Legends exist that speak of a magick oil burner, known as the Lamp of Truth. A powerful Djinni lived inside this golden Lamp. An incantation was inscribed on its sides, which when spoken, and the Lamp lit, would summon the Djinni forth. He would then answer anything the owner of the Lamp might ask, and would always speak the truth. 

An aspiring merchant named Osvoll came across this Lamp by happenstance, when he had purchased a cart of assorted wares from a stranger. Unbeknownst to him until many years later, the seller was a tomb-raider, and many of the items were illicit takings.

Osvoll, still in his younger years, had heard tales of such a Lamp. Deciding to test its secret, he spoke the incantation, and the Djinni came forth! “I am Azuul, the all-knowing,” announced the Djinni, twirling his lengthy fu manchu, a pensive expression on his face. His humanoid form floated above the Lamp, and was veiled in violet vapour; his voice reverberated as thunder. “Ask any question you wish, and I shall answer.”

Osvoll, wishing not to waste words, asked his first question. “What is the best way to use this Lamp?”

“To obtain wisdom, not knowledge,” was Azuul’s reply.

Osvoll took this advice into his heart. Over many years, he indeed acquired wisdom, by asking Azuul for advice. He became very successful in his trade, gaining more caravans as he travelled far across the land, and making varied business partners. More importantly, he learned to seek love, and found a partner with whom he had ecstatic times. He learned to enjoy his own life to the fullest, while maintaining his integrity.

Years came around, and Osvall was set into age. He had earned two homes, and sown two children. Each day provided much joy. He had earned enough wealth to sustain his family for times to come. He felt as if he no longer needed the Lamp; nothing more came to mind that he wished to ask of Azuul. So he decided to sell the Lamp of Truth, in the public marketplace, at open offer. Three men showed interest in the Lamp. They were admitted into Osvoll’s canvas tent in succession, one by one. Each made their pitch.

The first to enter was the young Prince of a neighboring city. Yet he wore warrior’s garb; armour was on his chest, and a sheathed sword was at his belt. “I will give you twelve caravans, stocked with goods of your choosing, and the beasts to draw them,” he said.

“That’s fine and well,” said Osvoll, “But why do you seek the Lamp?”

The Prince’s head fell, somewhere between shame and anger. “I suspect that my wife is being unfaithful. I wish to ask the Djinni if it is true, and to know the man involved.” His hand rested on the grip of his sword.

“I’ll consider it,” said Osvoll, and he sent the Prince off.

The second was the King of the city, parading into the tent with two servants, who held his robe from the loose, dry ground of the marketplace. “I will grant you a palace of your own, in this very city!”

“Fine and well,” said Osvoll, “But why do you seek the Lamp?”

The King’s gaze was cold, sharp, and piercing; Osvall’s eyes remained soft.

“I suspect that one among my advisors is a spy,” he said, and spat on the ground, inside the tent. “I wish to ask the Djinni if it is true, and to know the man, that he may be punished.”

“I’ll consider it,” said Osvoll, and he sent the King off.

The third was an elderly man, a thin, almost skeletal shepherd who hobbled into the tent on a worn walking stick. A stained grey beard clung to his chin, falling to his waist; his head was balded, and every inch of him wrinkled. Osvoll could see that this was a man near death. 

“All I own are seven sheep,” he said. “I will give them all to you.”

Osvoll, stricken, could only wonder what could make this man give so much. “Why do you seek the Lamp?” he asked.

“I was not always a wandering shepherd,” said the old man. “You see, in my younger years, I was a hedonistic Prince. I had seven wives, and one child by each of them.

“As we aged, my wives grew to disagree with one another, and the struggle was strenuous on all. One of my sons was found poisoned, and accusations were thrown everywhere, along with vows of revenge from the mother. Each of my seven wives moved far away, without informing me, and took my children with them. My family was broken and scattered.

“Shamed, I fell into deep depression, and exiled myself from my own Kingdom, to become a humble nomad. I have never seen any of my children since. That was over forty years ago.

“I will surely die any day now, so better my sheep in your care. I wish to ask the Djinni, for better or worse: How many of my wives and children still live? Where may they be found? Have they found good lives for themselves? These are the kind of questions that plague my mind every day.”

Osvoll bowed before the quivering shepherd, his own body trembling as well. “I would be honoured to aid you in this,” said Osvoll. “I accept your offer. The Lamp is yours.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” said the shepherd, his eyes tearing. “You have provided an old man the means to die at peace.”

As Osvoll lit the Lamp of Truth, a knot formed in his throat, and he swallowed, unable to reply. The shepherd spoke the incantation, and the Djinni came forth. “I am Azuul, the all-knowing,” announced the Djinni, ever so solemn. “Ask any question you wish, and I shall answer.”

The shepherd asked many questions. He asked where each of his wives and children lived, and he asked the details of their lives. He asked if his children were married, and to who, that he may know the blood of his descendents. As such he spake with the Djinni, his faded eyes closing, his voice diminishing to a whisper, and until the last breath came from his withered lips.

Osvoll, having witnessed the old man’s cathartic death, was in tears. Although he knew little of the man, not even his name, he decided to host a ceremonious funeral for the lonely shepherd. A grandiose tomb was to be erected for him. The white stone structure was funded by Osvoll. On this tomb, was carved a likeness of the bearded old man, holding seven sheep in his left hand and seven children in his right. In a secret gravepit beneath the old man’s stone coffin, the Lamp of Truth was laid to rest.