Hello,
I would like to get the gears rolling on a having Czukays weapon master CDQ.
I have these posts so far and could use some advice on how to get the most out of Czukay and his new level as a weapon master.
I will continue to post training in this development thread:
LINKBut yes, I was hoping to get your advice and hopefully give you enough information to make an interesting CDQ in due time.
Im hoping we can schedule the CDQ in about another month after some good development.
Thanks
Czukay
Here is what I have so far for the weapon master development of Czukay, but also check out that link mentioned above:
Here are some highlights of the bond Czukay has been building that were mentioned on the forum:
Lonnarin:
Kurn's Clinic: Czukay
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"Heh, that's it lad! Yer gettin the hang of tha stick-n-twist thar!" Bellowed the blackbearded one-eye with rotty teeth as he watched Czukay's movements in the midst of battle. Howling beastmen advanced upon the Dark One's blades, sides split and heads lopped in glistening anguish. Still they charged. Witless and wild were the Trolloc waves, marching to death on wicked blades.
Czukay's scimitar hit the bearman's torso powerfully to the unmistakable crack of bones breaking, ribs shattered by the sheer force of his blow. Sensing the damage done, the mad one pushed his arms further to bring the edge across it's belly in a long slicing motion. Bewildered, the beast reached down to find its entrails dangling and its eyes knew true horror. And then all went black.
The two anti-heroes trudged on through the massacred, chopping and lopping and slicing and dicing whatever poor monster should stand in their way. Beasts, Ettins, Fiends or Bandits, it mattered not. Only the blade was true. The one Sword Dojo, long ago the term coined by the late Cassius One-Eye (or "Sword Master Bastard" as Kurn would call him)
"Ye gotta BE the blade, ye buggart! Every mornin' sharpen it, every time ye feed it, ye strengthen the blade and ye live fer it! Ain't none of us gonna live forever, lad. All of this! Flesh it rots, it withers and sloths off. Or maybe some young whipper-snapper git lucky and take yer head fer a prize, it dun matter. All that matters be the blade in your hand and feedin its legacy. We just be the bearers of the ultimate truth, this blade in our hand and the inevitable death that it brings. The blade will keep on swingin long after we're dead, and long after we be drinkin with Cassius in the battle beyond the blade will remain and continue its job. It has but one... KILLIN!" Instructed the dwarf by the campfire.
"HOW ter weild it better be yer only concern. All matters of wealth, vengeance, rage, fortune n glory, they all just icing on the cake. Sometimes yer poor and hated, enemy at yer back and nowhere ter run, then who will save ye? The GODS?! HAR! They're too busy playing Creature Cards with our souls ter give a hoot bout any of us. No lad, that blade in yer hand be yer only savior. It spreads a message of greatness for all unworthy to die by its bite and feed its flame. Sacrifice these beasts and burdens of the land ter its glory, MAKE the people know its name fear it rightly, friend or foe! Even those enemies you make that curse its name bring it power, use it! Do it lad! And let EVERYBODY KNOW the GLORY of tha scimitar!"
And with that they began their training...
//Getting the ball rolling for Czukay and I to do a joint-CDT for his Weapon Master training. Will be posting back and forth here as evidence of RP training.
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Czukay Journal:
Journal Entry #8
*Written in the blood of many different types*
* He gets up to go pour some more blood into the hole atop the burning skull lantern aside his bedlike coffin of bones and rotting flesh. There in the candlelight he grabs his trusty blade by the name of Blackbeards Revenge and begins to sharpen it ever so carefully whetstone and fresh blood of todays kill at hand.*
At first there were rats and skunks then goblins then lizardfolk and ogres..spiders....The crunching and the crackling of their legs as the blade let fly....it wasn't then that Czukay knew his power he shared with each cut...each sliver....it wasn't until much later in his life of slaughter and battle that Czukay began to feel some sort of connection or pull....a yearning of such to connect with every cut of precision as yet the finest artisan yeilds thee brush, or thee most talented of bards woes the crowd in awe with such tune...Czukays outlet of soul was that of his scimitar....that was becoming his art...his life, his passion. The passion of every cut....the cleanest and deepest cut.
It wasn't until meeting Kurn Blackwater that Czukay began to really understand the connecting of oneself to ones blade....a way of extending the soul beyond the flesh. Czukay would always listen ever so carefully as Kurn explained the techniques involved with honing oneself and focusing the energies to each strike.
Many nights camping in the regions surronding Dalanthar did Czukay venture with Kurn listening to descriptive details about monster and humanoid anatomy....knowing where to put the blade is knowing part of their weakness....knowing how to focus oneself unto the blade and the cut is yet another...he explained...
Czukay could only hope one day to to learn such tact for himself....he continues to ponder this idea countless nights, finding himself waking up at odd hours of the day to disrupt his rest....almost as if Blackbeards Revenge is singing something to him, telling him how to find the deepest cut.
* The lantern wafts out and Czukay falls into a deep slumber with his blood stained blade strewn across his heart *
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Farros Galdor: Cursed Hymns of Unmaking
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Hail to the Darklord Czukay!
Hail! Hail!
Mail to the dreaded Count!
Send m'lord a cake!
With rotted flesh for body
iced with sweet bitter blood
shattered bone for sprinkles
eyeballs for cherries
gathered in his dreaded wake.
Huzzah to the Darklord Czukay!
Huzzah! Huzzah!
A saw to the Count of Madmen!
A Saw! A Saw!
For bodies seldom store well
in the pieces that they fell
saw through bone, cutting deep
so in his bag he'll keep
gathered in his dreaded wake
Praise to the Darklord Czukay!
Praise! Praise!
Gaze upon the Heart of Madness!
Oh dying dirge of dread!
For where marches he,
twitches in casualty
the dewdrops all crimson
aneath the Black Sun
gathered in his dreaded wake
So Hail to Darklord Czukay!
Send him a bloody cake!
Yar!
