By the Wayhaven @bythewayhaven - Tumblr Blog

Announcement

Hey everyone! After Chapter 3 there has been a bunch of new people finding their way to my blog. I’d like to thank all these new people who are supporting my work along with those who have been around here for a while– so thank you!

Unfortunately, I also have to talk about a few other things that have started to happen with the release of Chapter 3.

First of all– I’m so glad that The Exile is as emotionally invoking as it is. My favorite thing is to read your messages where you discuss and analyze the characters and situations presented in the game, but what I don’t like is when you project the hatred/aggression you have for certain characters toward me. I am not a substitute for the characters. Just because I write tough situations doesn’t mean I agree with what’s happening.

Keep reading

bythewayhaven

Bitter

A quick blurb of how the reunion between Syfyn and the Commander could go that spontaneously manifested at 1am after thinking about chapter 3 of @exilethegame ‘s IF.

Recognition is a stab through the throat. The knife goes in, slipping between vertebrae, severing the connection between brain and body. Just like that, The Commander can no longer move or speak or draw a breath. All the composure she’d clung to during the chase, more for her own sake than Vethna’s, bleeds away. It’s too late. The Brazen Griffin makes her landing. Vethna was protected, at least in theory. Maël had insisted they run as fast and as far as their dainty little feet could carry them. She should’ve apologized before forcing them to go. A part of Maël that’s still rational notes the Brazen Griffin’s weapons, the thunder in her face slipping through the apathy, and the purpose in her stride. Maël is going to die today. Maël’s body spasms and stumbles back. The Brazen Griffin marches forward. Rational Maël quits halfway through calculating escape routes to chide herself.

This is what you get for thinking you could ditch everything you are, were, and ever would be by the side of the road. Bet you’d thought it’d stay there and starve like an abandoned cub. Maël wonders if Vethna might show up and stab her again. It worked wonders getting her senses in order before. But even a calculated stabbing would be too little, too late now.

Now, the foul pustulous rot Maël had tried so hard to cut out of herself had sprouted arms and legs and was ready to feast on what was left of her. Gobble her up until not even her bones were un-infected with filth. The Brazen Griffin is on her now. Lording over her, close enough that Maël can count the hairs on her eyebrows. All it’d take is a strike to the temple and Maël would be able to rest. A less-than-distant part of herself is content with that. The rational part that never ceases to remind Maël of what she’s done, regardless of her agency in it, agrees.

Unfortunately for the Brazen Griffin, most of Maël is not made up of rationale or resignation. Unfortunately for Syfyn, Maël remembers how quick the turn was, the cell she was thrown into, and the phantom pain of severed wings. It’s that she turns to when her body and mind can’t find their way back together. It’s the betrayal that snaps Maël back to reality.

Syfyn stands as tall and self-righteous as ever, waiting for The Commander to make a move so that she’d doubly certain she has the right to turn Maël’s skull to jelly.

Maël slowly bares her fangs in a smile that leaves little to the imagination and manages to get Syfyn to take a step back. It might be the self-sabotage in her or it might be the instinct to be cruel that moves Maël’s lips to stay, “Syfyn! Long time no see. How’s life been treating you? Is Sabir well? How long until you were able to sleep at night knowing you threw your oldest friend to the wolves without question?”

It’s a hate deeper than that of jilted lovers or star-crossed soul mates that allows Maël to relish the pained contortion on the face she’d once called her closest friend.