The Osiris Narrative

Lisp

Stepping out form the shadow of the Grand Eye Affairs’ opulent archway, the individual simply known as Lisp covered his eyes from the bright sunlight before finally giving up the struggle and drew up his cowl round his bald pate. He was not particularly sensitive to the light but after hours of translating client petitioners in the halls of the ‘Affairs’ office, the daylight was an unwelcome companion.

Although Lisp had corrected his speech long ago, he kept the jibe nickname because he enjoyed the irony the moniker gave him as he rose as a scribe, a translator, and Truenamer. Over the years he has sat in on hundreds of applicants and servitors to the Grand Eye Affairs translating meetings and so forth; most of them seeking simple membership while others came with more unique requests. It was in this duty Lisp had discovered a secret underlying narrative at play that portended a clandestine web of religious maneuvering and intrigue. He called it the Osiris Narrative; Osiris a god of death, life, and creation and as tales would indicate one of the first Truenamer gods.

Walking along the busy street Lisp purchased some fruit from one of the vendors along the congested market; in the distance bells chimed somewhere in the city suggesting that a birth or death had just occurred. It was not long before he decided to take a seat at a particular street side café, he ordered Zenith from a comely servant girl and quietly considered what he learned today.

It had started by accident, his discovery, but when he did the Osiris Narrative mystery awakened a deep curiosity in the Truenamer because hidden from the day to day lives of these people, under the oblivious gazes of the unenlightened was a campaign to restore an ancient high priest of Osiris from the dead.

“Will there be anything else my lord?” the waitress said affably as she placed Lisp’s drink on the wooden table, she possessed an untapped bloodline Lisp could detect; an ability that will likely remain undiscovered.

Before answering her Lisp gingerly took the cup and smelled the sweet wine; it possessed a complex quality that Lisp remembered well. As he took a tentative sip his eyes fell upon a familiar individual, an unwashed remnant of an earlier time as well as the sum of Lisp’s recent machinations.

“Perfect,” Lisp said jovially placing the mug back on the table. “Bring me the bottle lass.”

Once the waitress was out of sight the unkempt beggar crossed the market heedless of any hazards but incredibly not harried in the least.

“Have a seat.” Lisp said as the unwashed man wordlessly presented himself; up close Lisp could see the man for the warrior he once was, old and scarred; but up close Lisp was reminded of a beggar, certainly not a person of divine blood. 

“Do you have what I asked for?” Lisp asked the beggar and when the old man nodded a silent affirmative Lisp invited him to sit down.

No sooner was the old man seated when Lisp’s waitress returned with the requested bottle of Zenith. Lisp spoke but produced no words to anyone else save for the young woman. This strange utterance had an immediate effect on the waitress who seemed to no longer register Lisp’s guest, it was as if the man was not there.

“Well let’s have it then.” Lisp said abruptly as he reached to fill his wine cup.

It was almost a year ago when Lisp made his discovery of the Osiris Narrative and in that time he had learned through his tenure with the Grand Eye Affairs that zealots from around Africa and beyond for years have been trying to unite the remains of a pre-dawn Egyptian high priest of Osiris. It was all writing on the wall for Lisp who possessed intricate knowledge of inquiries from around various Eye branches allowing him a unique perspective to envision a mosaic of connections, chronicles, and lineages.

 

Lisp turned his attention to the man across from him who was born without a tongue. Lisp promised the man a voice if he should complete a task for him. Unbeknownst to the venerable man he was a distant blood relative to the this high priest and as such possessed exponential value to Lisp, the irony that he was born mute was not lost on the Truenamer. The man was also of value to any zealots who knew about him or anyone else with blood ties to the ancient high priest.

The man reached into a burlap sack and produced a silver amulet bearing a green-skinned face with a silvered tongue and a black pharaoh’s beard; it was an heirloom that only this mute beggar could have retrieved. As Lisp reached for the Amulet of the Silver Tongue the old man balked, noisily indicating his lack of voice and their agreement. Lisp was briefly taken aback, but smiled calmly and gently reached for the old man’s throat. Cautiously the man acquits and allows Lisp to carefully grip his jaw.

Speaking in low tones, time began to slow down for Lisp and the noble-beggar as Lisp violently grabbed the unkempt man by the mouth and tore out the beggar’s jaw-bone with a ripping sound. Passersby slow to a halt around the bloody table oblivious to the sudden gruesome act.

Being careful to retrieve the bottle of Zenith and the silver amulet Lisp kicked over the table as he casually strode away from the café. The people in the market, once held in mid-step, were beginning to move again; slowly at first then quickly back to the busy hustle of the market day.

From behind Lisp several screams washed over him as he considered the implications of what the jaw-bone brings to his plans, as well as the silver amulet he intends to use to bring these zealots under his authority.