The Becoming of Lune

Chapter One

Cerast hummed thoughtfully, turning over a bundle of sage that was hanging to dry. One of the leaves had spots on it.

Having spots or mold on his herbs was not something that he liked.

Without a second though, Cerast plucked the leaf from the bundle and let it dwindle for the floor; he had to sweep almost everyday anyway.

Each herb or flower or root had its place hanging in satchels or twine tied bundles from the rafters. The runic shaped twigs and sticks sometimes being additional room to hang things from once Cerast ran out of places. He preferred to hang things; it kept them dry and with how regularly he sees them, it keeps them clean of dust.

The everyday motions of checking the herbs that were still in the drying process was almost calming to Cerast.

At least the lavender was nearly done drying. The rosemary would likely need a week yet, and the thyme still was close to a fortnight. Not that it mattered much, Cerast had a large quantity of his herbs stockpiled in the cellar.

Running an apothecary, he could never be caught without ingredients lest the villagers had another reason to shun him. They only stayed as customers because they knew he was good at his practice.

Cerast, having his home built so far in the woods, was somewhat of a mystery to the townsfolk of Raevor. Though, if they they knew of Cerast's real proclivities during the night, he was sure they would have burned his house to ground in a moments notice.

True, it was no secret that Cerast was the village seer and ran the apothecary. But, it was a secret that Cerast was highly intertwined with the gods of old enough so, that he was practically one of them.

At just over three hundred years old, though he appeared to be only in his late twenties, he had succeeded and partook in many rituals to devote himself to the gods.

He had spoken to them, feasted with them, watched as their children grew to be worshipped. Cerast was close to the small group of gods and goddesses. To the point where he was no longer human.

Cerast had grown up with his mother in the village. A very normal childhood indeed, with friends that caused mischief and the stubbornness only a small boy would have when faced with doing his chores. His mother ran a bakery and would require him to sweep the floors of flour.

When he had just passed his fourteenth summer, with autumn well coming forth with the turning of the leaves and cooler chill, something called him to walk into the woods. The moon was full and bright overhead, and the wind nipped at him harshly, but Cerast continued as he attempted to follow the feeling of longing that was summoning him.

That night was the night that he met Jysp, the God of Magic.

Jysp told him everything about what truths were running through Cerast's veins. The strength and power gifted to him. The god had said it was an 'interest' of his to grant unbelievably strong magic to one human once every six hundred years.

Cerast was hesitant to believe, but it had been one of the gods the boy had grown up worshipping. They had temples for two of the gods and there were holidays for the rest. Raevor was one of the only villages within the kingdom of Vozdan that still worshipped the old gods.

So, Cerast learned more the of the magic Jysp gave to him. Sometime during his sixteenth spring, Jysp asked him to do his first ritual.

Summoning Kelana, the Goddess of Life, was no easy task, but one to show the strength that Cerast had learned. The goddess stated she already wanted to meet him, but figured it would do good for him to begin to practice real magic.