About “Centaurworld” in a few words:

Centaurworld is an animated musical comedy series that follows a warhorse named Horse, who finds herself in a strange and magical world full of centaurs, unicorns, and other mythical creatures. Along with a band of unlikely friends, Horse must navigate this strange new world and find her way back home. With catchy musical numbers and a colorful cast of characters, Centaurworld is a fun and entertaining show for viewers of all ages.

Meet the characters from Centaurworld

Horse

Horse is this wildly optimistic, brave war-horse-turned-pop-star type who somehow balances battlefield grit with rainbow-singing energy — and honestly, it’s the best contrast. She’s impulsive and heroic, always charging forward, but also prone to doing a dramatic, off-key solo at the most tense moments (which somehow helps?). Deep down she’s fiercely loyal and weirdly practical about socks and snacks, like she will plan a battle strategy and then label everyone’s lunch. Also she collects tiny rocks for reasons she can’t explain and sometimes forgets her own name for a second when the mood hits.

Wammawink

Wammawink is the giant, calming mom-figure you didn’t know you needed — like a walking, humming therapy couch who also bakes cookies from scratch (maybe with magical herbs). She speaks slowly, gives sage advice, and then laughs like she’s the one who just learned a joke; comforting and slightly mysterious. She heals wounds and wounds of the heart, which is impressive because she also hoards squeaky toys for reasons only she understands. Occasionally she insists she’s “retired from adventuring” and then will punch a demon in the face if provoked, so that retirement is… flexible.

Zulius

Zulius is the little spark-plug of chaotic creativity — dramatic, enthusiastic, wildly theatrical, and somehow always wearing more glitter than is strictly necessary. He fusses with tiny props, rearranges moods like furniture, and gives pep talks that are three parts inspiration and two parts interpretive dance. He’s nervous under the bravado though, like secretly afraid of crows or something oddly specific, and he’ll deny it while juggling flaming marshmallows. Also he keeps a notebook of “perfect entrances” that he updates at 3 a.m., which feels both very Zulius and somehow suspiciously organized.

Ched

Ched is pure brawn with a ridiculous soft center — the muscle who will lift a boulder and then cry at the sunset because it’s just so pretty (and then lift another boulder, because balance). Loud, proud, fiercely protective of friends, and somehow always smelling faintly of grilled cheese, he’s the guy you want charging into a fight and awkwardly knitting you a scarf afterward. He’s blunt to the point of comedic timing, but his loyalty reads like an ancient oath or a stubborn Post-it note. Also he has a weird collection of hats that he swears are “for every occasion” and I believe him, even though none of them match.

Glendale

Glendale is the resident diva with a heart — equal parts regal snoot and surprisingly supportive friend, like a glittery judge who will also bake you a pie if you’re sad. She carries herself like every room is an audition and then will pause to hand you the exact right compliment at the exact wrong time (which somehow makes it perfect). Underneath the high-society vibes there’s low-key panic and quirky hobbies, like sewing miniature banners for bugs, which is adorable and also slightly terrifying. Also, sometimes she pretends to be aloof but will absolutely binge-romantic-comedies when no one is looking.

Durpleton

Durpleton is the squishy-hearted purple big guy who radiates pure friendship energy — he’s clumsy, enthusiastic, and thinks hugs solve at least 80% of the world’s problems (probably accurate). He giggles at everything, gets overly excited about literally any landmark, and then will drop the deepest, almost unintentionally profound line that makes you cry. He collects spoons? Maybe plates? The important thing is he uses one to stir his feelings, obviously. Also he claims to be “low-key ferocious” but mostly ferocious in the way your grandma is ferocious about bingo rules.

Rider

Rider is the more serious, slightly haunted soul who anchors the chaos with stubborn competence and surprising tenderness — the straight person to the circus, but not without hidden warmth. He’s practical, sometimes prickly, and ridiculously committed to making sense of the nonsense, which is both admirable and sort of tragic? He’s learning to laugh again (and to tolerate glitter), plus he has a weirdly specific skill for fixing things with twine and a lot of patience. Occasionally he gets lost in his own rules and then breaks one dramatically, which is his favorite hobby that he will deny immediately.