I apologize if this is in the wrong category, but this was the closest one I could find. I've been playing a lot of Conan Exiles recently, and I recently made an in-character journal entry that I just HAD to post here. Be warned though, that due to the nature of the game, this is rather dark.

Feeback is appreciated.

(The paper has wrinkles as if it had been balled up and straightened back out, while tear stains mar the words in places)

Day 17 of the third month of the second year of my exile.

The days begin to blur in this gods-cursed land. My formerly pale skin turned ruddy by the harsh sun. I have yet to see another face not twisted in hatred. Not since my life was given back to me by the whim of a passing stranger. The blood I cause to spill poisons my soul, even as it poisons the very firmament I walk upon.

Only the thought of my children sustains me, the waking memory of their laughter a welcome counterpoint to their screams in my nightmares. My eyes blur with unshed tears as their tombstones linger in my mind's eye.

Tell me, Derketo! Why? Why should I be left to rot for the false crime of murdering my own children, when their true murderer escapes, sipping blood-tainted wine from the skulls of the innocent, all while lounging upon the broken backs of my kinfolk? What justice is there in the Governess living in happiness while I'm doomed to suffer?

Justice. What a meaningless bit of nothing. I've oft heard it said that justice is blind. Most take that to mean that neither skin nor rearing has effect in the administration of dues.

But I know better. Justice is blind to the persecution of the weak, to the wickedness of those born to the "right" lines. To trust yourself to some hazy idea of justice is to forfeit your own right to receive TRUE justice, true absolution.

If this world were truly just, the wealthy wouldn't be allowed to beat a starving man begging for the most meagre of scraps. If this world were just, the Governess would have her head rolling in a basket after the guillotine completes it's grisly work.

If this world were just, I could have another child.

But alas, that possibility is taken from me. Not long after being cut from that corpse-tree, my moon's blood has halted. I know not if it's from malnutrition, or something more nefarious.

Even if I were to find a man to lay with, my womb is as barren as these lands I now walk. Perhaps in due time, they may resume. But in these times, my only offspring lie in the halls of Derketo's chosen.

Should I perish here, my legacy shall be these journals, in hopes that some future wanderer may find cause to continue my tale.

Should I perish here, my bones will dance amongst the black god's halls, even while my soul shall haunt the earth, a spirit seeking the idea of atonement, yet remaining forever bound.

-Urara Kalypso Lrui-Sacl

What did you guys think? Comments and feedback would be much appreciated.

Also, for pronounciation, Lrui-Sacl is pronounced similarly to Lirui Sakool.