Dear Mother and Father,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. Forgive the moldy smell of this paper, I've been hiding out in
Little Solace for a while now and it's been raining almost non-stop (a shocking thought for desert dwellers, I know).
I heard from some informants of mine that
your oasis has been visited by a contingent of Immortal Flames inquiring about my whereabouts. I was told they were met with "silent, obstinate resistance", which I am interpreting as a sign that you don't actually believe your son to be
guilty of regicide (I'm not, in case you needed to hear it from me).
I hope that casually disclosing my location in this letter (which will no doubt be "inspected" before delivery) will suffice to get the Flames off your backs. Don't you worry though - by the time they reach the sylphs, I will be long gone. A dear friend of mine came to my aid and
Alphinaud and I are going to Ishgard. I'm afraid it's unlikely I'll make it home for Heavensturn, but I will be safe in the interim.
By the way, while I was in Little Solace, I was privileged to witness the birth of the
Chosen One, a unique sylph said to embody the spirit of all trees, past, present and future.
I was so excited to talk to him, but Elder Frixio reminded me that special or not, the Chosen One was still a child - and his role was therefore to receive guidance, not provide it.
I thought this was very wise. This made me think of
our family, and of how I am now a man grown, and therefore able to share certain insights with you two.
This is the real subject of this letter.
I've already told you about
joining the Thaumaturge's guild, but I don't think I got a chance to mention
Ququruka Tataruka, self-proclaimed prophet of Nald'Thal and last living black mage.
Both lies, as it turns out.
I met Ququruka after I found the gem of Shattoto, soul crystal of a legendary black mage. This marked me as her heir, and as I've learned, there's no use fighting it: you don't take the Black, it takes you.
When I went to Ququruka, I told him there was something specific I wanted to learn how to do - open a gate to allow a
certain friend of mine to return home.
He agreed to teach me and sent me away to train with 3 beastmen sorcerers (I admit I got along rather well with the Kobold Da Za, who invited me to visit him one day). Their ancestors had contributed to teaching Ququruka himself the art of black magic, which had been lost in the wake of the War of the Magi.
Ququruka however maneuvered me into doing something quite different from what I intended. He had me open a voidgate to free Barbatos, a trapped fiend that he wanted to personally vanquish - an horror created from my 3 teachers' unfortunate ancestors during a botched ritual.
It happened over a century ago, and all this time, Ququruka had been waiting for the heir of Shattoto to come along and open the gate for him. He passed away after completing his task.
My feelings towards him are... conflicted. I understand his pain and admire his sense of duty, and thus I cannot help but mourn him. At the same time, however, I'm angry at him. Deeply. He came into my life and threw it into turmoil, and just as I had started to recover, he disappeared and left me with a thousand questions.
I've managed to answer a few of them myself, however. Gerolt, the expert blacksmith who helped me
restore Thyrus, offered his help in refurbishing the weapon Ququruka left behind. It's a rare artifact: one of Shattoto's Stardust Rods, a fabled weapon made from nothing less than a piece of fallen star. This led me to several very interesting documents.
Shattoto, from what I understand, essentially invented black magic. Unlike conjury, which was
derived from white magic, thaumaturgy was actually the original art. Black magic simply expanded upon it by (oh, this gutted me) using environmental aether to weave destructive spells.
I had actually
tried this by myself before, and found it so dangerous it was unconscionable. And yet, through my masters' lessons, I had learned to do it without even noticing. How? My mind was thoroughly boggled... until I understood.
You see, to cast a white magic spell, you must gather large amounts of the aether swirling about in the environment. In conjury, the amount is small enough to be done easily, but in white magic, a bit of help is needed. It's provided by the
elementals - the living aether of the trees, rocks and rivers. Casting a white magic spell is thus a little bit like a prayer, asking nature to lend you its power.
Black magic, logically, follows the same principle. Thaumaturgy consumes manageable amounts of body aether to produce modest spells. For the iconic large-scale destruction of black magic, bigger amounts are necessary, which means help gathering environmental energy is required. But who provides it?
Voidsent.
Black magic is however less prayer and more... binding. There's a reason why the antique black mage coat I was given is woven through with hex-spun mythril - protection.
But ah, I let myself get lost in magic theory one again! This is doubtlessly of limited interest to you two. It's your fault, you raised a rambler.
The bit that is relevant to you two is that, well... I have reason to believe that the Physalis are related to this Shattoto. I have yet to find proof of this - some serious genealogy would have to be done - but it makes sense: I'm her heir, she was a Dunesfolk, and the ability to wield black magic is an inborn trait.
The only thing that doesn't quite fit in this picture is
A-Towa-Cant. Related or not, why in the seven cold hells would a padjal choose the heir of Death's Handmaiden to carry on his legacy? Maybe there's some design here that has yet to be unearthed.
For now, the spires of Ishgard beckon. Though malms of land, water and clouds will separate us, I swear I will carry you in my heart across the Steps of Faith, right into the Holy See.
Your faithful son,
Lalli
