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Slumped ignobly in the back of the back of the lecture hall, legs slung over the front of his desk, sat Sekhandur. The hood of his royal-blue woolen cloak was pulled down over the front of his face to block out the light of the morning sun. He was, simply put, hung over. His head ached terribly, which was the only thing keeping him from dozing off, as he was exhausted by the early hour as well. Sekhandur was somewhat nocturnal, well used to waking in the late afternoon and staying up through most of the night. He claimed this habit was an effort to make himself a more efficient magician, as Kemeti magics were well known to flourish under the light of starfire, but really it was because he got away with the most mischief when given the cover of darkness.

Though that had not been the reason he had been up until the early hours of morning the night before. He had arrived at Avalice the previous evening, his departure from Kemet having been precisely timed so as to not allow Sekhandur to tarry or divert from his route. His caravan of servants and menials were supremely lucky to have not been delayed, forcing him to miss the beginning of the semester, but Sekhandur knew that fortune was a king's natural ally. However, when they had arrived at the academy's gates and had been greeted by the administrators, they told him that not only would his servants have to return to Kemet, but they would not allow him on the grounds with the creature comforts he had brought along with him. Barrels of dates and grapes, boxes of honey cakes and sweet-meats, salted lambs and suckling pigs, and casks of fragrant beer and dark red wine. Rather than send all of these confections and treats home, where they would spoil on the journey, Sekhandur held a feast directly outside Avalice's gates. He and his servants broke open the many parcels and gorged themselves on delicacies and alcohol, ensuring that it was all consumed and none had gone to waste. Only when he was satisfied that his rations had gone to good use (and that a sufficient amount had been hidden away in his other belongings) did Sekhandur pass into (or more truthfully, [i]up[/i] to) the academy, and settled into his quarters.

Thus the young prince's current predicament. He nursed slowly from a skin of heavily-watered wine, doing his best to stay conscious as their professor entered the lecture hall. He half-listened to the man, as the noise was worsening his headache, and drank more wine to ease the pain. He eventually realized that the other students were introducing themselves to the professor, and he worked up the will to do the same.

Not bothering to raise his hand, Sekhandur cast back his hood and stood straight up, before announcing into the hall, "[color=aba000]I am called Sekhandur, of the house of Khain.[/color]" His voice was clear and dark, his pronunciation richly accented but still crisp. Sekhandur was surprisingly tall for his age; those with the blood of the Shan'iatu were often statuesque figures. He dressed in woolen robes dyed a vibrant blue, winter clothing among his people, with only a bare minimum of gold jewelry adorning his hands and neck. "[color=aba000]I am heir to the Sesha-Hebsu, and a royal prince of the Imperishable Empire of Kemet, may it reign eternally in the favor of...[/color]" Sekhandur trailed off into an incoherent mumble, his momentary focus running out. He slumped back down into his seat, kicking his sandaled feet up over the desk, pulled his hood over his face, and resumed suckling his wineskin.