A day from Esbern's point of view:
I wake and open my eyes. Pale light filters through the window—dull and cold, not the warmth of a sunny morning, but daylight all the same. That means it's time to get up.
I jump to my feet. I grab my clothes and armor, putting them on in that order. The great-sword I inherited from my father is resting quietly against the wall, I walk over to it and take it into my hands.
"Today, you'll spill blood again… but this time, it's blood that needs to be spilled," I say to Honor—my blade, my legacy.
The name of my father, Elsar, and his father, Asgorn, are etched into the base of the hilt—their spirits guiding me in battle. One day, my name will be etched alongside theirs.
And one day, my child will wield this sword.
Son or daughter, I'll teach them everything I know about blades.
And this one… this one will be theirs.
I strap the blade across my back, placing it into it's scabbard.
I slam my fist into my palm. "I'll be there this time, Erina... I'm coming home. I'll end this, today!" I wow to myself.
I leave my room and knock three times on the door to Ragnar's room.
There is no answer, after a moment I try again harder. "Hey! You awake Ragnar?!..." I ask with a loud voice, trying to wake him up.
I try the door knob, but it's locked.
I let out a sigh. "That's right... you're a late sleeper..." I mutter, remembering how late he showed up at Dragonsreach when we left Whiterun.
I walk over to Mralki, hoping to borrow the key to the room from him. At least he's already up.
"Morning, Mralki. Sleep well?" I ask with a grin, noting how well he looks.
Not everyone in their fifties can drink the youth under the table and still be the first one up the next morning—but Mralki can.
He smiles back. "Morning' Esbern! I slept well enough, at least better than your partner did." Mralki answers, chuckling to himself.
"What do you mean?..." I ask him, wondering what Ragnar had been up to now.
Mralki fetches a large mug of water and have a big sip before answering. "I went to bed late last night, but I could hear him casting spells constantly in his room before I turned in."
Mralki gulps down some more water, he must be feeling worse than he shows.
"But the worst part is" Mralki continues. "Is that he was still at it when I woke up this morning! Either he has slept less than me, or he hasn't slept at all..." He says, shrugging his shoulders. "Who knows, he's still somewhat young after all."
I raise my eyebrows. "He did what?!..." My expression turns grim. "Mrakli, lend med the spare key to his room!"
I get the keys from him and stride over to Ragnar's room. Unlocking the door, I barge in.
And there he was. Sleeping on the floor, curled up on the carpet.
I walk over to him and grab him, forcing him to his feet. "What have you done?! We were supposed to go look for the necromancer this morning!" I snap at him.
Ragnar strains to force his eyelids open. "Had to practice... The ward... Thal'Niriel..." he mutters to himself, still half asleep.
I throw him down onto his bed. "You're unbelievable!!..." I snarl, realizing that he won't be much help like this.
"No matter, get your sleep! But you better be damn ready when I have found him, got it?!" I say with a thick voice, warning him.
"Sure Esbern... I just need some...." Ragnar mumbles, before dozing off again.
Irritated, I storm out from his room. "This training of his better be worth it!" I mutter under my breath.
I pass Mralki on my way out, handing him his key. "Here, make sure that fool doesn't leave the inn!" I'm about to head outside, before I'm notice an older man waving at me.
It was Rorik. The Rorik of Rorikstead.
"Excuse me young man, may I have a word with you?" He asks, shouting lightly from a table he's sitting at.
Rorik is a bald man in his sixties. Clothed in fine, expensive clothing. It was after all he who had made Rorikstead into a well established farming community! The buildings had been here long before him, but it was his connections, organizing, and drive that brought prosperity—and eventually, the village took his name.
I walk over to him, but I don't sit down. "Ah, Sir Rorik. How can I help you?" I ask.
Rorik gives a small, appreciative nod. "I was wondering, have you found out anything yet?"
I reply. "All we have for now are suspicions. But I'm heading out now for a more thorough investigation."
Rorik looks around the inn, brow slightly raised. "Thought there were two of you. Am I wrong?"
I clear my throat—this would be embarrassing if Ragnar had been a guard, it would sully our reputation.
"Yes... But my partner is a volunteer, he's still asleep," I say with a sigh.
"And they claimed he was supposed to be valuable here. Can you imagine?"
"Valuable?" Rorik raises his eyebrows again. "What do you mean?"
Ragnar had asked me not to mention his name carelessly, but this was Rorik! He'd been here long before Ragnar's parents ever settled in the village. If anyone would remember them, it was him. So I chose to tell him.
"His name's Ragnar, from Rorikstead—supposedly. We had hoped that a local man would be helpful in the investigation. But as it turns out, he hasn't lived here since he was a kid. His family moved to Riverwood."
Rorik scratches his chin. "Interesting... Only one couple with a child has ever left, that was about fifteen winters ago. Kasim and Diwa, the Redguards, then he must be their boy." He surmise.
What in oblivion?... Ragnar is in no way a Redguard! His skin is far too pale for that! By his height and complexion, I'd say he's half Nord, half Imperial!... I will have to ask him about this. But that's a problem for later!
I shrug. "I'm sorry, I can't help you with that... I never met them, you'd best ask him yourself when he wakes up." I give a small bow. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd best be going. I'll inform you when I find out anything else!"
Rorik gives a pleased nod. "Thank you, good sir. I'm delighted to have you here."
I leave the inn.
Outside there's a mild breeze, the sky a blanket of white, and the ground is wet. It's not raining, but it certainly has been. "Great, the tundra is going to be miry today." I mutter.
I decide to head toward the graveyard, it would be a great place to start investigating. What we know for certain, is that the necromancer had been there.
The hill of the cemetery is high, and the view of the surrounding tundra is clear from there. Maybe I could even spot something that serves as his hideout for our enemy.
When I finally reach the top of the hill, my eyes go wide and my jaw drops. The graves...
Yesterday, 7 graves were empty. But today, all 12 of them are!
I walk closer to investigate. I see footprints, and lots of it!
It had been raining tonight, and it had made the rough dirt wet and soft. Soft enough to make deep footprints. Only a few seem to be booted footprints, the rest are all long and thin. Made by skeletal feet!
"Perfect!..." I mutter to myself. "You've just sealed your own fate, necromancer!"
A little farther from the graveyard, the tracks are easier to count. Unlike the scattered prints near the graves, these all march in the same direction.
Six... Seven... Eight...
Eight pairs! I know that only 5 of them were raised last night, and that all those were old corpses. So it's fair to assume that all of them are now skeletons, having been decomposed for years by now. The other three, they wore boots. One of the pairs were very small... What comes to mind is the girl, only fourteen winters old, and the old man, whom both had died last week.
Had he brought the old man and the young girl as bodyguards when he went to raise the rest of the graveyard?
It's a possibility, but I decide not to waste anymore time. I run, following the trail left behind. It went east, away from Rorikstead, away from anything that could be spotted from the graveyard hilltop.
After following the tracks for a while, the muddy ground is replaced by wet moss and grass, making it hard to see the tracks from here. There is another nearby hill, small, but maybe I could get a better view from the top, so I head over to it and topple it.
As I reach the hilltop, I suddenly catch sight of furred creatures. I reach for my great-sword in an instant, shifting into a battle stance.
Wolves. But when having a closer look at them, I see that they're dead, killed off by the necromancer probably. All of them are filled tiny holes all over.
I am unable to decide if they were killed by an oddly shaped knife or by some other means.
I scout the surroundings from the hilltop, knowing that they have been here. These wolves had just recently been killed.
In the distance, I can see something that looks like an old mine entrance, and a man standing on the outside.
Not wanting him to see me, I crouch. Being aware that this could be the hideout we're looking for, I decide to watch him for a while.
The minutes goes by. I've been watching for about 15 minutes now. He hasn't moved — not a single stride to keep the blood flowing in his legs, not a stretch to ease weary muscles, not a scratch, sneeze, cough, or even a spit. No… this can't be a living man.
To be absolutely sure, I step back, hiding my silhouette behind the hilltop. I pick up a rock and hurl it over the ridge, aiming for where I last saw the man.
I crouch down again, and sneak up to the hilltop to have a look. And surely, two skeletons have come out and are circling the area, looking for what the disturbance could have been.
"Yes! I've found you! Today, you die by my hand, you filth!" I mutter to myself. Then I slip out of sight and break into a sprint, heading back toward Rorikstead.
I alternate between sprinting and jogging all the way back to Rorikstead, holding nothing back. Turns out, Ragnar's healing is actually quite useful. I'll have him heal away every trace of exhaustion from my body. I want to be at full strength when the battle begins!
I finally reach Rorikstead, rush over to the inn and storm into Ragnar's room. "Ragnar! I've found him!"