Mithra arrived at the party riding—not in a carriage—but before the carriage on a great black ilderim stallion which pranced up to the front.<br/>The carriage road up behind, driven by his squire and buttler.  The two leapt down and opened the door to reveal that the only passenger was a large blue package wrapped in a golden ribbon.<br/>Mithra handed off his swords to two large iron swords to his man at arms.  Then took the package while his buttler moved their luggage to an appropriate spot.  The giant glided into the party with grace that would set apart even if he didn’t stand head and shoulders  above the average Ven.<br/>Mithra was not a paragon of male beauty, but he was easy on the eyes with a strong jaw, rich bronze skin, shoulder length golden curls, and intense silver eyes.  Some women found these features—taken with his great height, powerful build, broad shoulders, and deft hands—to have a great deal of manly allure.<br/>To many Ven women, though, he looked hopelessly provincial—if not downright common—in his strength, while others considered if the backwater giant might make an easy and enjoyable pawn.<br/>Mithra was not oblivious to this reaction people had about him.  Some days, he wondered how he might make a better name for himself among the Ven.  Others, he remembered that he was a Falcon, and that was all the name he needed.  Standing straight and proud, Mithra entered the festival in a stylishly tight leather pants died inky black and matching vest.  His silk shirt was crimson, and his cloak sable.  His buckles were gold.<br/>He made his way to their hostess, sweapt a polite bow and presented the package, “A token of my esteem, fair lady, and that of my patron.”<br/>