The Ventrue Prince of Toronto
No known childer in Toronto
With the appearance of a man in his late twenties, the Prince often eschews the flashier clothing of much of kindred elite for crisp, neat and functional formal attire. Content to let Elysium swirl about him is a flurry of colour, the Prince’s demeanor and bearing project the image of an island of calm, whatever the circumstance.
Even his voice is as soft as it is firm; he refuses to raise his voice over a din – it is for others to silence themselves for him.
The Prince is a Ventrue, and in addition to his rule of the city, he brooks no other voice for his clan.
The Prince is said, murkily, to be the “new” Prince. Well, not said. But bits and peices make this clear over the course of the year.
None the less, the Prince’s presence is seen and felt regularly, and he has a reputation for flexibility and guile which seems well deserved – and which, perhaps, makes his iron-fisted inflexibility on the core traditions all the more notable, and important.