It’s said in Last Legacy that magic is woven into the fabric of the universe and everything within it. All the characters have such a visceral reaction to Rime and how wrong he is, do you think maybe they can feel what he is? A once whole soul that passed on and was wrenched back into the world of the living so violently and incorrectly that it split apart and was shoved back together into something resembling a man. To us as the reader, he seems relatively normal because we aren’t Astraean. We can’t feel the disharmony in our bones when he’s near. The discordant aura radiating off him is lost entirely because the player is void of innate magic
my first time ever drawing anisa!!! sketched sage a few years ago but he looked horrid... and been a few years since ive drawn felix.. thought something looked off and then i realized i hadnt shaded it properly
just laying down their facial features as i usually do with characters laalalala, will totes add my own hcs next time i draw them!!
Matter of fact just the idea in general but as someone who’s been wearing eyeliner since I was 13 I feel like when he first started wearing eyeliner he would start out with the shitty stuff.
Even just the idea of him finding an old captain’s uniform and putting it on for sentimental reasons. It doesn’t fit right bc it’s not his suit, his was destroyed in the battle that took his life. A symbol of how he’ll never fit the view of the man he was no matter how badly the others want him to or even how badly he wishes he could cast his own shadow again
I had pictured the uniform being too big bc at his core, Rime is drowning. He’s fighting to keep his head above the waters of a world he doesn’t recognize while faces he used to know look on in horror and disgust at his efforts. I also feel like Rime is somewhat childlike. Not just in his retorts but in the way that he’s lost, scared, and confused. He feels small like he’s never felt before. Deep down he wants everything to be okay again. He just wants to be okay but the man in him refuses to admit and ask for help so he plays into the bad guy persona he’s been gifted to make them look away
Even just the idea of him finding an old captain’s uniform and putting it on for sentimental reasons. It doesn’t fit right bc it’s not his suit, his was destroyed in the battle that took his life. A symbol of how he’ll never fit the view of the man he was no matter how badly the others want him to or even how badly he wishes he could cast his own shadow again
I’ve been basically inactive all month and because this is a dead fandom, I feel the need to say that I still love Last Legacy and have plans to keep posting and writing about it however I’ve been dealing with a lot in my personal life so I’m just letting you all know I’m going to be on an indefinite hiatus from here on
The way Felix flinches when people raise their voices. The way he constantly worries he might've done something wrong. His apologies. Assuming Escell must've been the person to break into Fathom, his tendency to hide his things, and how he warded his room door in Blackthorn Manor. The way he immediately hid his expression and changed his posture when going to Porrima. Him saying he must sound like a spoiled brat after saying tea and scones would help him. The way he watches MC's reaction to every new thing he shows them or piece of himself he reveals.
my entry for the last legacy winter fanzine! um uh yeah ... happy late new years everyone! twas really fun doing this 🫶
small fic below:
The end of year was a strange time in Blackthorn Hall.
To everyone else in Porrima, the ‘new year’ entailed forgiveness before moving on— the seasons starting anew. In Blackthorn Hall, however, like the bodies kept in its mausoleum— time seemed to be at a standstill. The sole inhabitant of the house, the sour-faced Escell did not care much for the festivities. For one, he was irreligious. Secondly, he could throw a better party.
…
Even though he didn't celebrate, it didn't stop the influx of gifts delivered to his doorstep. Piled high in his office was a mountain of presents and greeting cards. Most of them came from colleagues, the ones that worked alongside him in the capitol.
Their offerings were polite and shallow. Jewellery. Books. Alcohol. He'd keep the liquor and tell Withers to distribute the rest to the staff later. He had no use for most of them anyway.
He takes Florian's gift out of the pile. A fishing rod fashioned out of blackened steel, ribbon clumsily wrapped around the hilt (an afterthought).
A terrible gift.
Escell smoothed the cold metal with his fingers, testing the weight of it in his hands. He hadn't visited the seaside in what, a decade? Let alone went fishing for ‘fun’. He was too busy. He had no time. He didn't care much now for the wind against his cheek, or the spray of the ocean so reminiscent of home.
He didn't like to think of the home he left. Vela was his past, buried decades ago. It was cruel of Florian to make him remember a place he couldn't revisit.
There was a time where they knew each other better, he thinks. A time where he allowed the other to be privy to his secrets— never left him fumbling in the dark. Maybe he hadn't meant to be cruel. Perhaps… Florian's gift was a reflection of those warmer memories.
His gaze flickers to the frame he kept at his desk— of a younger them, him holding a prize catch, Florian stifling a laugh. The picture itself was taken at a low angle, their figures blurred slightly as the photographer struggled with the buttons. A little Scylla had taken that photo. He'd never bothered to take it out after the split.
It was still something he could never revisit.
His lips press into a thin line as he flips the note attached to the handle of the rod:
‘Don't work too hard.
Join us sometimes.
The sea is warmer
where Scylla's ship sails.
It'll be good for your health.’
He turns the frame downward and uncorks a bottle from the pile. A less-than-desirable Syrah— shittier than Scylla's kind, but he was saving that for a more miserable occasion. The liquid burns as he gulps it down. Join them. As if.
A laugh startles him from outside his window, reverberating from the courtyard. He stands behind the curtain and glances down.
Two… no, three figures clad in the same ugly red sweaters stand in the courtyard. Escell blinks, contemplating if it was just a trick of the eye, but no— Felix is there, standing next to Scylla as she laughs at the wilted plant he'd gifted Florian. His back is turned to him. Whether he was laughing, or frowning, Escell had no privilege of knowing.
… It was reassuring to know his son was still alive. Ten years of radio silence could be unnerving at times.
It was nice to know they were still on good terms with each other.
He wasn't content with being an outsider (ironic because he was the only one in the house), but if it had to be—
Florian calls out, waving his hand up at him: “Are you joining us!”
He startles from his thoughts, mouth twitching before it settles into his usual scowl. He narrows his eyes at the other man before he slinks back into the shadows, leaving the question unanswered.
He always did that with Florian.
So many questions left unanswered.
He picks up his peacock feather quill and starts writing, ink gliding across parchment like skates on ice. He could ask for forgiveness. But he won't.
‘Maybe next time.’
Yes. Maybe next year he'll join them.
If only to know them again.
‘Happy New Years.'
A/N: 😂 fixated on the worst character ever (i hate him)
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