A/N: a thing to mention here: apologies for those who read my other Skyrim fic; other than the fact that my forte lies in one shots, I ran of ideas but fear not for I will NOT abandon it :3 You could give me ideas to make me all jazzed up :)

This is a series of mini-books I intend to write about legends, occurrences or random writing that a well knee-armored adventure could find while venturing in the lands of Skyrim.

Note: some are in parallel possibilities or in future/past etc… oh and some of the books might

. . .

I am but an old priestess of Arkay who is seeking the truth about our fallen high king. May the gods watch over his soul…

Vengeance, vigilant, valor

By Olca.R

I

Aesir was a fine lad for a Nord. He loved his father's land, to him, it was his ultimate goal … to explore it, to unravel her secrets of old but his old man always hindered him from the temptations of wanderlust. That old rotting farm was his un-caged prison… it felt like a death sentence to watch over his miserable pile of dirt enshrouded by Falkreath pines.

This was twenty years ago.

On the third night of frostfall, skirmishes of both imperials and stormcloaks ravaged the 'strategic' area only to taint the piling snow with the blood of his family amongst others. He could barely escape that night…

As the flames of freedom stirred in his chest so did the whispers of vengeance, in the next months any single patrolling unit was cut-throated from both sides. It wasn't till long when the dark brotherhood sniffed out this talented assassin-material. Inside the hidden sanctuary he felt that he actually belonged to something big (though he cared less about Sithis like the rest). His offer was quite simple: his dagger is at their service in condition that they would provide food and shelter …..

Astrid became suspicious, he would never touch a single Septim of any contract; all went to the brotherhood. She knew naught about him but his name, the man was as silent as a preying vampire. By instinct, she felt a plot brewing inside his chamber to take over the sanctuary. She tried to pick the door's lock but it was far more delicate and complicated so she (with a grudge in her heart.) resorted to an old friend from Riften.

In two weeks' time the man came, he actually told them that this particular lock was stolen from a famous lock smith this month. It took him some time but alas he opened it

Its content petrified them….

Though the dark brotherhood are gone almost decades ago, I took the liberty to scavenge their ruined sanctuary and to recover bits and pieces of unburned diaries which lightened the dark part of this book… my wrist are aching with pain… our tale shall continue in the next interval.