"THIS IS BULLSHIT!" Joran yelled as he slammed a book closed. The young prince had decided to go to the library hoping that reading would calm his nerves but sadly that wouldn’t be the case. He panted softly as he stared at the title of the book, "mythic culture by Dorian lamaar." He sighed softly and snapped his fingers causing the book to fly back to its spot on the shelf. "Father won''t let me go anywhere because of his overdramatic paranoia..." Joran’s body tensed with his anger causing him to wince softly as a flare of pain went up his side. He lifted up his shirt to look at the deep bruise left on him by a group of knights. These knights bullied and tormented him relentlessly. They have stated if he spoke of what they did then they would make his life even more of a hell, so he kept quiet about what was going on behind the scenes. His entire upper body was covered in bruises and scars from the knight''s abuse except for a deep scar over his heart which his father claims is from an assassination attempt when he was very young. The prince didn’t know why the group of knights went out of their way to bring harm to him, but he did notice that they would collect his blood and tears. Anytime he asked them why they did they would give him an extra beating, so he inevitably stopped.
Joran sighed softly and tucked his shirt back in. "I need to get out of here... I want to see the realm, but my damn father believes I''m not capable of taking care of myself or is just too afraid to let me out of this castle.” he sat down in a plush chair and thought hard about what to do until finally he decided he was leaving one way or another. He hurried out of the library ignoring any greetings made by the staff. He made it to his room and grabbed a small sack with a golden colored strand. The sack was a magic bag capable of carrying a large number of items as well as preserving food and drink. He began stuffing books of all types along with folded up clothing into the bag. He looked down at his clothing and snapped his fingers causing the clothes to slowly morph and change until he was wearing a whole new set of clothing. Joran pulled his brown cloak tighter around his shoulders as the evening breeze swept through the streets, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant hearth fires. The cloak was made of sturdy, weathered wool, the kind worn by travelers and mercenaries, lined with faded but durable leather at the edges to prevent fraying. The hood was deep, capable of shadowing his face when needed, while the fabric itself was heavy enough to keep out the chill but light enough not to hinder movement.
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Beneath the cloak, he wore a simple but well-fitted tunic, dyed in deep forest green, the kind that blended easily into both city crowds and woodland shadows. The laced-up neckline sat comfortably at his collarbone, allowing breathability, while the rolled-up sleeves revealed the firm definition of his forearms—trained, but not bulky. His worn leather belt, strapped around his waist, bore several small pouches filled with essentials—coin, a whetstone, and a small vial of healing tonic tucked discreetly behind the buckle.
His dark brown trousers, reinforced with stitched panels at the knees, showed the signs of wear from travel and training. Though simple, they were well-made, allowing for ease of movement. His boots, scuffed but sturdy, were crafted from blackened leather, laced high up his calves, meant for long journeys rather than nobility. He looked down at his right hand and turned it over, so he was looking at the back. He focused his magic into his hand causing it to glow until a small emblem formed showing the symbol of a ferocious red dragon with its wings spread out and a bit of flame sprouting from its mouth. The emblem was the personal symbol of joran’s nobility. It would confirm any claim he makes to the throne when addressing kings, queens, or anyone of the like. He stared at it for a moment then allowed it to fade away before taking a breath. Tonight… tonight is the night Joran leaves the palace.