Name: Khotanebre Bekenamun

Age: 16

Appearance: Kho's appearance puts his less than pure Aemeni heritage on full display, with carmine hair and a complexion far more olive than it is tan. He still has a boyish fragility to his features, with feminine eyelashes and baggy clothing only serving to make him look more diminutive despite being around average height for his age. He typically dresses in brightly dyed robes to create less of a jarring contrast with his hair.

Background: The House of Bekenamun is an established but relatively unimportant facet of the aristocracy from the earliest waves of non-Aemeni tribesmen to Photep, more known for their military contribution to the Red Orders than any political influence or exceptional wealth that other noble families might hold. The family produces magically-inclined children fairly regularly, much to the chagrin of many Bekenamun patriarchs trying to choose their successor, and quite a few of them throughout the lineage's history have had the distinction of serving in the Orders Sekhmet and Khenetai. Khotanebre is the secondborn son of the current Lord Bekenamun and was raised in a comfortable manner befitting a young noble, as he would've been next in line for inheritance should his older brother have ended up presenting an affinity for sorcery. Coincidentally, it was Kho that ended up showing magical talent instead, and his family wasted little time in pushing him into the Pesedjet with every bit of influence they had. He was a diligent and capable student of magic, though he didn't particularly stand out amongst the impressiveness of his peers at such a prestigious institution. Not that it bothered him; Kho had few aspirations aside from a vague familial hope that he'd be selected for one of the Red Orders and a desire to be simply be useful to the Photepi people wherever he was assigned.

Personality: Kho is generally polite and superficially mild-mannered, though there's a restless energeticism bubbling just under the surface, waiting to erupt in animated movements and enthusiasm whenever he finds something that excites him. Politically, his Lion upbringing clearly shows through; as far as Kho is concerned, Photep is the greatest civilization that will ever exist, its prosperity is of the utmost importance, and none are more fit to lead it there than the aristocracy that have led the city this far to begin with. He sees the academics that compose his political opposition as important, but ultimately arrogant. Not because he considers them trying to rise above their station, but because his view on magic is a decently humble one, believing that sorcerers are - and likely always will be - the metaphysical equivalent of children playing with blocks compared to the entities of the Aether. He truly believes in the heaven-sent origin of the Crimson King, and yet even His Majesty must draw his power from that realm; which Kho takes as reason to believe that even stronger entities exist out there somewhere. Nevertheless, he's excited for his role as a sorcerer and to be able to twist the energies of the Aether to Photep's benefit.

Aptitude: Kho's excitability lends itself well to pyromancy, with his magic manifesting just as explosively as his sudden episodes of enthusiasm do. He's a fairly average practitioner of magic in other fields, but he picked up on shooting little flames around remarkably quick.

Tutelary: Recently summoned, Tekenkhasut takes the form of a stern-eyed falcon, typically adorned in a colorful little scarf to match with his master. Despite what his rigid appearance may suggest, Tekenkhasut has a propensity toward acting mischievous, if not outright obnoxious. He exhibits a certain fondness for destruction and mayhem, constantly pushing Kho toward the more combative aspects of pyromancy and magic in general. While this may sound sadistic, the familiar is self-admittedly more interested in the resulting light show than deriving any satisfaction from hurting people, and his suggestions are usually harmless beyond minor property damage.

Name: Radaam Esi

Age: 16

Appearance: Radaam has matured quickly, no longer the skinny long-legged boy some of his neighbours are at his age. He stands quite tall, towering over most of his peers, and his frame is solid and muscular, thanks in no small part to his dedication in honing it. The rich brown of his skin has been further deepened by a lifetime either working or training under the scorching sun, and his hands are rough and strong from both. His thick, long hair is black as river mud, and his eyes are dark as well; so dark, in fact, one may very well fail to notice they are actually blue. He does his best to look presentable in simple, loose-fitting clothing that allows him to move without getting in the way, usually made of well-used, inexpensive fabrics.

Background: Radaam comes from modest means. Hailing from a desert-dwelling people called the Chenzira, it was Radaam’s grandparents, along with a number of other members of their tribe, who did the arduous work of gaining Photepi citizenship and thus, leave to dwell within the city. Radaam’s family stayed where they originally settled, in a part of the city that acted like a buffer zone, a place filled with working-class (and often, recently naturalized) citizens separating the shantytowns from the middle class. Like many of their neighbours, Radaam’s parents were general labourers, working particularly as brickmakers helping to supply the ambitious infrastructure projects sanctioned by the Sekhmet. Still requiring some skill, their work was just too freelance to warrant membership in a craftsman’s fellowship. Income was modest and often irregular, but through diligent work and careful management, Radaam’s parents always ensured there was enough to get by.

Always present in Radaam’s community were the Khenetai. Often overlooked or outright ignored by his neighbours, they patrolled his area often, and were a common sight on the street. Their effect was profound; crime in Radaam’s area was rare and severely punished, and its residents thought little of sending their children to school unattended or hawking their wares in the street with minimal supervision. Radaam himself never thought of them as much more than a constant, as much a part of the streets as the lamps and paving stones, until such time that he needed their protection.

That time came one evening when he was about eight years old. It was dusk, and his parents were hurrying to finish their work before they lost the light, with Radaam and his little sister, only six, helping as best they could. When his sister opened the kiln hatch to try and stoke the fire, the sudden rush of air spit the flames out at her, engulfing her clothes and the dry thatch she carried in flame.

Instructed by his distraught parents, Radaam ran to the street and screamed bloody murder, beckoning two Khenetai officers to his aid. They rushed back to help his sister, administering medical aid with expertise the likes of which Radaam and his family could never have hoped to provide. Radaam attributes his sister’s survival to the actions of those two Khenetai that night, and from that day on, came to see them as akin to the heroes of legend.

In the years since, Radaam developed a fierce sense of patriotism in Photep and has dreamed of being selected for the Khenetai to serve the city as his childhood heroes did. He started training his body as soon as he reasonably could, but when he showed an aptitude for magic in school, both he and his parents worked their hardest to be able to send him to a moderately respected academy of sorcery, his parents hoping sorcery would brighten his future and Radaam hoping it would make him stand out in the eyes of the Khenetai. Applying himself diligently, Radaam’s work ethic rose him through the ranks of his school, and he stands now at commencement at the top of his class, a prime candidate for the Cults - provided there’s any room left after the picking from Pesedjet is done.

Personality: With his height, muscular build and oft-present stonefaced expression, Radaam cuts a much more imposing figure than he really is. While some may mistake him for cold or even angry by his usual thoughtful frown, Radaam is actually a kind and gentle soul, happy to keep quiet while others speak and simply do what he can to help. His greatest virtue is his work ethic; Radaam will do any task, no matter how small, as if it were vitally important, and has been known to make up for any lack of innate talent with an abundance of hard work. Above all, Radaam has a strong sense of responsibility, justice, and balance; it’s a small wonder the Khenetai appeal to him so much.

Aptitude: Were Radaam attending Pesedjet, he would hardly be remarkable; however, at his smaller academy, his unwavering dedication placed him at the top of his class. He’s dabbled in all disciplines with the exception of Pyromancy and has taken a particular interest in the mysteries of Biomancy, influenced in no small part by the medicinal expertise he witnessed that fateful night with the Khenetai. Overall, Radaam will admit that he is not interested in researching magic for magic’s sake, but rather to advance how it can be applied to improve everyday life.

Tutelary: Radaam rose to the top of his class through dogged effort, and one of the things that set him apart from his peers was being the first to summon his tutelary - even if he only preceded his classmates by a few weeks. His tutelary is named Toruk, taking the form of a young desert viper in colours much more vibrant than the dusty reds and browns found in nature, with pointed scales that look to be made of obsidian and ceramic. Toruk rarely speaks, but his curious and mischievous nature is abundant in his actions, contrasting his master’s much more reserved demeanour. It is not unusual to find Toruk snooping around in someone’s satchel or a bookshelf high out of reach, and he’s prone to investigating where he shouldn’t. He listens to his master (more or less) but never acts to his detriment; in fact, Toruk is fiercely protective of Radaam, and will do all he can to aid him in his endeavours and further his ambitions - even when his ‘help’ isn’t altogether wise or warranted.

Other:

• As stoic as he is, one might not expect that his sister's ordeal eight years ago actually made Radaam afraid fire. He won't turn heel and run from the cookfire, but he gives torches a wide berth, and Pyromancy is off the table.