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Two millenia old and the direct childe of a Clan Founder, Mithras is incomprehensible even to his closest servants and allies (a distinction which in any case tends to blur in the Prince's own mind). He destroyed the old Norman Cainites who ruled since 1066, reentering London to claim his throne in 1154. He has drawn an impressive, and disparate, group of Cainite factions beneath his banner, ranging from the survivors of the old Saxon regime, to Norman turncoats, to persecuted Salubri, to continental vampires fleeing from vendettas or lack of opportunity in mainland Europe. One of the key pillars supporting his rule is the fact that each of the factions needs Mithras to protect them from the others, and therefore support his reign.
Although capable of rare and terrible rages, the Prince is normally a model of calm and reason. After so many centuries of existence, he no longer shows the normal array of facial and body language which humans and younger Cainites use to gauge each others moods. A quirked eyebrow or a slight half-smile count as emotional outbursts by the Prince's standards.
His voice is rich, deep, and perfectly modulated, schooled in centuries of oratorical tricks. His manner tends towards grave and formal courtesy, though he has little time for flowery speeches or sycophancy, preferring the blunt matter-of-factness of a soldier.
Much of the Prince's power derives from his cult, which continues to flourish in the shadow of (and in the case of the military orders such as the Templars, within), the Church. Recent losses to the nascent Inquisition, especially during the War of Avalon, have forced a retrenchment, but it is only a matter of time before the cult regains its former strength.