Qualen Findrow
“Come along you sanctimonious nag,” Qualen Findrow said to the obstinate horse in his delightful sing-song tone. There were those in the small town of Havenfork that whispered about Qualen’s facility with horses, that he had otherworldly powers. He had poo-pooed such nonsense over his years of driver work, but he suspected that his ability to guarantee a timely delivery was all that kept him from being run off.
Mostly due to the Centaurs in the area. Constant raids and bands of four-legged brigands interrupted trade routes all along the Savanche Coast. Life was becoming increasingly unbearable for many of the inhabitants, but Qualen wasn’t one of them. The Centaurs avoided him like the plague, and no one knew why.
Speculation was rampant however, and most of it was laced with superstitious devilry. The most prominent notion had Qualen’s blood mixed with that of Centaur lineage. The notion was not far from the truth.
The Centaur Human wars had ravaged the region for generations. The history of both cultures was riddled with folklore and recounting of heroes and horrors amidst the bloodshed. A deal had been struck and a betrayal completed which served as the fuel for a blood magic curse. The ancestor of Qualen who was sacrificed in the ritual provided a shield for the Findrow bloodline, protecting them from future Centaur harm.
The details of the curse were lost to the remaining, present day Findrows, and none now had record that Qualen actually had kin among the Centaur herds.