There was a time in the galaxy, when humans looked up into the stars but did not know what lived among them that heralded the height of a galactic empire. The largest ever held at one time by one race in untold millennia, this empire stretched from one edge of the stellar rim across untold stars and embrace the spinning worlds of a dozen other races. Many faces, each alien to each other, knew but one master and called but one crown their liege- The Emperor of the Centauri Republic.
With warships more powerful than those of any of their peers and legions of the finest trained warriors, they conquered those they could not convince to join them willingly. Within a few generations, the Centauri went from settling their own stars to seizing command of a hundred others. Their reach was great and in their silk-gloved hands rested the fate of billions. From the gilded throne on Centauri Prime, the Emperor decreed life and death for countless subjects in his grand kingdom. He stretched forth his hand, and the galaxy moved with it.
But like all tyrants, the Emperor’s reach exceeded his grasp. The incomparable empire of the Republic grew too fast and too broad. Smaller worlds escaped the might of their armies, which were constantly seeking their next conquest. Larger territories were able to fight them off their native soil, seeking the independence they once had in light of the Centauri war machine. When an entire race of people, the enslaved Narns, finally drove the Centauri legions out of their star systems entire, it sounded the death knell for the once vast kingdom of Centauri Prime. The Golden Lion of the Galaxy returned to its cage, still mighty but with more mettle in its memories than in its spirit.
Even in defeat, the Centauri have not lost their teeth entire. The Republic is still a great and powerful nation with as many colonies as any other alien race. Their warships are still years ahead of the technology of other races (with the exception of the Minbari, but the Centauri leave them alone on general principle). Their weapons and jump gates are the finest of any commonly available on the galactic market and when the Emperor speaks, other races still listen.
There are none save the blindest of Imperial sycophants who would claim that the Republic of the present is anything like the Great Empire of old. While the Lion still has its teeth, its claws have been blunted by surrender after forced withdrawal until the span of Centauri territory is half what it one was if not smaller. The trackless sea of purple that once covered a great part of the galaxy is now little more than a standard stellar nation with its halls of power echoing the glories of old.
It is said that in the echoes of the past, one can hear the birthing cries of the future. There are those who serve the Centauri Republic that can see a great day coming for them- a day when the thought of a Centauri battle force once again fills alien hearts with dread. They see a day when the many stars twinkling in the stars over the Royal Palace are all paying homage to the rightful masters of the galaxy. For those loyal to the old ways and the old dreams, this loss of power that makes the Centauri Republic an old dog whose hunt is gone is merely a pause between storms.
Few in the governments of other races understand the fundamental truth of the Centauri Republic. They see the grand trappings and hear the endless talk of past greatness, but they see only tarnish and the hubris of a fading people. They cannot see that old men do not release their memories easily, for it is all they have left. They do not comprehend that the young men of the Republic will fight, die, and struggle with every breath in their bodies for something better than they have. No other race in the galaxy knows the force of a legacy lost that can and will drive the Centauri to their place of dominance once again.
The Centauri are a people born of kings and the inheritors of dreams. Many things motivate such a people. Some want to keep their wealth and power. Others want such things for themselves. Some want to stand proudly amid the stars and shout their names for all to hear. Others just want to feel pride one more time before they die. The Centauri will reascend to the heavens, no matter the cost. In the words of Cesare Borgia, ‘Aut Caesar, aut nihil’- Caesar or nothing.
Despite this attitude –this ambition that burns in the hearts of every Centauri- they know quite well they are not the only giants in the playground. The Centauri have encountered other races that frighten them or convince them that some corners of the galaxy are not worth the trouble of trying to secure them. They have watched the Minbari tear apart another sentient race over a single unfortunate incident. They have sent probes into Vorlon space and had none of them return. The Centauri are true-born, unapologetic conquerors, but they understand the first rules of conquest- some people cannot be conquered and some battles cannot be won.
A decadent people with the balance of their better days behind them, the Centauri are forever optimistic about the future. Amid fire, war, and death, their spirits never stop yearning for a brighter tomorrow for themselves and for their Republic. The Vorlons believed the Centauri a spent people whose time was done in the universe, but they have been mistaken before. No matter what the future holds for the Centauri, only one thing is certain. Whether they are to survive or burn into cinder and memory, it will be as it has always been- by their own hand.
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