Lorene loved books. How could he not? His home nation had been founded by refugees, a nation of disparate tribes of Elves kicked out of a unified Empire two thousand years ago, who had found allies in the nomadic tribes of the far north, and refuge in ancient Elven ruins. Mongol was a nation that existed only by the blood, sweat, and stubbornness of its peoples--people who, especially the Elves, never forgot. But even Elves couldn't live forever, not on Asgard. Oral tradition was viewed as sacred in Mongol, but books? Books were practical. The written word was the only sure way to preserve the tales of your life's struggles, so that your descendants wouldn't have to suffer the same way you did.
The young Prince liked staying busy (needed to stay busy), and so had applied for two jobs shortly after his arrival to the island. He didn't expect, however, to find himself with idle money--money that didn't need to be spent for practical uses. Housing was secured and free; he ate well, even for a mage with high calorie needs; he wasn't big on fashion--so what did he spend his money on? Books, of course. The occasional art piece from a local artisan, sure--but whenever Lorene got itchy feet and needed to go for a walk around his home ward, inevitably he'd find himself in a book shop.
He'd noticed, of course, that anything originating in Spirale seemed very...Earth-ordinary, to his eyes. In his travels, Lorene had been through several different versions of Earth, and they all had similar traits: technology with a focus on communication rather than transportation; mass-produced products available on a global scale; highly-regimented cultures that prioritized nonviolence; a population of only humans, who viewed anything non-human as fantastical or unreal. Thankfully, the natives of the island weren't unkind to the non-human kidnappees who arrived during eclipses, per se. But it was obvious that Lorene, and the other offworlders like him, were not from here.
That was exactly why the grimoire drew him in. Just like the other offworlders, just like himself, it was obviously not from here. Lorene's majyk was not of the type where he could simply feel that--it was a sense more subtle than majyk. Or maybe it was all of his senses, working delicately in concert. Either way, the second he saw the book, he picked it up, paid for it, and left the shop. He wasn't sure what caused him to rush out. Maybe it was the thought of something is going to happen, and whatever it is, it's not for the eyes of bystanders.
Unfortunately, he was right--something did happen. The moment Lorene stepped outside with the grimoire in hand, the book burst open of its own accord--the pages fluttered like they were caught in a gale; the ink swirled on the page in a flurry of magic.
Wrestling with the grimoire to try to force it shut, terrified that the commotion would draw the gaze of passerby, Lorene dashed down the nearest secluded alleyway, murmuring frantically. "Not here you stupid thing, what if someone sees--?!"
Today was going to be one of those days.
