Part I
Meetings in the Mud

A few notes about FOS:

Who are they? A four person team of hardcore players whose objective is to defeat Diablo at the lowest possible level: in HC, in all three diffs. As Mr_PeaCH once said: ambitious, aren’t we?

Hawkmoon: Barbarian(S/S), Slicer [now Dicer]
Darkangel: Sorceress, SissyFOS, now (since the Lag Gholein incident) KissyFOS
CelticHound: Paladin, EddyFOS, by default and initiative, group leader
Occhidiangela: Bowazon, SaucyFOS, [now SassyFOS], Known far and wide for turning simple passageways into intricate mazes. Jealous of SissyFOS’ ability to turn heads

Premise: Complete each act and quest without repetition. No extraneous experience. Diablo defeated on each difficulty level as soon as practicable. If the can create the synergy that the game allows, that D-Hell will go down at clvl 35-39. If someone dies, he/she has to start all over again, thus the analogy to Sysiphus, who gets the rock to the top of the hill, only to have it roll down again and start all over.

Act I : Rogues’ Revenge

Part I: Meetings in the Mud

Dramatis Personae:

SissyFOS: Sorceress and jet setter wannabe, with a thing for clean cut warriors. A real fan of jewelry. “Hi, my name is Swashintawhamaklaprashina, but you can call me Sissy, ok?" Dad a prosperous fisherman, and mom made “these cute Khanduran curio candles that go well with any decor." Two working parents, often on her own--spent far too much time hanging out at the marketplace where she proceeded to “learn, like, stuff.” Apprenticed under a Sorceress because she thought “making those flashy light thingies is really, like, soooo tubular.” She left town after a rave at a county fair came to a premature conclusion when the main tent caught on fire. Last seen arguing with the promoter, apparently about tweaking the light show. In a desperate search for a qualified hairdresser, she traveled south and stumbled into the Rogue Encampment. Here she encountered . . .

SaucyFOS: A junior champion archer who gave up career as a big game hunting guide to seek adventure in the Kingdom of Khanduras. Liked her beer room temperature, her men warm, and her meat spicy. Slain in the Cathedral by Dark Ones, and Bone Ash, under the command of the Evil Lag Monster . . .
==SassyFOS: Career as bar maid, [and stand up comedian in The Glittering Pike Saloon,] was cut short when her boss tried to steal more than a kiss after she celebrated her greatest comedic success with too many shots of goat's milk. {Her impersonation of Old King Leoric's cousin Bovina, staggering around Khanduras in an alcoholic fog seeking "jesh a 'lil mooore Crown Royal(tm) for a royal lady cuzhin, uh luzhin - hiccup- down on her lushk - burp," evoked showers of coins in its inaugural, and only, performance. The request for “jesh a lil Crown Royal(TM)” became a running gag in some parts of Khanduras.} Fineus Rheel, owner of the Glittering Pike, was found trussed up like a Harvestfest turkey, his codpiece strapped to his nose, and "Pike with Ears" written across his forehead in soot. When revived, he raved incessantly about that “foul mouthed, violent tavern wench and all around strumpet, Sassy.” Reel, forever muttering about eating fish, is now in the care of his spinster aunt, who runs the Glittering Pike as a daycare facility for the children of unwed father’s and 'neer-do -well' fishermen. Saucy headed East to seek her fortune-- and to avoid the Sheriff’s henchmen looking to bring her to justice for crimes against a taxpaying citizen and 23rd degree Brother in the Fraternal Order of Lake Manatees- one Fineus Reel.

SlicerFOS: A Barbarian who broke his mother’s heart when he gave up on the family business [he was training to be a chef], and followed his inner voices to the Tamoe Highlands. Trained with sword and shield-- he’d had dizzy spells the first time he touched a spear. Swords were comfortably similar to the chef’s knives he had been handling all his life. A devout scavenger hunter. Slain in the Jail when a horde of Misshapen Champions and skeleton archers caught the party in a cross fire. Succeeded by his brother
==DicerFOS: embarked on his “Dream Quest” two years early. Left his home in the middle of the night: his face is now seen on milk jugs all over the Barbarian mountains. He awoke one evening and wandered dazed through snow, rain and wind storms, seeking a brash blonde-haired woman who figured prominently in his dreams. He asked every one he found for directions to “a rouge camp.” Wandered the Cold Plains looking for the perfect carving knife, only finding it after slaying hordes of zombies and corrupted rogues with a chef’s cleaver. His dream quest was revealed when he met a knight named . . .

EddyFOS: Son of a master builder and mason, [sort of a medieval architect], and drummer in his school band, he entered the Temple of Light in Westmarch, but quickly wearied of the endless rote memorization, illuminating texts, and lack of a suitable civil engineering syllabus. The Brotherhood soon found him work as a squire of the Questing Crusaders. He earned his spurs in near record time, but irritated the Paladins of Westmarch by focussing on building complex field fortifications and earthworks at the expense of his equestrian skills. He was sent forth horseless, with a sword and shield, to study the insides of ruined and burned out buildings, caves and temples . . . along the way, he stumbled into the Rogue Encampment . . .

“Hold, Stranger, and identify yourself!”

Eddy looked up from the dark, muddy path and immediately returned from his reverie. The unsmiling woman was pointing an arrow, nocked to a taut bowstring, directly at his chest. Shifting his gaze beyond her leather capped head, he could make out a wooden stockade rising up through the driving rain, like dragon’s teeth, just behind this menacing archer in studded leather. Rain dripping from his hood, he raised his right hand to his breast in the salute of the Brotherhood.

“Peace, woman, I am Eddy of Westmarch, Warrior of the Light; I seek rumor of The Wanderer. A warm bowl of food and anywhere out of this rain wouldn’t be amiss either. None who serve the Light need fear me. May I pass?”
I must have said something right, Eddy thought, as she lowered her weapon, tension relaxed from the bowstring, and motioned over her shoulder with her head.

“Report to Kashya, our commander.” The woman inspected him in a curt appraisal. “She may find you a spot where you can pitch your tent." She paused, then added, “Keep your sword loose in its sheath, Paladin. Fallen are on the Blood Moor.”

Nodding, Eddy entered the stockade and found it nearly deserted, save for a number of semi-permanent tents and a caravan master playing mubblety peg with a scimitar. Looking about slowly, he saw a red glow emanating from under the flaps of a large tent, next to a loaded merchant’s wagon to his left. Assuming this to be the leader’s pavilion, he strode through the muck and opened the tent flap.

“Eddy of Westmarch--" His salutation died on his lips. Six pairs of eyes fixed him with hard neutrality. So this is how a dancing bear at a town fair must feel, he thought to himself, as the occupants’ regard changed to both interest and curiosity.

Directly in front of him, behind a map table, sat a woman in chain mail wearing a red leather headband flanked by two standing, grim faced archers in studded leather. Her wrinkled brow and piercing gray eyes leant her an air of unmistakable authority. This must be Kashya, he thought, and two rogue henchmen. He then turned his attention to the other three figures.

To his right stood a tall blonde woman with her hair in a pony tail. Her leather skirt, javelin, shield, muscular legs and broad shoulders left no doubt as to her occupation: mercenary, perhaps an Amazon from the southern islands. Across from her was an imposing physical specimen, over two strides tall and as broad across the chest as an ox, his sword and buckler like toys in his hands. Head shaved save for a single, long, black topknot, his blue face paint marked him as a warrior from the mountains in the North. Eddy shifted his gaze to the slight woman just to the right of the man mountain . . . and froze.

A shock ran through his body. The lovely, slender young woman in a green gown with an olive complexion and jet black hair returned his gaze with frank interest. Her dark eyes seemed to grow into inky pools of warm mystery-- he caught himself staring into their depths. She gripped a long wooden staff with easy confidence, and smiled, nudging the large man in the ribs.

“Soooo, Mr. Grim-dark-and-handsome, are you going to come in out of the rain, or just stare at us till the wind blows the lanterns out?” Her tone was flirtatious, but her eyes lingered on his before she looked up to see if the scowling warrior appreciated her jest.

“Peace, Sissy.” Kashya’s tone left no doubt as to who was in charge in this tent. “Come in here, knight, I have been expecting one of your order. We received a pigeon from the Temple last fortnight, asking me to be on the look out for you.”

“Kashya, t’was hasty to send the pigeon away,” rumbled the large man. “We’ve had no fresh meat for three days. I could make you a tasty meal: pigeon sautéed with peppers, barley and sage in apple wine.”

“Slicer,” barked the tall blonde, “enough already with this constant yammering about food. We are down to hard tack and bacon: either eat it or don’t. But lay off with the gourmet references, for Light’s sake.” She clamped her jaw shut, biting off further rebuke under a stern glare from the Rogue commander.

“Saucy,” grated Kashya, with obvious effort at control, “if you haven’t had your daily ration of beer, you are an utter bitch. Keep a lid on it, or you can sleep outside the stockade tonight.”
She stood up, and motioned them all to the map table.

“I have a mission for those who would earn the right to bivouac here. My scouts tell me there is an advanced party of Fallen and other demon spawn running free on the Blood Moor.” She motioned to an area on her parchment map marked with caves, farms, and skulls. “I have called in my patrols until reinforcements arrive from the North Downs. We cannot afford to have this outpost overrun. I need a reconnaissance-in-force to firm up my plans for a raid to poke out the Enemy’s eyes. If he knows how weak we have become, the Sightless Eye may be blinded in this sector.

“Here’s the deal. You carry out this mission, and you can pitch your tents and eat here with us. Charsi will repair your weapons, Akara will heal your wounds, and we will offer you replacement equipment from our armory. Whatever you find is yours to keep. But I need to know the Enemy’s strength. The fewer left to report our dispositions, the better I like it, if you catch my drift.”

Slicer turned to Sissy to mumble a quiet question, and moved to interpose his body between her and Eddy. The blonde woman stepped forward, gesturing at the map, but before she could open her mouth, Eddy rose, bowed, and addressed Kashya with military formality.

“Commander Kashya, consider it done. I will gladly lead a reconnaissance.” He looked quickly around at the others in the tent. “Who’s with me?”

Kashya gazed quizzically at him as the two archers gave him blank gazes of indifference. The barbarian regarded him uncertainly, resentment at his calm assumption of command plain on his face. Turning to the tent flap, he drew his sword, headed through the opening and said, loudly enough to be heard, “Whoever slays the most demonspawn drinks free for a week. Any takers?”

The blonde woman was out of the tent in a trice. “So,” she said with a throaty laugh, “you Paladins are serious about this ‘lead, follow or get out of the way’ stuff, aren’t you? I like a fellow who takes command.” Her lascivious grin inferred a heavy handed double entendre.
Eddy kept walking to the stockade gate, and only looking back to see what arguments the Sorceress and Barbarian having as they followed him out into the Blood Moor . . .

Forward to Part II >>