The Saga of Ignatius Baytor Options

[Lady Saga]

Hello, it's been awhile since I've posted here as Lady Saga. Renee Gade IV likes to clutter her character stories up into one big mess, while I prefer to post individually, as we shall see.

What I am going to be writing is a series of journal entries from a new character of mine: Master Baytor. It's okay, go ahead and laugh. He is an Altmer from Summerset Isle who has been comfortably living in Cyrodiil ever since the Great War. He learned a bit of magic in the Imperial City, and also is somewhat proficient with swords. He is a Spellsword, my first dual-wielding character, and third character to attempt the Main Quest & Civil War with. He'll be doing the Civil War. He's a Thalmor agent, trying to aid the Imperials at war, although as we shall see, the word "trying" is to become pertinent at the beginning of this tale.

And here is his first journal entry.

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Sundas, 11:15 PM, 17th of Last Seed, Year 201

Those impetuous fools! To think that they could send me to Skyrim, and then trick me into a bargaining of sorts, thrusting my inhibitions and mocking my terrantcy!

I ... am Master Baytor, Disciplinary Lord of the Aldmeri Thalmor. I have started this journal as a record of sorts, that he who might find it might also know of my tales, and how I have come to make arrivation into Skyrim. The 'impetuous fools' of whom I speak might gladly bow thy heads in shame, were they to know whom they were dealing with! I am (and always will be) one of them! Foolish degredators!

I am not the TRAITOR of whom they seek!

Not so long ago, the White Gold Concordat promised many great things: the ending of the Great War among them, as well as the joining of forces between Imperial regimentations, and the Aldmeri Dominion. All of these great things have been long decided, yet here I am. I, Master Baytor, made travels with a group of others, all of us up from Cyrodiil and the Summerset Isle, planning to make our visitation brief, and to the point. When we did make sudden appearance upon a camp of Imperial-led soldiers located not far from Pale Pass, chaos did erupt! We elves were quickly be-sieged; many of us fell. Only I and perhaps one other did survive.

An errant move on the specious foolish Imperials! We are not of betrayal, and the wrong was not righted for many many hours. Why might I be chosen for such sodden mockery, and thrown onto a cheap wooden cart along with criminals, low-lifes, and (behold!) General Tullius himself? These questionings are (as of now) un-answered by the incompetent boobs who made ruination of my first days in Skyrim.

My companions are not of presence, but I am on their side, the side of the Imperial Empire, or so it would seemingly be.

But this tale ends not yet. .. The things I have seen, the The events I have beheld, would fill tomes full of fantastical but laughably erroneous scripts, had they not have actually happened. For upon my very execution, after being branded a superfillious traitor, did I nearly commence to have my very head befallen, lopped off with an axe the size of an oxen's yoke. Yet was I saved.

I was saved.

I, by mighty voice spoken by the Eight, do require some dispensation of belief, here. Cast aside thine judgements. For what I am about to write next might very well drive you into titters and tatters of comical belly-laughings. But I swear upon the hand of mighty Akatosh that such occurances did, in fact, occur. From the very sky did a large shape devolve, and land upon a nearby stone fortification-tower. It was not to be believed. A dragon! A dragon did make ruins of the whimsically dreadful village known as Helgen. Twas not to be of belief, I must say! That such a dark force from the sky, breathing gaseous forms not be be taken abruptly, did actually appear and commenced to also attack! Many men fell by the wayside as it hopped and flew from one perchment to the next, arrows and fire lighting the sky, in hopes to take the flying menace by much lesser devices.

Yet I did make my escape! For here I reside in a small hamlet known to the locals as 'Riverwood'. All sod and dirt. Where are the great stone edifications of which I have heard?

Any-ways. In Riverwood dwell'th I, while the dragon has made its escape, flying off into the day's sky like a damnation from the planes of Mehrune's Dagon.

MASTER BAYTOR, who now seeketh his long-deserved rest

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This post has been edited by Lady Saga: Oct 28 2015, 12:02 AM

[Grits]

The combination of Master Baytor’s haughty self with his hilarious and vulgar name makes me hurt myself grinning. Whatever his fate and however long (or short) his adventures, The Master will be remembered!!

How funny that he likes Farengar. They’re both complete tools. Oh my gosh, he’s going to keep the Golden Claw! Awesome. I love how you’re weaving your different characters’ stories together.

[Lady Saga]

Oh my gosh, he’s going to keep the Golden Claw! Awesome. I love how you’re weaving your different characters’ stories together.

Yes, I think I may have gotten the habit from you, Gritsy. He did not actually keep the Golden Claw. He may not have mentioned it, but he did wind up returning the Claw.

I have learned a few more things about him: I thought that Master Baytor is all talk, that he's just some spoiled rich man who happens to have been in the right place at the right time (Imperial City just after the Great War), but apparently he does have a bit of power and position.

One thing I feel: He has access to the Imperial Archives, a library of books, documents, tomes, and scrolls that details every tomb, lair, and barrow in Skyrim, since he has the Scholar skill from my tabletop books. If he knows of a place before-hand, he will be able to research this place somehow (probably magically) and this way I can go on UESP and kinda 'cheat' without really cheating, since it's part of his RP.

Hold on... let's catch up to where he is, journal-wise.





Sundas, 11:19 PM, 24th of the Last Seed

Night falls, and I know not where my location might be located. I can-not seem to uncover this fabled Shrine of talos under such dimly-lit conditions, and the whereabouts of Falkreath elude me as well.

I must take my rest.

I have taken small residence in one unlikely spot, dear reader: a bandit's camp, thusly located adjacent to a nearby road. I am of assuming they might be about, these meager bandits, yet nowhere do these pests seem to reside. As my efficacy wanes, so does my ability to keep full alertness. From the skies emit radiances of light so magical in colorings, 'tis perhaps the very works of Akatosh before me!

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5:34 AM

Blimey! They have found me! Ambushed me so!, and in my very sleep, did they! Bandit ruffians!

But to their very deathbed have they fallen. My Summoning of simply one Flame-Atronach has cast them to their graves, left to rot in the wilds for all the wolves and foxes to feed upon their lifeless carcasses. This atronach of flames I can cast at my will, beckoning from the very plains of Oblivion itself! Tho the magical efforts described in various tomes during the 3rd Era dwarf those of modern times, such magics as I can casteth here and now are not to be seen in the waning magical halls of the Imperial City.

But to my point. If the rumoring is of any truth, nearby I am to find a Shrine to the God of falsity known to the Nords as Talos, and here my Thalmor mate had been rumored to have been seen in combat with a set of marauders. I am of hoping that I might locate and re-accompany, and that we might travel the lands of Skyrim to and fro, and in grand Thalmoric splendor.

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8:33 AM

It is of naught. Nowhere near resides this fabled Shrine, yet 'tis perhaps my error, as yester-day I did pass by one junctioning of roads, nearby to Helgen; a trine such, and I could only choose to follow one of such roads. I must now seeketh this junctioning once more, and traipse upon the road not taken.

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11:41 AM

It is of finality that the blazing bright sun of Cyrodiil and Summerset now makes its welcoming into Skyrim. That I, Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the Thalmo, now tread upon the soils of Skyrim is no doubt not of subtlety. ** Before me is the Shrine of Talos spoken of tby by the rumoring twits in the Riverwood Inn, but my Thalmor mate is not amongst the dead literring upon the clovers and thatches

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11:46 AM

Again, 'tis my errorings that have caused me such a shock, and not even the sunlight which has graced my day can variate this. I have found Khan Ahpennher, a Thalmor mate, besieged in apparentcy by whomever killed these hapless citizens all around! Khan Ahpennher, Thalmor Agent of Feudal Directives, fallen like so many innocents of meager protections!

May Julianos guideth thee, fallen one. *

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This post has been edited by Lady Saga: Oct 28 2015, 12:07 AM