. You had the harvesters in the south, the fishers in the west and the diplomats in the east. But there was one territory, in the glacial reaches of the far north. Harsh, unforgiving, bitterly cold and desolate to a fault. This land bred something special, something the empire valued greatly. Soldiers. The icy fingers of the northern straits bred the strongest and the largest centaurs in the world. Something about the food, the landscape and the culture led to bigger and bigger horses. Inlanders affectionately dubbed them warhorses. Their massive size and power made them perfect for wars. Even the tallest of the central kingdom barely came up to the flanks of the shortest warhorse. This made them an imposing force on the battlefield. Able to sweep away whole battalions with a single swing of their mighty axes. The most celebrated of