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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. biggrin.gif 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

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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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Elisabeth Hollow
-lies on the ground, face first-

-muffled-

Oh my god...where do I start? XD
mirocu
Oh, dear lord. If I were him I´d either change my name or my title. Most probably my name because mister Baytor doesn´t sound too neutral either rollinglaugh.gif

-Welcome to Skyrim then, eh... sir Baytor biggrin.gif

Lopov
Awesome, a very good name and a matching appearance. goodjob.gif I like how he writes only about certain events, not going into lengthy details about minor, unimportant events, makes his journal feel more real. I'm looking forward to his saga, Lady Saga.
Lady Saga
Liz: Not sure what you mean there, but it's okay. I don't expect we'll get a lot of positive reviews for this one. It's bizarre, it's vulgar, yet it's also completely different from anything I've ever written before. I am enjoying it; creative writing at its most expansive.

mirocu
: laugh.gif Sorry if this makes you nervous, and okay, agree the thread title might get tiresome to see bobbing up every now and again, so I'll change that. I understand if you're hung up on his name, but I've always had silly names for my characters. What I'm most interested in is style. MB's journal entries (and overall story) will have a style which is unlike any of my others.

But I've PM'd the mods about the thread title. Thank you.

Lopov: thanks. smile.gif I am actually several journal entries behind, and there'll be some minor things coming soon.
Acadian
Congrats on a new story, Renee!

Heh, I see what you mean about the name perhaps being a bit jarring. Does he have a sister named Connie Ling– uh, nevermind. No worse than Raminus Polus I suppose. wink.gif

Per your request I’ve changed the thread’s title for you. smile.gif

Also let me know if, at some point, you would like this thread moved to the fan fiction section. Your call.
Lady Saga
QUOTE(Acadian @ Nov 24 2013, 12:00 PM) *

Also let me know if, at some point, you would like this thread moved to the fan fiction section. Your call.


I have thought about it (a lot), and I'm okay with being on the outside. From what I understand, Fan Fiction requires a certain set of guidelines to be included in that section of the site, and I'm bad with those sort of rules. Ghastley recently started a thread of his own out here, so I'm not entirely alone. I also thought of including this in the regular Today in Skyrim thread, but I kinda like the idea of having this one off to the side, rather than cluttered on Pages 44 through 66 of that meandering thread.

Anyways, I do have some more MB to publish, and here it is. Master Baytor (by the way) is the elf you're going to love to hate, if everything goes as planned. smile.gif

Dreadful. Cold. Sodden earth, and moisture all around. I, Master Baytor, have taken small residence here in this perturbious village known as Riverwood, here in the small and smokey Sleeping Dragon Inn. I have tried to make my rest, but one annoyance pesters, deep into the night!

Here in Skyrim, 'tis the custom to have a singing bard localized in many places of stay. This much I have heard. And as I try and make my rest, on and on sings this bard; The Days of Aggression might nearly be done, if I am not to get my rest!


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Tirdas, 2:06 AM

Have we the possibility of re-claiming our nights of resting? I am pleased to say so! That bard of whom I formerly spoke is now sore, with a tongue sharper than any other, as he has taken quite a lashing from my very lips! *


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Tirdas, 7:27 AM

The Riverwood Trader's dullard patron merchant has informed me of a band of thieves who have removed one object of value from the shoppe where he and his nettling woman make their business. A Claw of Gold. He has asked me, Master Baytor, Commanding Lord of the mighty Thalmor, that I might put aside much time to seek this stolen 'Claw of Gold'.

That I should take time to aid him? Such things are beneath me, I say! My quick and immediate answering was to provide him with one more tongue-lashing, although not as harsh as that which befell that nitwit bard singing in Riverwood's tavern. The Riverwood Trader's merchant was only so lucky as to not have my boot wedged deeply inside his back-side, as I might very gladly provide next time mention is made of his fabled Claw of Gold.

And what of it? A merchant as lowly as thus claims to own such an object of desiring? .. I am not to be taken for a fool!

I am off to a town known as Whiterun, "Not far south from Riverwood" say the simpleton locals. Might Whiterun have the appropriate accompanyments as which I am so accustomed? Oh how i miss my beloved Imperial City!


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11:54 AM

I have made arrivation into Whiterun, as a wan sun shines weakly from the lovely silver Skyrim skies I have heard so many wonderful things about. The timbers which made this town appear as if they were cut and chopped dozens of years ago, the town itself a motley array of soldiers, contemptuous citizens, and one dreadfully pitiful child, begging right in the village square! In my homestead, located within the Summerset Isle, such a child would have been made to work, tossled into a dungeon, certainly not coddled with impunity.

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In the centre of this bulgarious village chants a worshipper of TALOS! A fitful, bothersome sight were there ever to be one! How can such toleration exist for one such false God! Might Akatosh be shivering to his very menessa? Soulful and wanting, no I say!

But no matter. I am here to visit the Jarl, himself. I, Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the Thalmor, shall make visitation with the man, as by the sound he all-ready needs my help, and gravely so. Does he know such as of yet?


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1:54 PM

Though built of the same leathery timber as the lower portions of this slovenly town, I must say the ediface of Dragon's Reach has of certainty caused my heart to skip. Such craftsmanship. Such portentious girth!

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Inside the great hallway, 'twas of much evidence I was wrong in my initial assumptions of sodden architecture and dim slovenity. Aloft stands the pinewood and ash, oak and other such befallen timbers. A finally, a fine and sturdy stone can be seen in placement. A grand fire has warmed my body of such finallity. Perhaps not all of Skyrim is beneath my feet, then.

Once located, my pace heading solidly for the Jarl and his minions of immediatcy, I was grandly accosted by a impestuous Dunmer, who insisted I leave at once! But I, Master Baytor, made such refusal as to speakth to the Jarl (Jarl Balgruuf) within minutes.

The Jarl spoke at length, making some argumentation with his minions on the subject of the Great Dragon which attacked and pillaged the peoples of Helgen, not a matter of hours past. His minions made cross-remarks to his Jarlship, a set of sequential moments which the Jarl squashed right under his boot! "I am not to stand by while my Hold burneth and falls by the wayside, because one very dragon who made sudden appearance, and then fled!"* His Jarlship then disciplined his subjects, and sent the dark elf accoster on her way to Riverwood.

Jarl Balgruuf has also seen fit to give I, Master Baytor, a task, and set me to have loquacious discussion with a man by the very name of Farengar the Secret Fire, a full Court Wizard in title. Farengar is to my liking, ever since he made mention of Riverwood as one "despicable" village. Might I desire to share a pint of mead with THIS man? This is of certainty.

But to the point. MY task involves a return to Riverwood, where I am to climb a tall hill towards the grand barrows of stone I have viewed petulantly from a distance, and it is said within the tombs of Bleak Falls Barrow contain one such object of fabulosity: a "stone of dragons" or some such. I am to retrieve this stone, and make my return to Whiterun with haste. 'Dangers' inhabit this very tomb, but my former training in the Imperial City should forfeit such, and make meager mockery of whatever demonic banditry I am to face.**


I shall return to this tome upon visitation of Bleak Falls Barrow.


~MASTER BAYTOR~


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SubRosa
One thing is for certain, Baytor is the Master! I am loving your journal style to writing this. I also think Baytor is a ton of fun!
Pseron Wyrd
You are in august company, Renee. Charles Dickens played with a variation of this trick name in Oliver Twist:

‘And what have you got, my dear?’ said Fagin to Charley Bates.

‘Wipes,’ replied Master Bates; at the same time producing four pocket-handkerchiefs.
Renee
Thank you all. I love you guys & gals, you know that right? smile.gif

Here are some things I have learned about Sir Baytor over the past week or so. I've been mulling a lot over this new elf of mine.

(1). He comes from money. Although I don't know enough about the Summerset Isle to truely flesh out his past, I know for a fact his family has some wealth.

(2). He went to the Imperial City after the Great War had ended. As a man of wealth (and therefore means to get around) he managed to secure a home within the city, and this is where he lived for roughly 25 years.

(3). He grew up rich, and also spoiled. He's used to getting what he wants.

(4). As mentioned before, he's never actually been on a real dungeon dive, not by himself anyways. He has been through Embershard Mine and also Silent Moons Camp (the latter was a bounty raid for Jarl Balgruuf), and this was mostly to see how he does with adventuring & combat. As we shall see, Bleak Falls Barrow is going to be much more of a challenge for him.

(5).
Renee
Bleak Falls Barrow


Turdas, 11:17 PM, 21st of Last Seed
Days Passed: 5

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Would it be presumptuous to wonder of specificty why it is that I, Master Baytor, have been dispatched to this daedriclly-inspired hovel upon a mountainside, and far from the reaches and safties of the Hold? I am but alone, with no aide whatsoever to guide and illuminate. Treacherous twits, they are!

It is of fortune, however, that my variant skills of sword-play, and fantastical magics, have been magnaninous, my full proficiency at melees and combats have devalued many a bandit, wolf, and rat of unfortunate existence. All who dare taketh upon the Master Dominion Lord of the Thalmor have fallen by the wayside.

I dwell now in the massive stone fortification known as Bleak Falls Barrow. Ice and cold all around, yet these fallen bandits have seen fit to at least have the courtesy of providing themselves a bonfire. They are no more, their fire now has been taken advantage by me. A meal of meats and fruits, a bit of rest, and I shall soon wander down-wards into this wretched tomb.
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Fredas, 3:28 AM, 22nd of Last Seed

I have awoken from a slumber, as I fed myself by the bonfire's flames I had apparently dozed! Such slumber was not of my very intentions, I must say. The bonfire formerly of encirclement by the fallen bandits has extinguished, and these fools had not the decency to have hauled more timber for the burning. Air is blinding cold, . Were I not proficient in the arts of flaming-magics, I would all but freeze my hind-quarters to the very stone floor!

The questionings remain: What are my intentions to be, and are they to be of inclusion parallel to those of the Jarl?

Why dwellth I here? in this decrepit barrow? seeking some wraught of stone I have only heard rumors about?!

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Not one week ago, twas my intention to secure a position of solidity within the court of the Jarl, as such was my position in the Imperial City. I, Master Baytor, would travel throughout the holds with my Thalmor companions, gaining the fabulous Skyrim wealths which have tickled my ears, ever since the Imperials have made partial conquest. That I would become as one of the fallen heroes of my youth: Dyan phor a'Cauz, Renee Gade the Second, Joan of Arkay, and Beujawk the Greyish Sorcerer? A hero for all the land to gaze upon, and make of so many envies I would be!

But those impetuous Imperials! Were it not for them, by now I would securely and of certainty have made my true positioning within the province of Skyrim. * But it is of knowing that all coins have two sides: and a true Master will view both. What if such riches are to be of truth? What if much gold is to be found? And treasures as well? What if these rumorings are of truth?

These are the thoughts which drive me deeper into this heathen hovel. I must presseth on, not only for adventure, but also to warm my very bones.


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Fredas, 11:25 AM

I made my come-uppance, and have borne witness to one very unlucky bandit, whom I crept upward from behind to make him my prey, when thus bandit made a motion which called his very own doom! Pulled a lever did he, and now has fallen amongst the shards and dust motes which litter all about.

A puzzle of sorts before me. Hmm. Eagles and snakes and seacreatures upon tall triangular blocks of stone, carved as such that 'tis of apparentcy one must turn these blocks just so, and then pull upon that lever which caused the bandit's fate. I have made summation of one primitive yet effective Nordic puzzle-trapping. I have not seen such trappings in the ruins of the Ayleids down in Cyrodiil.

12:07 PM
The rumors contain much truth! Riches! GOLD! I have found gold! The very first urn and chest I have located has yielded 10 Septims. Twas my thinking that such gold might have been left by the bandits, but as of now I stand in the very hall of these Nordic warriors, I have found many such treasures in my very immediatcy: thirty-three gold pieces and one meager soul gem. As such treasures were of locating just beyond the reach of that fallen bandit, it is of reasonings that beyond lies much more.

Might I, Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the Aldmeri Thalmor, come not to prosper and thrive, but also gain the impostuous wealth of my fallen childhood heros? **


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Note: I did ALL of Bleak Flats Barrow tonight and will post the rest tomorrow, hopefully. laugh.gif I took about a dozen pictures, though, and I'm trying to put as much text with pictures as possible, for your viewing pleasure.
Renee
Bleak Falls Barrow, Part II

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1:17 PM

A voice I do hear ahead! He calls and beckons out, thinking perhaps that I am one of his former bandit posse, all of whom have succumbed to the mighty powers of I. Cobwebs so thick as delicate reeds blockade my path, and one foul undertone of odor exists.

2:25 PM
How pedantic. That the very leader of that former grouping of fallen bandits should find himself ensnared amongst the webbings of a massive arachnidical being!? I have managed to free him, and off the man ran into the barrow. He made mentioning of treasures which lie ahead, and that he 'would not share them with anyone'.

A mistaking he will certainly and sorely regret, I tell you.

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Oh dreadfully me! To be of such fright! Fallen Nordic warriors who revive as undead zombies? 'Tis not of mentionings by the Jarl or his impertinous court sorcerer! I had no prior knowings of such detestations, that these zombies might become towards actuality! 'Tis a fright to bear witness of a shambling hulk of bones and rotted flesh, rising from slumber and rushing forth to slay from their very grave!

But amongst these abominations lies their former possessings as well! GOLD! Jewels and jewelries, gemstones and trinkets! Such a fabulosity of wealthe might very well rest in this very tomb, then! My coinpurse expands by the very hour.

My former Imperial City training has brought knowledge of Cyrodiilic zombies of yore, and from my very fingertips I can enflame these impestuous monsters into the very nethers of Oblivion.

Must press onwards...

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5:29 PM
That twit! The formerly-ensnared bandit whom I granted freedome has fallen to one of the very simpleton Nordinc traps: a trigger located dead in the center of the floor has caused a large wall of spikes and oakwood to speed towards, and which has slain the man. In his former possession I have located one solid Claw of Gold, as thusly described by the inane merchant of Riverwood's general shoppe. The man was not lying! For here in my very pack I have the Claw. 'Tis quite the work of art, and I must someday find a placement to set it upon, hopefully of my own domicile. ***



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Loredas, 4:20 AM

I have returned to my journalings after many many hours of adventuring. Onwards and yore dredges on this tomb of tunnelings, and my very bones grow weary, my countenance wary. My food consists of two apples, two carrots, and one fetid slab of meat. Why did the Nords of ago see fit to have constructed such a monstrosity of halls, chambers, and catacombs? So they could bugger and gouge into such walls of stone, locating Farengridd hither and Slovolsson yore?

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Before me stands a most impressive sight: a heavy contraption which seems to be a portal of sorts. A second puzzle to gather my wits upon, which requires involvation of the not-so-fabled Claw of Gold, I am reasoning. After much tweaking and twisting about, I believe I have made discovery of the secrets to gain entrance through this portal.

Although not forgetting thas Stone of the Dragons mentioned by the Jarl, I now await treasures beyond this portal as not to be of belief!


Loredas, 5:18 AM

And what awaits I, Master Baytor, beyond thus portal? A set of stone stepps, which lead all the further past non-fabulous cruds of stone and earth. I am of much disappontment, as cannot be imagined. 'Tis too far to go backwards, as my desiring is as of yet, so I presseth onwards.


6:29 AM

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Again, I am in error. Those aforementioned stepps have led to a massive chamber, one fit for a former King or Jarlship. Before me stands a gargantuan chest, a set of mantles, and an eerie wall which sings from the x./\=-------------------------------- /-

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The master's chamber! Blimey! The undead I just defeated was like none other as viewed by myself as of yet! Thus creature could call forth his voice into a over-whelming shout!! And I did feel my innards of disorientation as the zombie shook me to and fro!!! But I have defeated him! I, Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the mighty Thalmor, have placed Bleak Falls Barrow beneath my very boots! The creature which scorned me so now passed.

In the master zombie's possession was the Dragon-stone of which Farengar the Secret Fire Bringer has spoken of! I must make my return at once; may the voices of the Eight guide my very path!



Note: Iquoo Baytor has made it to Level 4, and will soon be up to L5 when he gets to a bed. Yes, I actually RP that beds are the only way to level up in this game. laugh.gif
Lopov
I'm enjoying ever line of his masterbayting journal! goodjob.gif Good work, I'm looking forward for more.
Colonel Mustard
As much as I'm enjoying Sir Baytor's journal (and I am enjoying, a lot), I suspect I'd only be able to last through about five minutes of conversation with him before I'd be forced to punch him in the face and use Samuel Jackson's most well-known line from Pulp Fiction. tongue.gif
Lady Saga
Loredas, 11:00 AM, 23rd of Last Seed

Days Passed: 6

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It is of finality that I finally make my way out of that dredged place, only to find the day foggy and dis-temperate before me. Are the rumors of truth, that each and every diurnal passing shall be filled with air-mists and soggy, crawling miasma?

I imagine not how to find my way back to Whiterun, yet trudge onwards. Have scrambled downwards from a large, jagged cliff, and now have landed upon the soft, moist, terrantial ground. As I then neared the beach, I was now able to make partial viewing of Bleak Falls Barrow from yonder side, and to hilt I shalt aim leftwards, then.

5:41 PM

At present before me is an old hag, living in solitude in the very forests outside of Riverwood. My first decision of impulsivity was to strike her to the very bounds of Oblivion! Yet as of now, I cannot find reasoning why I did not partake of such actions, and why? 'Tis due to her ways. I have rememberance that she spoke in the graceless manner of a kindly old grand-lady, and charmed me just so, as to how, I have not cause to imagine. Still, in the very presence of evil did I have a feeling of immersment. *

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an old hag such as she in all probability breeds poisons and foule potions, I am of certainty, yet I cannot find it within my grasp to eradicate the witch. Time is of the essence! Whiterun, Jarl Balgruuf, and Farengar await.

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Sundas, 8:18 AM, 24th of Last Seed

Welcome to the innocuous Sleeping Giant Inn, where a man or an elf cannot simply find quiet respite upon his resting. Onward and onwards sang that twit if a bard, But on sight of me, did he of immeciatcy place his lute, his flute, and his aurally-reprehensible cow's skin drum aside? That horrendous bard shut his cork-hole, did he!

I have just 'feasted' upon a slab of roasted beef with the succulency of horse's droppings, cheese probly stored within a dampened barrel for aging, and one sweetroll so hardened, I might have use of it for a hand-weapon! I might have saved a bit of coin, filled my mouth with sap and pine-needles, and feasted upon a better meal ! Were it not for the bottle of Surille's the Nord patron had for sale in this abhorrent domicile, I might have starved altogether for sustenance!

Surilie. Nectarous wine of the Year 494, with a berry just tart, yet also sweet, each gullup a gentle-reminding of my forlorn Cyrodiil. Oh how I miss the Imperial City. **

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8:51 AM

Was my intention to grandly re-enter into Whiterun, yet my plans have come to a turnabout.

I have heard rumor of the sighting of one Thalmor agent, located on the south side of Lake Ilinalta, and 'tis my very duty to journey towards Falkreath hold, and suss out my former mate. Might it be Khan Ahppenher? Dees-Wazzherr? I am not of knowing, so onwards I must press. ***
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Lady Saga
Mustard: YES!! laugh.gif Don't you just wanna knock him over? biggrin.gif

Lopov: there is more to come, I am actually always a journal writing ahead with Baytor. I'm Lady Saga. I'm not like Renee Gade, writing her stories on-the-spot and posting them kinda haphazardly as they roll along, I like to spend some time with my stories, writing ahead and making MB's voice into as annoyingly Thalmor as I can.

Anyways, Thank you. *nods*
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! laugh.gif Awesome. I love how you’re weaving your different characters’ stories together.


Lady Saga
QUOTE(Grits @ Dec 13 2013, 08:47 AM) *

Oh my gosh, he’s going to keep the Golden Claw! laugh.gif 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

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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

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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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*

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Lopov
Can Opener?! laugh.gif rollinglaugh.gif rollinglaugh.gif rollinglaugh.gif
Lady Saga
QUOTE(Lopov @ Dec 15 2013, 06:34 AM) *

Can Opener?! laugh.gif rollinglaugh.gif rollinglaugh.gif rollinglaugh.gif


Yah, and Dish Washer. I am assuming Deez-Waazer was an Argonian. hehe.gif
Lopov
Hahaha, that's awesome! It's good that you don't write about this stuff in the Lore section on Beth forums, some no-nonsense members would probably find you at home and decapitate you if you mentioned that there was an Argonian among the Thalmor. biggrin.gif
Lady Saga
Lol maybe I should post there! And perhaps the fact that there was an Argonian in MB's traveling band of Thalmor has something to do with why he was branded a 'traitor' at the beginning of his journal.

Lady Saga
Update: My snobby Altmer is about to return to Whiterun with the Dragonstone in this episode, those who have done the Main Quest know what's about to happen.

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Morndas, 5:55 PM, 25th of Last Seed

On return to Dragon's Reach, did I carry the so-sought dragon's stone from the Barrows of the Dead, and whilst conversing amongst Farengar the Secret-Fired Wizard, and a barren-headed associate did Irileth, the accosting Dunmer from the Jarl's court, effect her soddentious approach once again. But at present did Irileth cometh forth not to accost, nor give bewarings that I must vacate the Jarl's court as henceforth, and rightly so for her Dunmerious sake.

A dragon! A dragon has been sighted about! I have been avenged in my words, so previously distrusted and ignored.

I am to accompany Irileth and a local posse of nitwit soldiers somehwere beyond the walls of Whiterun, and must make haste in my travells!


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Tirdas, 2:06 AM, 26th of Last Seed


As I scribe these words into my fatithful tome, my hand it shakes, my bones they ache. I, Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the almighty Thalmor, have taken upon a sight much more dreaded than imagined, that I fear such might enter into my dreams of night, and on many other such darknesses of frequent. The dragon!

As I did make approach towards the hazy, shadowing plains of Whiterun Hold, and gathered upon these plains with the aforementioned grouping of nitwit guards and mercenaries, I feared in my very bones that the rumorations could be true. And then, did he make appearance! ... Breathing gaseous enemations and flitting about high up into the night skies!

But I did make solid attacking upon this dragon! My flaming atronach was cast, my Nordic sword of ice and cold I did swing into the very scales enveloping the great, gargantuan beast; I flailed upon its wings and body so mighty did I, and danced around upon my feet so lithe, whilst the dragon enflighted and glided from his mighty heights. The guards themselves did as they could, yet were not of matching towards the great beast. Were it not for I, Master Innquoo Baytor, would it have been that all those whom were of presecne would have be-fallen from woeing, and to their death-beds they would have decreed to fail.

The dragon's flesh and guts did sweep across the plains upon his bereavement, great castings of firey essence filled the air arond me, and immersed me so. I made careful inspectings of his remains: bones the size of a ship's galley bracings! I know not what happened just then, but the world around me blurred just so, and away from my reach did my mind go.

I am to make my return to Jarl Balgruuf, leader of all Whiterun Hold, and report my findings, that the dragon which might have slain Whiterun has now been pacified eternally. But as of now, I must gather my wits and my poise.

I sit currently in The Drunken Huntsman, a sweetroll of better quality before me than that which might be found in that narrow-in-width and in-mind hamlet beknownst as Riverwood, and accompanied by three bottles of Whiterun's finest mead, all of which shall be downed with relish, in celebration of thas death of the dragon of Whiterun plains.

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12:26 PM

I must scribe more: As I ensconce here at present, before the Jarl's grandest tables of oak-wood, I now feast upon a meal which is finally of true succulency: fruits not far from the tree, slabs of meat not long from the slaughter, and cheese which is aged to (finally) perfection, all to be-fit for digestion for the likes of I.

I, Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the mighty Thalmor, am now Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the Thalmor, and Thane of all Whiterun Hold. The peoples, they will remember my name. The guards shalt grant me passage as my titling has brought before me powers unbeknownst amongst Cyrodiil's Imperial City.

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4:44 PM

I have made further discussings with the Breton* known as Farengar, the Court Wizard appointed to the post for his Excellentcy, who has shown me the manners of proper enchatnting here in Skyrim. With a gem of souls and a specialized table of Arcanity, did I place my delicate hands, the hands of which not long ago slew a forceful being existing formerly only in the rumorings of drunken roustabouts and tongue-wagging whorres. The item of dis-enchantment, it did collapse, allowing me to use its forces to later enchant a second object, a simple guard's helm.

Farengar has informed me that the College of Winterhold might have interest in my talents as well, and I must make visitation to the Greybeards of High Hrothgar, but on the morrow I shalt first deal with a legion of bandits, of whom have with sore decision made residence inside an old fort nearby to Whiterun known as Halted Stream's Camp. They shalt count their last hours, unknowingly, before they meet their doom
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Grits
Nice work, Master Baytor! The Jarl’ s own bed should be available for sleeping, though that might not be to the Master’s taste. (I’ve had two characters shack up with the Jarl for a time.) I wish him good hunting at Halted Stream Camp!
Lady Saga
The Jarl's own bed is okay? Yikes! .. As arrogant and uppity as Baytor is, I don't get the sense that even he would consider this as a sleeping option. laugh.gif He's been staying in this one room somewhere in the middle section of Dragon'sreach where there's a non-respawning wardrobe. He needs 5,000 gold to buy the Whiterun house, and he's almost there matter of fact.
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Journey to Solitude


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I have made pact with a travelling band of Thalmor* a grouping of mighty sorcerers who as of current are of finding their way to Solitude. We travel as a septet: three Thalmor agents, their fetid Nordish prisoner, my iron-emblazoned Warrior Wench** and of course, I, Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the mighty Thalmor, and Thane of Whiterun Hold. The Thalmor make holding of an embassy located in the vicinity somewheres north of Solitude, allowing me to join their ranks upon entry into


Sundas, 5:41 PM, 31st of Lasst Seed

We have made arrivation into Solitude, though two of our traveling posse have been lost to a stronghold of bandits squatting directly within a fort located across the road itself. These foul bandits kept a strong defence, but we besieged them with our magics of potentcy, our skills and acclimations amongst weaponry. No more shalt these grisly menaces terror the road to Solitude with their evening tosses and all manner of bantering.

Solitude and the idea of such brings forth much glee to this Thalmor elf! A homestead away from homestead for the Imperials who fight to regain position here in Skyrim, touches of Imperial design make appearance hither and yon. One gruesome sight I did behold upon entrance into Solitude: the execution of a man of pure guilt, whom made assistance amongst the Stormcloaks, and as such caused the final murder of Torygg, former High King of Skyrim. Be him no more, traitor!

Solitude contains a quaint selection of day-grinding shoppes nearest to the township's entrance, one of such being a clothing shoppe! Oh how I cannot wait 'til the morrow to make visitation towards this shoppe. I declare Solitude comtemporary and fitting for this travelling Thalmor elf



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Solitude and the Imperials


Morndas, 2:09 PM, 1st of Heartfire

Today and on the present, I hold court with the illustrious Winking Skeever, a three-storey lodging of better quality than those which might be located upon Skyrim's country-side. The furnishings are acceptable, the food delectable, and 'tis of reasoning that the invluence of the Cyrodiilic region is to blame. But, one menace does betray as I slumbered off to the nether regions of my mind on the night previous.

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Yes, as you may have pondered, and to wit have made presumption, I speak of yet oantnother sanctimonius gangling twit, who feels such reason to pound endlessly upon a drum of calf's skin well into the eve like a neighboring fool's storm arriving on Middas in the form of Cicero's gales of laughter. Would it be not to liking to smash this 'artisan' with a bowlful of Sheppard's Pie, and directly into her dementive Nordic face? The idea as such tempts me grandly.

I however did no such thing. In my mind, I would suffer peals of laughter to stuff this lady's face with a pie, but in relegated society, one must conduct himself of the upmost coventry. As such, I merely 'requesteed' that she put this drum of calf-skin, her imbecilic lute of twanging, to the wayside. I then proceeded to give such a tongue-lashing that this so-called 'bard' might not have reason to sit upon any stool of wood of a weeks's time, much less sing and praise the songs of such repetitious inanity!

On the day of this bardess's death, I will indeed drink and will sing. Indeed.

Heed my ramblings reader, for today is one of the utmost importance; today I am to suss about this town of Solitude, where a man can lose his life by civil beheading should he become a miscreant of such, and locate the chapter house where General Tullius shalt deem my necessity, in aiding against the Stormcloaks.


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Tirdas, 12:56 PM

After having conversed with the General of all Imperials and eloquenting my way to join the Imperials themselves, the General and his lieu have chanced upon me a task. I am to revert to the furthest reaches of Haafingar to locate a fort-full of the usual rabbelry. Bandits have usurped the local soldier's abilities to keep this place, known as Hraggstad or some such, un-occupied and under control, so I beg of ye to chance one guessing ... who shalt make such bandits desire and wish they had never set footing inside their warm, cozy fort?

And 'tis of fortunous situation that I, Master Baytor, Dominion Lord of the Thalmor, and Thane of all Whiterun Hold, should make small course upon my mission, and perhaps terrorize the bandits who dwell within Hraggstad just so. On-accompanyment I shalt bring my housecarl on the morrow, a dredged Nord female by the name of ... Lyssa ... Lynda? Oh, 'tis no matter, for I merely make referring to her as Warrior Wench. Of old-fashioned iron and steel is she, and while she may assist in the corptunous task of ridding the local banditry, I shalt devise my newfound magics to end their days of reveling upon the coastal cliffs of Haafingar.

Make promise of thine prayers, thee unuptuous heathens.

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Tirdas, 11:55 PM

Of the aforementioned heathens, I can say no more. They have succumbed to their fates. On the whole, they did gather enmasse to scare and surprise me into submission, their crude arrows of iron and their swords of steel. Nevermore shat such miscreants shar a pint of mead around their sorptuous campfires, or rid their breath of hallowed funk with snowberries and juniper.

I must now rest in-depth, while my new Nordic wench accompanies to my very needs.

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Fredas, 12: 35 PM

'Tis Fredas once more, and I am now tasked to clear some rabblery just northwest of Whiterun, Ulfric Stormcloak has chosen to locate and steal an ancient crown...so be it his death should he succeed.


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