Looking for a $1 chip from this casino to complete my collection. Does anyone have one? Will pay $50 for the chip. submitted by
Edit: I found one!!!
The idea behind these taverns is that they are illegal and exist in the underground of large cities. They can be ran by thieves’ guilds, shady businessmen, corrupt officials, etc.
Patrons might be criminals, risk-takers, gamblers, thrill-seekers, adventurers, spies, bounty hunters, and so on.
Maybe your PCs have learned that their target/targets will be at one of these locales at a certain time, or maybe they have business of their own. Anyways, I hope you enjoy these three unique, illegal tavern ideas. The Sunken Labyrinth:
For an illegal, underground establishment, it is a classy place. The entrance is guarded by a pair of jet black Minotaurs (MM pg. 223)
named Dolothrius and Vangrios. Entry is granted by a well-known patron’s valid invitation, or by the password of the day. The door is banded, riveted metal, and heavy. It has 18 AC
and 40 HP
if the PCs try to break it down. The Sunken Labyrinth is a tavern where secret meetings, negotiations, and deals can take place. Valuable information can be passed here due to a ward against scrying eyes permeating the tavern. Those who wish to enter with force will find it difficult as they will have to pass through a maze that is dark
and littered with traps. Maybe your PCs have learned that their target/targets will be here at a certain time, or maybe they have business of their own here.
If the PCs have the password, or a valid invitation, they can present it to the Minotaur guards. One of the Minotaurs will walk behind a wall, obscured to the PCs, to operate a series of small levers in a specific pattern. Then, he will operate a larger main actuating lever. Once complete, a safe, straight path to the tavern proper is created.
Once the Minotaur guard finishes operating the levers (or if the PCs successfully operate the levers), the sound of sliding stone can be heard behind the door, and then the door swings open. A pathway straight into the tavern is available. The pathway goes straight through a series of walls that resemble a small labyrinth. Straying off that path could lead to danger.
If the PCs get through the metal door without operating the levers correctly, they will have to navigate the maze to reach the Sunken Labyrinth tavern. View the image of the maze and read the following numerical descriptions to see what happens at those locations. Feel free to adjust these how you see fit. Use the link to the image below to follow the descriptions. https://imgur.com/S2sQALi
1.) A ten foot long hallway leads to the banded metal door. A DC 12 Wisdom perception check
will reveal that a portcullis is embedded in the ceiling at the entrance of the hallway, and several small holes line the ceiling all the way to the door. As long as the PCs have the proper password, or a valid invitation, they can pass safely to the tavern. If the PCs attempt to operate the levers, it will require three successful skill checks. The first is a DC 17 Intelligence investigation check
to study the levers and determine which levers to operate and in which order. The second skill check is a DC 17 Dexterity check
to align the levers in the correct positions. The final check is a DC 15 strength check
to operate the large main actuating lever.
If the PCs fail any of the skill checks, a portcullis drops down from the ceiling and traps anyone standing between the metal door and the portcullis. The portcullis can be lifted with a DC 18 Strength athletics check
. Once the portcullis is dropped, poison gas (Essence of Ether pg. 258 DMG)
discharges from the holes in the ceiling and fills the hallway. A DC 15 Constitution saving throw
is required for any creature in the hallway. On a failure, the creature is poisoned
for 8 hours and is unconscious.
2.) This area is a trapdoor pit. It requires a DC 14 Wisdom perception check, or Intelligence investigation check
to notice. If activated, a DC 12 Dexterity saving throw
is needed, or the creature falls 20 feet and takes 2d6 bludgeoning damage
3.) A DC 13 Wisdom perception check or Intelligence investigation check
is needed to recognize a pressure plate in the floor in this location and small holes in the eastern wall. If activated, darts shoot from the holes requiring a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw
, taking 2d4 piercing damage
and 1d6 poison damage
on a failed save and half as much on a success.
4.) A DC 13 Wisdom perception check or Intelligence investigation check
is needed to notice holes in the ceiling at this location and a pressure plate in the floor. Metallic points can be seen recessed in the holes if the light hits just right. If it goes unnoticed, a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw
is needed to avoid the spikes that drop down. On a fail, a creature takes 2d6 piercing damage
5.) At this location, a DC 13 Wisdom perception check or Intelligence investigation check
will reveal a pressure plate and a narrow five foot slit/track in the floor and ceiling that runs east and west. If it goes unnoticed, when a creature activates the plate, the wall marked with arrows will slide to the west and connect to the other wall there. A creature must make a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw
to avoid being shoved into a sealed room. On a fail, the creature is trapped inside. Acid pours from holes in the ceiling. A creature trapped inside will take 2d6 acid damage
as there is no means to avoid it. The floor and walls are scarred from previous acid damage. A DC 15 Strength check
is needed to push the wall back open. If a creature makes the save to avoid this trap, they may hear acid sizzling on the other side of the wall.
6.) At this location, a DC 15 Intelligence investigation check
is needed to notice a Glyph of Warding
(pg. 245 PHB) discretely inscribed on the stone floor. If triggered, a DC 15 Constitution saving throw
is needed as the glyph releases a Shatter
spell (pg. 275 PHB). On a fail, the creature takes 3d8 thunder damage
, or half as much on a success. The Glyph of Warding spell ends once it is triggered.
7.) The walls and floors of these two marked locations are covered in mimic hide
. The hide resembles the same stone used to make the walls, floors, and ceilings of the maze. It is indistinguishable. A creature that enters this area must make a DC 13 Strength saving throw
or become restrained
. Once restrained, a creature can continue making this saving throw at the end of each of their turns but it will be at disadvantage
8.) Here, a DC 15 Intelligence investigation check
is needed to identify a Glyph of Warding
is discretely inscribed on the stone floor. If the glyph is triggered, a DC 15 Dexterity saving throw
is needed to avoid the brunt of the damage of a Fireball
spell (pg. 241 PHB) that is released. On a fail, a creature takes 8d6 fire damage
, or half as much on a success.
9.) A DC 15 Intelligence investigation check
is needed to locate a Glyph of Warding
spell discretely inscribed on the stone floor. If the glyph is triggered, an Animate Dead
spell is released at 5th level. At each location with a star, a corpse becomes a zombie
(pg. 316 MM) and attacks the nearest living creature. On a successful Investigation check, the creature can skip over the glyph, and will discover the three rotten corpses. Nothing of value is on them.
10.) This location is concealed by an illusory wall that perfectly resembles its surroundings and appears as a dead end. A DC 15 Intelligence investigation check
will reveal the illusion. Interacting with the illusory wall will also reveal it for what it is.
If the PCs reach the tavern, it is dimly lit and quiet. Tables are partitioned for privacy. Four Minotaurs
work as tavern guards/bouncers here. The proprietor is a Minotaur Labyrinth Keeper
(pg. 267 Creature Codex) named Lubanias the Pathfinder
, who often visits his guests to make sure their needs are satisfied.
To exit, a main actuating lever within the tavern can be operated to allow safe passage once more.
Two human females (commoners)
work as tavern maids. An older dwarven male (commoner)
tends the bar professionally, and a half-orc male (commoner)
prepares delicious meals.
This tavern can handle around 25 customers. Much more than that and privacy becomes an issue.
The Captive Crowd:
The Captive Crowd
is a highly-entertaining, albeit illegal, tavern to frequent. To enter this secretive locale, you must pay a fee of 15 GP per person to the Goliath veteran (pg. 350 MM + Stone’s Endurance)
, Haruul, at the door. Once the fee is paid, you are gifted thick plugs of cotton and are instructed to place them in your ears.
When the door is opened, a new patron can faintly make out singing. The tavern room is large and square. Tables line the outer edges of the tavern. The middle is open and a cage hangs from the ceiling 10 feet high off the ground. Inside, a trio of Harpies are prodded to sing. When one harpy has tired, the next one is forced to continue the song. A female half-elf swashbuckler (pg. 217 VGtE)
named Jiolli prods them ruthlessly from a raised platform nearby. The harpies are not happy, and would love to shred the flesh of the bones of the people below, sometimes attempting to use their long, bird-like talons to snatch, but to no avail. Below the cage are those patrons who have removed their cotton earplugs to let the enrapturing, seductive, harpy song sweep them away, wandering like mindless zombies beneath the cage. They are lost to the world, and it would be easy to rob them blind if it weren’t for the ten vigilant enforcers (bandit captains pg. 344 MM)
who keep a close eye on the charmed and uncharmed patrons.
Those who partake in the Harpy’s song do so for the pleasure they feel, and the total relaxation their bodies receive. Strangely, a side effect of being charmed by these monstrosities for a minimum of 30 minutes is like receiving 8 hours of rest.
When not ready to succumb to the song, or “take the walk”
as it referred to here, the patrons maintain hearing protection. They use hand signals and written word to convey their orders from the menu, or to communicate their intentions.
One of the other things that make this tavern illegal is the menu. Imported, exotic animals can be consumed here. One might see a large constrictor snake curled up on a table - baked, sectionalized, and propped up in a pose with a non-native fruit in its mouth. A special glaze dribbled all over the fleshy serpent tenderloins, and colorful vegetables and fruits decorate the tray around it.
On another table might be a giant spider hanging from a fake web strand, flame broiled and crispy. Herbs and spices from some other land make this monster quite tasty. Don’t think you can eat spider? Let the harpy song change your mind. A few minutes in the song’s embrace can do wonders. A friend or companion will have to plug your ears when it’s time to eat to bring you back to reality, and the table.
As enrapturing as the Harpy song is, it can be much more so when certain drugs are inhaled before you “take the walk”, and of course, those drugs can be purchased here. For 15 GP more, your table can include a hookah bar. An illegally imported, mind-altering plant called Hexweed
is the go-to drug to smoke here.
The owner of the Captive Crowd is the half-elf brother of Jiolli, named Simmon (master thief pg. 216 VGtE
.) Jiolli and Simmon may also be members of your campaign’s thieves’ guild. Perhaps they have information your PCs need.
The rest of the employees are commoners: 5 busy tavern maids, two cooks. This tavern can hold 80 or so customers. 120 if packed.
Once you are finished here, keep your earplugs in case you want to return (and you will), or throw them away. Nobody wants to reuse those.
The Basilisk Den:
Do your PCs like to gamble? The patrons of the Basilisk Den
sure do. On the left side of the entrance to this illegal casino tavern, a statue of a frightened Halfling male holds a sign that says, “Well, that could have gone better.”
A DC 12 Wisdom perception check
will reveal that there are no chisel marks on this statue. Either it is from some kind of poured mold, or it was a real person. (It was a real person.)
A perceptive werewolf
in human form (pg. 211 MM)
named Victor stands on the other side of the entrance, taking weapons for storage. He’s good at sniffing out weapons that sneaky patrons might try to hide. Once approved, Victor can give the “knock” that signals entry is granted.
Upon entry, it is immediately noted that statues are a common theme throughout the tavern, even up on the 2nd and 3rd floors. They are all in strange, awkward poses. Some with expressions of fear, some surprise, and some with defiance. Some are falling backwards, others on the ground appearing to crawl away from something, some standing in a fighting stance, and strangely, one of them is simply smiling.
All sorts of gambling, and games of chance take place here. Cards, dominoes, bone dice, ten-finger pinfinger
(game where you stab a knife between your ten fingers five times as fast as possible, switching the blade from hand to hand), you name it, it’s here. Musicians play upbeat music to liven the atmosphere. But, when the song changes to a slow, yet intense tune, the crowd knows that someone is about to Face the Basilisk.
It’s a game of chance that is exactly what the name describes. People from all walks of life come to take this challenge. It is a high risk, high reward game. Pay 50 GP, receive 5 times that if you succeed. But if you fail, you, a friend, or family member better have at least 500 GP for a cleric to restore you back to your fleshy self. If not, you will become a permanent fixture at this fine establishment.
When someone is ready to Face the Basilisk, the music begins playing, alerting the patrons of what is about to happen. As the challenger approaches the Basilisk enclosure, the music intensifies, and the crowd gathers, positioned in such a way to not be in the Basilisk’s view. The basilisk handler slides open a hatch, revealing the monster behind bars, but plenty visible nonetheless. The challenger must make a DC 12 Constitution saving throw
or become petrified (they don’t get a second chance in this instance). The music comes to a crescendo then either becomes celebratory, or melancholy depending on the outcome. Should a contestant have second thoughts and avert their eyes, they forfeit their money.
There are those on their last leg who scrounge up all that they own to get the coin and gamble it all on this game of chance. There are those who are rich, and can afford to lose, and also afford to be restored afterwards. There are adventurers who have faced these beasts in the wild, and aren’t afraid to do it in this setting. There are statues everywhere.
The owner of the Basilisk Den is a cambion (pg. 36 MM)
, disguised as a handsome human named Brint Valotriss. He walks the floors, checking on his guests, sometimes offering a free round of drinks to certain tables, or dropping a silver or two on a table to help “up” a patron’s bet. He basks in the chaos and misery his casino tavern brings, but also gets a kick out of those who strike it big.
There are eight bar maids (commoners)
who serve the customers their food and drink, four cooks (commoners)
, two bartenders (commoners),
and twenty floormen (thugs pg. 350)
who patrol the tavern watching for cheaters. The floormen are supervised by a large half-orc (veteran pg. 350 MM + Relentless Endurance)
known as The Green Ox
. Some call him “Grox”
for short. He’s starting to come around to that name.
The Basilisk Den can hold up to 250 customers. 300 if packed.
Falstaff had that dream again. He was at the trade show booth, dressed in the unofficial uniform- dress shirt (no logo), fleece zip up vest (with logo). He looked down and noticed he had his old company's logo. He was high again. The axe was going to fall and it'd all start over. submitted by
He woke in his inflatable swimming pool full of pillows. He did the inventory as his body reminded him of its complaints. Falstaff was nauseous (hangover), in pain (wear and tear) but not much self loathing. Waking up was easy, but getting up required negotiation. He fought his body's urge to vomit and crawled to the tasteful nightstand table, retreiving a variety of pills, washing them down with scotch and melted ice. He drifted for a bit, staring at the skylight in the garage, trying to enjoy the floating feeling but gave up, unsatisfied.
He then remembered that he sent that girl, Rachel to see if anyone was still running rigs through his portion of the Interstate. He wanted to be careful- take only what he needed, and without anybody outside finding out what was going or that he had been hiding here for a few months.
He dug around in the pillows and found a battered tablet. A few pokes rewarded him with some music and news from back in the world. He let the nausea, pain and worry leave him and he floated for a while, working out what tools he'd need for his venture outside.
His revelry ended with an annoying buzz from the tablet. Something tripped the motion sensors. More poking at the tablet revealed two figures walking up the driveway. He knew their gait but not their names.
They could be trouble. Falstaff pulled himself out of the swimming pool and threw on the Supremely Thick (tm) microfiber bathrobe and walked to the railing. His pillow-bed, desk and assorted lounging furniture populated the mezzanine of the garage, looking over a shop floor that could hold two buses if it wasn't full of vehicles in various states of disassembly and modification. The tablet showed the two visitors had separated and were slowly walking towards the back of the garage, testing the windows. Falstaff walked over to a wall rack made of resin hands and selected a long Russian bolt-action rifle with an equally long bayonet attached, going for burled walnut presence rather than plastic efficiency.
The two figures had reunited at the back of the garage and were attempting to open the metal door. Falstaff hobbled to a window that overlooked the door, opened it and pushed the rifle and the upper third of his body through the opening.
"Kids, go away" he muttered as he pointed the rifle in their direction.
Paul, the taller of the two looked up sullenly at Falstaff.
"But we brought your pet back"
A third boy pushed an electric bike and Rachel stomped behind, dejected and crying angry tears.
For a hard moment, Falstaff considered shooting Paul and his little gang of teenagers. But for all of his flaws and bad habits, he wasn't a killer.
Paul wanted something valuable he could sell to the occasional tourist or the gangs closer to civilization. A full vial of opiates and three unlocked, prepaid phones on good plans got lowered down in a weathered old casino coin bucket. The boys smiled and walked off, leaving Rachel to stand, fists balled. Of course the smallest one knocked over Brother's bicycle on their way back to the road and their truck.
Falstaff pulled himself out of the window, walked downstairs and opened the thick metal door. He slung the rifle on his shoulder and let Rachel in. He walked out, retreived the bike and pushed it through the door after her.
Falstaff retreived a ceramic bottle full of filtered water from the refigerator and offered it to her.
"Rachel, have some cold water. It will make you feel better"
"Rat. I'm Rat. Don't call me Rachel"
"Ok, Rat. Have some water and tell me what you saw"
Rat, still angry, took the bottle, pulled the stopper and drank greedily. Falstaff had good water. It didn't taste like the motel water or that one time she went to the border, where things were both shinier and still familiar.
She fell into an overstuffed chair in what she hoped looked like defiance. She wasn't going to give Falstaff the opportunity to think that she was just a weak girl. She was tougher than that.
Falstaff sat uncomfortably on a crate a two meters away from Rat.
"Six of them tried to push an old car into the rig with their truck"
"Did they stop the rig?"
"No. It bounced off the side and the rig kept going"
Falstaff jumped off the crate, letting out a whispered curse as he stood up.
"That impact is going to get logged and uploaded when the rig comes into a depot back in the Remaining Semi-United States. I need more details if I'm going to fix it"
"Fix what? I'm in trouble here, for doing something. Mike’s going to find out and kill me"
Falstaff frowned. He wasn't back in the industry, where there were rules. Instead he had to consider someone else's complex needs as a human.
"So, he's a strappy enough lad. A new game perhaps? An upgrade for his bicycle?"
"He's going to be angry at me"
"I'll text him now and tell him that you're ok. I'll make it up to him. And you"
Falstaff realized that Rat must be hungrier than he was. He tried to have a less goal directed conversation with Rat while he made them heaping plates of scrambled eggs, diced peppers and toast. Hank, smelling hot food, waltzed over and stared at Falstaff until he made a smaller third plate and put it on the floor.
They ate in silence. A minute or two after the eating stopped, Falstaff pointed at the shower downstairs and bid Rat clean up a bit before he’d take her back to the motel where she lived.
Falstaff changed into more presentable and rugged clothing, then packed a mostly complete hybrid compact with some canned foodstuffs and a bag of tools and other gear. A reproduction 1870’s Colt revolver went under the seat.
He smiled at the contrast of old and new, then strapped the bicycle that came with Rat as well as a new, shiny model, fresh out of the box.
Rat was still showering. Quelling a moment of resentment for her using all his hot water and half of his cold, he realized that she had a far harder morning.
Rat finished and dressed, but slowly gathered her other things. A bit of prompting got her to finally pack her things while Falstaff opened the door, rolled the car out, then closed the door behind him. Rat slowly walked to the car and flopped in the seat with an audible thump.
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the motel parking lot. Mike stood, wearing what he thought was his most threatening outfit-boxer’s shorts and a t-shirt of a currently popular martial arts prizefighter. He probably had some inexpensive, high density fiberboard nunchucks in his waistband.
Falstaff waved to him.
“I’m proud of you for being so protective of your sister and I’d like to reward you.” Pointing at the bicycles on the roof, he smiled, hoping he looked sincere. He could never tell.
Some glowering from Mike as Rat walked quickly back to their room. Falstaff took the opportunity to get out and start unstrapping the bicycles. Mike looked at the sleek black bike and couldn’t think of any reason he wasn’t supposed to take it. He could still be angry at Falstaff and ride it.
Mike and Falstaff took both bicycles down. Mike took the bike around the parking lot, then into the frontage road and was no longer angry at Falstaff.
Falstaff brought his bags of canned food and brought them to the motel room where Rat and Mike lived. A few other residents of the motel watched him walk up the stairs with suspicion.
Two types of people came to the Motel. Some came to go somewhere else, while others had no where else to go. The watching residents had no illusions about their options, but Falstaff looked like he had options.
Yet he stuck around.
Falstaff quietly put the bags on a clean kitchen counter and walked to Rat, sitting on the couch, watching a video on a battered tablet.
“Now you don’t have to steal a bicycle any more. You’ve got one of your own that you can keep.”
She didn’t look up.
Falstaff walked out of the room and back down to his waiting car. He put the car in drive and slowly drove out of the motel parking lot, stopping for Mike.
Mike spoke first this time.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I asked Rachel to help me with something and I figured I owed all of you”
“When I need muscle, I’ll come to you. I left some food upstairs in case you get low. Now that you have a new bike, can you give your old one to Rachel?”
Michael nodded, then bicycled off with a recorded whoosh. After a minute, Falstaff made his way to the Interstate, matching Rat’s earlier trip. He saw the old, smashed truck still on the road. Aiming the truck at a convenient washout, he pushed the truck with his car, making its motor’s whine a full octave lower.
The physical work done, he pulled out his laptop and a few antennas, confirming what he had noted before- no good cell signal. Perfect for his needs.
This was a better place to hunt trucks.
Continuing. submitted by
After the third pony keg of beer was delivered, it was decided that the next few days would be spent in the conference room discussing what we thought was the best way forward.
We wanted dry-erase boards so we could start taking detailed notes, even though I was well ahead of the curve in that regard. We instead ended up with some mobile elementary-school blackboards and a pile of grainy, sooty chalk.
Leave it to Dr. Cliff to go into a discourse on the genesis of chalk and its economic importance.
Bloody carbonate geologists.
Bloody White Cliffs.
We geologists need to punctuate their conversations with pictures, so these would suffice quite well.
At 1700 hours, the official end to the workday was called; we’d meet here again tomorrow. I’m not certain by whom, but it was readily agreed upon. We were more or less on our own until 1000 the next day. I needed to spend some time in my room with my notes and update a number of dossiers, field notebooks, and other items I was using as a running chronicle.
Several folks decided to invade one of the hotel’s restaurants for dinner. Some wanted to head to the casino, a couple wanted to get a massage, and others wanted to do what tourists are normally wont to do on the second day of being a foreigner in a foreign land.
I declined invitations to dinner and other activities, as I had a long writing session in front of me. I wanted to get this all in its proper place while the memories and notes were still fresh.
30 minutes later, in my room after a 25-minute wait for the elevator; I’m updating dossiers, creating several new ones, and updating my field notebooks. Suddenly, after an hour’s work, I notice something is amiss.
“I don’t have a drink or a cigar,” I said to the four walls. “This. Will. Not. Do.”
I was used to Happy Hour in Russia. Happy hour is slightly different; there are no ice cubes or orange-peel twists in the vodka. Also, it lasts all day.
I remedy that situation by finding and clipping a nice, oily oscuro cigar and digging the bourbon out from under my boxer-briefs in my dresser drawer. I heft the bottle and feel that it’s significantly lighter than when I left it last night. I happen to look in the trash can and spy the wrapper for a box of my festively colored Sobranie cigarettes I obtained back in Dubai.
“Hmmm”, I think, “It would appear that we have some light-fingered Cho Louies or No Louises around here. I’d best guard my supplies a little more securely.”
I move all my smokeables into one of my now emptied aluminum travel cases. They lock with the stoutest of combinations and it will be readily apparent if anyone is fucking with them.
I move some of my best booze into the pretty much worthless in-room safe. With a deft application of duct tape, I seal the safe. It may not be the most secure spot on the planet, but if anyone tries anything troublesome, they’ll leave an immediately recognizable record of what they were up to. It’s just too obvious; they’d have to be crazy to go in after anything inside there.
My money, keys, and passports are in the safe deposit box down in the lobby that the hotel supplies for visiting dignitaries. Even so, they let me keep my shit in one of them anyway.
That handled, I spend another hour writing like a madman. I suddenly realize I’m tired of all this and need a diversion as well as some food and, of course, drink.
30 minutes later, I’m down in the byzantine basement tunnels of the hotel. It’s crowded with hordes of Chinse tourists, and the casino is ground zero for the incredibly loud chatter.
I look in on the bowling alleys all three of them, and they’re full. The massage parlor is hopping, although I leave my name and they promise they will call over the PA when a suitable masseuse is available. Evidently, I ‘intimidate’ some of the more demure ones.
I wander over to the bar, now there’s a surprise, and see it’s packed to the rafters as well. I decide to wait for a seat to open up on Mahogany Ridge when there’s some gargling over the PA and a pair of Chinese nationals leave the bar in great haste.
I grab one of the two newly open seats, much to the chagrin of a couple of Oriental Unidentifiables (OU) who had their eye on them as well.
“Sorry, mate”, I said, “First come, first served. It’s the capitalist way.”
One of the pair grabs a seat and the other just stands there, looking annoyed unspent bullets in my direction. Forget that I’ve literally twice their size and could be an aberration as an angry American. They just order a couple of drinks, and content themselves in giving me dirty looks and probably say nasty things in their own indecipherable language about my national origin and familial heritage.
As if I gave the tiniest of rodental shits.
I fire up a cigar, as literally everyone else in the joint was smoking something more or less tobacco. However, there was a definite barnyard aroma, a regular Dairy Air, in the room. I think some of what was being smoked there was more bovine or equine in origin than botanical in nature.
With numerous hilarious attempts at Korean, pointing at a garishly photographed drinks menu, I was finally served a cold draft house steam porter and 100 milliliters of probably ersatz ‘Russian’ vodka, vintage late last Thursday. This bartender that could at least form some of the phonemes found in American English. A few. A definite few.
Since it all cost the equivalent of US$0.50, I really didn’t care.
Apparently vodka helps flowers last longer when they're dying. But you can put vodka in anything and it'll make it better.
Being a trained observer, I rather enjoy just sitting in any old bar, smoking my cigar, drinking my Yorshch, and watching people. I try and not be intrusive and I never eavesdrop, but I like to try and think of what strange set of circumstances brought us all here together in this place at this time. It gives me writing ideas, some of which I jot down in a notebook I always carry. It also gives me a good shot of nostalgia when I look back at something I wrote some 40 or so years ago.
Yeah, old habits do die hard.
I take a drag off my cigar and set it in the ashtray in front of me on the bar as I go to correct another egregious misspelling in my notebook. I have to immediately proofread what I wrote, or I’d never recall later what the fuck I was trying to convey; especially if it’s in a noisy, smoky, or murky milieu.
Quicker than a bunny fucks, Unidentifiable Oriental #1 (UO #1) deftly reaches over, snags my cigar, and helps himself to a few mouthy puffs.
I look at him, the empty ashtray directly in front of me, him again, and then UO #2.
Since I speak no real Oriental, much less Korean, language, and my Mandarin at this point is worse than laughable; I just point to the cigar, turn out my hands and shrug my shoulders in the international “What the actual fuck, dude?” gesture.
He just smiles a gappy, toothy, and snaggle-toothed at that, grin at me and makes a point of ensuring that I see him enjoying a few more drags on my own damned cigar.
Not able to contain myself any further, I venture a “What the fuck, chuckles? That’s not your fucking cigar.”
Like gasoline being tossed on a fire-ring full of embers, they both go unconditionally incoherently insane.
Yammering, chattering, jumping up and down, and getting right into my face. They wanted me to unquestionably understand that my few words of English insulted them far more than their filching of my $20 cigar.
OK, I’m pretty well trained in Hapkido; an oddly, given the present situation, hybrid Korean martial art. I’m at least 6 or 7 inches taller and who knows how many stone/kilos/pounds/Solar masses heavier than these two clowns. I could easily go all Gojira on their hapless asses and mop significant expanses of the floorboards with them.
Instead, I look around for the bartender. I figured since I was keeping him well supplied with Korean won via tips, and he spoke some English as well as perhaps whatever the fuck these characters were chattering; maybe he could get to the bottom of what was happening.
The bartender walks over and I ask him to ask the two unidentifiable twins why they stole my cigar.
He nods in agreement and goes on in whatever the fuck dialect was being used today by the pair.
“They say they wanted it. So they took it.” They ask, “What are you going to do about it?” the bartender relates.
I deftly reach inside my field vest, as everyone concerned ducks and covers.
I extract two fresh cigars; not a .454 Casull Magnum.
I give one cigar to the bartender and one to OU#2.
“With my compliments.” I pleasantly say.
I was well apprised of the fact that in certain places like this, the local authorities often approach foreigners with, for the lack of a better term, ‘Agents Provocateur
Like the Westboro Baptist “Church”, they try to get a rise out of you so you’ll lose your cool and either create a scene or take a poke at the miscreant. Then they have all the pretext they require to drag you to the local hoosegow, shake you down for every penny on your person, as well as any phones, notebooks, wallets, passports, cigars, cigarettes, etc.
Basically, they goad you into a fight, then drop the thousand-pound shit-hammer when you retaliate.
It’s all so parochial. So obviously clear as vodka; this elementary charade only raised a single eyebrow.
I’m not going to even raise my voice over a couple of cheap cigars that neither of them noticed I slipped them instead of the premium ones I was smoking.
Thus defeated, I asked the bartender to ask them if they liked the cigar.
“What do you think?” I asked in cordial English, “Too tightly rolled? Not caged enough? Too green?”
UO #2 slipped and said “It smells very good…” where he realizes he’s blown his cover.
“Yeah, I like it too.”, I replied, “So much so, I buy my own. What are your badge numbers, boys? I will be reporting this incident to Inspector P'aeng Yeong-Hwan, the head of security for the IUPGS conference to which I was invited as special scientific consultant.”
Of course, they immediately dummy up and feign illiteracy.
I say loudly and very clearly, “You bastards aren’t gonna get away with this. I mean, what is going on in this country when scumsuckers like you can get away with trying to sandbag a Doctor of Geological Sciences?”
I ask the bartender to translate, but alas, it was too late. They vamoosed when I turned to talk with the bartender.
They left so fast, they didn’t notice me snapping their pictures with my ancient but trusty Nokia 3310, revised edition, during our little chat. Even with a mere 2-megapixel picture, I have enough to show the North Korean leaders of the project to get an identification and make known my displeasure of being treated like some commoner or buffoon.
They left both my cigar and the one I gave them. The bartender tucked the cigar I gave him into his pocket and stared lustily at the two remaining on the bar.
“Take’em”, I said. I sure as fuck don’t want them. “Just a clean ashtray and a refill, if you would be so kind,” I say, as pleasantly as possible, considering the situation.
Both the unsmoked and my smoldering, as well as well-traveled, cigar disappear as quickly as minks rut. A clean, new ashtray, double beer and ‘vodka’ suddenly appear.
“No charge, Dr. Rock”, the bartender grins, as he shoves my erstwhile high-mileage cigar between his teeth.
“OK, fair enough.”, I say, “Spaseebah.”, and deposit a raft of won on the bar. The pile won’t be touched until after I leave in a few hours’ time.
“Stranger in a strange land.” I muse over a couple of further beers.
The call from the massage parlor never came, or it did and I couldn’t hear it over the clamor of the casino. I went up to the hotel’s Korean restaurant; had some salty soup, a sad, sad salad, and some form of funky fish, I think, for dinner. I retired that night in a slightly foul mood.
I called Es then the next morning and caught her before she retired. With a 14 hour difference between us, I was getting up at 0700 and she was getting ready to hit the hay at 2100.
I told her of the events of the day previous, and she was glad she wasn’t tagging along. She would have never accused the Korean geologists of being behind the times and would have probably bent the guy’s nose that swiped my cigar.
Agreed, that she’d probably be unimpressed with this place. I promised her that we’d go on a holiday when I returned from all this. It would be up to her to find out ‘where,’ and I’d supply the ‘when’ when I could.
Everything else was going along smoothly, more or less, on the home front, and I didn’t want to give the local listening-in federales
too much to say grace over, so we said our parting admirations and rang off.
Shower, shower sunriser of real vodka and citrus, a quick brush and comb, and spiff of cargo shorts and new ghastly Hawaiian shirt; 30 minutes later, back down in the restaurant for the inevitable breakfast buffet.
After what some would consider breakfast and others would consider a vague attempt at nourishment, we reconvened in the conference room precisely at 1012.
Nothing like precision with this group.
We spend the next two days going over, in various groups, what we think would be required to set forth proper the quest for oil and gas in North Korea on track. Everyone got in on the act, and we advocated for that. We needed everyone’s input to make this happen. Or to even map a way forward to present to country officials. Those from the West on what was needed and those from the East to tell us what was available, and the combined wetware to make what needed to be done happen with what existed.
It took no small amount of doing, but we secured a set of maps that covered the entire country. We were watched very closely by the shiny suit squad that we did not copy, photograph or otherwise take any extraneous information from these sheets of infamy. All other maps in the country were intentionally skewed, with errors deliberately added in to confuse “interlopers, spies, or other personas non grata
I made a massive stink and told them that if we didn’t receive the unfuckered maps, aerial photographs and satellite imagery pronto, we’re packing up and leaving that afternoon.
“We don’t have time for monks resisting the carnival. We didn’t come here to try and guess if the maps are correct or if our remedies will actually work on maps that say one thing and reality says something else entirely.”
They hemmed and hawed, but as I made the announcement to all before lunch that if the real maps didn’t appear by the time we returned from tiffin, we’re gone.
And we take tiffin purty durn early round these parts, buckaroo.
No one was surprised as I when we returned and there were folio after folio of government-uncensored maps, photos, and imagery for our program. I guess they finally reasoned it would be a relatively good idea to begin to take us seriously.
We spent one whole day just going over our field geological apparatus. They had a good idea of how to use a direction-finder compass and Jacob’s staff to measure sections. However, they were totally flummoxed by our Brunton Compasses, GPS systems, curiously referred to as ‘position finders’, notebook mapping applications, and electronic data storage and retrieval systems.
Gad. It was like being back in the 1970s before PCs were a glimmer in IBM's corporate orbs.
We spent the next week working to bring our less fortunate colleagues up to, well, not date, but at least up to the brink of the 21st century. We explained that plate tectonics, continental drift, and the precession of the continents was accepted geoscientific principles, not some arcane Capitalist or Socialist plot to undermine the quality of science in the east.
Yep. It was that mindset we had to first conquer. I think we’ve made great headway in that direction today.
The next Chautauqua session had us split up into two separate groups. We decided in a fit of Cesarean inquiry to ‘divide and conquer’. There are two distinct milieus
which are able to contain economic deposits of hydrocarbons: onshore and offshore.
Instead of attacking both head-on, we’d focus initially on the offshore domain. Once we had a good handle on what was going on under the East Korean Sea, the Huangai (Yellow) Sea and surreptitiously, the South Sea; we’d collaborate our findings and work to tie them in and extend them onshore.
The singular Phyongnam Basin is the one large depositional, sedimentological, and structural basin in North Korea. It is filled by the Joeson and Pyeongan Supergroups of sediments, which are Cambro-Ordovician and Permocarboniferous, respectively. These are good hunting grounds for oil and gas. Could be elephant–hunting
But before we could undertake that, we had to get ‘back to basics’. That is, we had to understand and delineate the ‘frame’ of the Korean Peninsula. In other words, we needed to figure out how and when the peninsula came into existence.
South Korea’s geology is much more complex, fortunately than that found in the North. There were nasty side comments that were due to the relative development not of the geology, but of the geologists who studied each country’s geology.
It was, perhaps, a mean way of characterizing the situation. But, unfortunately, it was also probably fairly accurate.
The Korean Peninsula is characterized by huge massifs
, which are sections of a crust that are demarcated by faults or flexures. In the movement of the crust, a massif tends to retain its internal structure while being displaced as a whole. The term also refers to a group of mountains formed by such a structure. It’s basically one huge, semi-resilient rock.
The basement rocks of the Korean Peninsula consist of high-grade gneiss and schist, Paleoproterozoic Precambrian massifs, which formed in the early stage of Earth’s history. These rocks are unconformably overlain by metasedimentary rocks; schist, quartzite, marble, calcsilicate, and amphibolite, of the Middle to Late Proterozoic. The Korean Peninsula is floored by a collation of about five of these huge Precambrian massifs that acted like ‘microplates’ during the aggregation of the peninsula. These massifs consist of thick dolostone, metavolcanics, and schist, which were intruded by Paleoproterozoic granites.
These Paleoproterozoic metasedimentary and granitic rocks underwent repeated intracrustal differentiation, followed by the events of cratonization, i.e., regional metamorphism and igneous activity, at 1.9-1.8 Ga. Sediments deposited in the peripheral basins during the Mesoproterozoic and Neoproterozoic lead to stabilization as the basement of the peninsula.
These early depositional basins formed the locus of deposition that continued on from the Proterozoic through the Phanerozoic. There are at least three, perhaps four, depositional basins in the south which are delimited by structural zones, such as the South Korean Tectonic Line (SKTL), a huge zone of continental transform faults and forms the basis of boundary demarcation between the Okcheon and Taebaeksan basins.
The boundary between the Seochangri Formation of the Okcheon Basin and the Joseon Supergroup of the Taebaeksan Basin in the Bonghwajae area is a thrust (or reverse‐slip shear zone). This thrust is presumably a relay structure (i.e. a restraining bend) between two segments of a continental transform fault (the South Korean Tectonic Line or SKTL), along which the Okcheon Basin of the South China Craton was juxtaposed against the Taebaeksan Basin of the North China Craton during the Permian–Triassic suturing of the two cratons.
In the late Proterozoic, sedimentation was initiated in basins of the Korean Peninsula, accompanied by deposition of siliciclastic and volcaniclastic sediments as well as carbonates. The massifs were submerged in the Early Paleozoic during a greenhouse period, forming a shallow marine platform and associated environments.
The Cambrian-Ordovician succession unconformably overlies Precambrian granite gneiss. It consists of mixed carbonate-siliciclastic rocks of sandstone, shale, and shallow-marine carbonates. Sedimentation was initiated in the Early Cambrian with a global rise in sea level on the stable craton of the Sino-Korean Block.
There was a major break in sedimentation during the Silurian and Devonian periods in the entire platform. During the Carboniferous to early Triassic, sedimentation was resumed in coastal plain and swamp environments with progradation of deltas.
Major tectonic events were initiated in the Triassic when the South China Block collided with the Sino-Korean Block. The eastern part of the Sino-Korean Block rotated clockwise and moved southward relative to the South China Block along the SKTL.
In the Middle-Late Jurassic, orthogonal subduction of the paleo-Pacific plate under the Asian continent caused compression and thrust deformation. A number of piggyback basins formed along the thrust faults in the east of the SKTL. At the same time, the entire peninsula was prevailed by granite batholiths, especially along the northeast-southwest-trending tectonic belt.
In the Cretaceous Period, the paleo-Pacific Plate subducted northward under the Asian continent, forming numerous extensional (left-lateral strike-slip) basins in the southern part of the peninsula and the Yellow Sea. A large back-arc basin was initiated in the southeastern part.
In the Paleogene, both the volcanic arc and the back-arc basin ceased to develop, as volcanic activities shifted eastward, accompanied by a rollback of the subduction of the Pacific plate. In the Miocene, pull-apart (right-lateral) basins formed in the eastern continental margin.
The Korea Plateau experienced continental rifting accompanied by extensive volcanism during the extensional opening of the southern offshore basin. It subsided more than 1000 m below sea level.
So, as South Korea was mix- mastered by a half-a-billion years’ worth of structural tectonism, which created several depositional basins quite capable of generating and storing economic quantities of oil and gas, the scene to the north was much more quiescent.
The North was composed, from south to north, of the relict Imjingang Belt, which was an old back-arc basin between the Gyeonggi Massif to the south and the Nagrim Massif to the north. It is a paleo-subduction zone, full of volcanics, volcaniclastics and other non-hydrocarbon bearing rocks. It was mashed and metamorphosed, and basically forms a convenient boundary between the complex geology of the South and the more relaxed geology of the North.
Heading north, we come across the Pyeongnam Basin, the only North Korean basin thus far defined that could contain hydrocarbons. Further north is the huge Nangrim Massif. It’s a huge block of igneous and metamorphic rocks that weather very nicely and form some spectacular scenery, but from an oil and gas economic outlook are worthless.
Offshore North Korea, there are two possible petroliferous basins. The offshore West Korea Bay Basin and East Sea Basin, along with five onshore basins could be offering exploration potential. At least ten exploration wells have been drilled in the West Sea, with some showing “good oil shows” along with the identification of a number of potential reservoirs.
The West Sea potentially has oil and has reportedly flowed oil at reasonable rates from at least two exploration wells when they were drilled and tested in the 1980s. Meanwhile, the East Sea has seen Russian exploration efforts previously including the drilling of two wells, both of which reportedly encountered encouraging shows of oil and gas.
Onshore, there has been little exploration to date, apart from efforts by the Korean Oil Exploration Corporation and also recently by Mongolia’s HBOil JSC (HBO). Among five main onshore sedimentary sub-basins, the largest is south of the capital; while unconfirmed reports point to a 1-trillion-cubic-foot (tcf) discovery in 2002.
Historically DPRK was thought to consist of five under-explored geological basins, the
• Gilju-Myongchon and
• Sinuiju, Basins.
These basins are all located more or less along the coast, rather than inland. This also points to a certain degree of geological aptitude; as it’s much easier to explore along the more populated coast than it is to venture inland. There may be more hiding in the interior of the country, it’s just that no one’s looked as of yet. That’s difficult. Exploring along the coast is much easier.
With 3 basins supposedly proven to have working petroleum systems; 22 wells have been drilled and the majority are said to have encountered hydrocarbons with some wells testing production at 75 barrels of oil per day of light sweet crude oil. This has yet to be documented or confirmed by the Korea Oil Exploration Corp (KOEC), North Korea’s state-run oil company.
Yeah, our work was definitely cut out for us.
It was decided that a series of excursions offshore in one of the few remaining seaworthy, which was a real judgment call, KOEC seismic boats would be appropriate. The one we received use of was an old, decommissioned Chamsuri-class patrol boat, one Chamsuri-215(참수리-215), PKMR-215 in particular.
It had been basically stripped to the gunwales and completely retrofitted as a seismic acquisition and recording vessel. It had been renamed: “조선 민주주의 인민 공화국 영광” or “Glory of Democratic People's Republic of Korea Science”.
In reality, it was an aging rust-bucket piece of shit that might have possibly seen better days but wasn’t letting on. All the military nonsense, except the powder magazine, had been removed and a new superstructure consisting of slap-dash hunks of poorly-welded low-carbon, cold-rolled steel were erected to form a pilothouse in the area where the bridge once existed. They also built, extra haphazardly, a shooter’s room, galley, cold and wet storage areas, recording room, and storage of tapes and the extra bits and pieces needed for a none-too-extended stay on the sea. It was, being charitable, almost utilitarian.
They could not make their own water, so trip times were limited to about three days in length. Besides, they didn’t really have a hot galley, so it was cold, canned Chinese chow for the next 72 hours. They had a couple of fairly sturdy yardarms with heavy winches to handle the towed seismic arrays of geophones, which were of ancient heritage and showed it. These were probably appropriated back in the 80s or perhaps earlier when they first thought about opening their waters for seismic exploration.
They ‘borrowed’ most of the sensing and recording equipment back then from oilfield service companies and simply forgot to return it once finished. Since they burned that bridge so glowingly, they couldn’t get parts nor service when things failed. Being delicate seismic sensing and recording equipment, fail they did.
So, we had to use what was leftover, or what DPRK industries could cobble together, or what could be salvaged from salt-water drenched recording equipment that hadn’t been too heavily cared for over the span of the last 50 years.
We weren’t terribly optimistic.
So, we load the good ship ‘Rorrypop’, as Viv christened the thing, and head out to the wilds of the Yellow Sea. It was an abbreviated foreign crew, as there was really nothing other than upchuck and curse me soundly for insisting the non-geophysical scientists came along.
Aboard were the two geophysicists, naturally; Volna and Activ. I was there stick-handling the logistics and hoping to help out with the geophysical signal source explosives.
Morse and Cliff, the two other geologists accompanied us on the trip, and Dax decided to go with me as he figured I’d have access to the best booze no matter where we went.
The remainder of the team, the geochemists, Erlan and Ivan, the geomechanic, Iskren, the PT, Joon, and the two REs, Viv and Grako, remained behind onshore at the hotel. They set forth cataloging what data was available; from what sources, it’s vintage, veracity, and usefulness.
Augean tasks, both. Not as fecaliferous as Hercules’ jobs, but still, they held their own rations of shit for each sub-team.
Heading seaward, the Yellow Sea extends by about 960 km (600 mi) from north to south and about 700 km (430 mi) from east to west; it has an area of approximately 380,000 km2
and a volume of about 17,000 km3
Its depth is only 44 m (144 ft) on average, with a maximum of 152 m (499 ft). The sea is a flooded section of the continental shelf that formed during the Late Pleistocene (some 10,000 years ago) as sea levels rose 120 m (390 ft) to their current levels. The depth gradually increases from north to south. The sea bottom and shores are dominated by sand and silt brought by the rivers through the Bohai Sea and the Yalu River. These deposits, together with sand storms are responsible for the yellowish color of the water referenced in the sea's name.
Being shallow, the Yellow Sea is more perturbed by the frequent seasonal storms of the region. The area has cold, dry winters with strong northerly monsoons blowing from late November to April. I was told that the summers are wet and warm with frequent typhoons between June and October; but now all we had to contend with were swelling seas, spraying saltwater, waggling waves, and a shivering, shimmying ship.
All the navigation, communications and other shiply duties were being handled by both members of the DPRK Coast Guard Auxiliary, mostly older guys who were of great and high humorous jest; and an actual pleasure to be around. They were like their scientific cadre on this cruise, basically a political ‘give a shit’ attitude, and a desire to get the job done, smoke the American’s cigars and drink as much as we could get away with.
The scientific portion of the cruise was being undertaken by students of the various universities and members of the North Korean national oil company. The demeanors of these characters ranged from extremely earnest and stringently North Korean politically correct in the students and academicians, to a more relaxed ‘yeah, let’s just get the fucking job done so we can have a lot of drinks’ sort of view of the older members of the DPRK scientific team.
It was a fun admixture of cultures, ages, professions, and behaviors.
Oh, forgive me for forgetting to mention our ‘guides’, or handlers. They were also chosen, nay, ordered to come along. Landlubbers all, they were less than thrilled with the assignment and inevitable seasickness; which seemed endemic to those of Oriental extraction on the cruise. However, our guides did enjoy drinking. As we learned that alcohol is a central part of Korean culture, and they encouraged us to socialize with them when the time was appropriate.
Or, not appropriate, as I was being denounced by one of the geophysical students after only a few hours into our very first day. Hell, we weren’t even in the Yellow Sea proper. We started here at Pyongyang, down the Taedong River, over the Giva Dam, through Pushover, across Shmoeland, to the stronghold of Shmoe; into the very belly of the frothing Yellow Sea.
Most everyone, other than the foreign elements on board, were either making the trip in the bowels of the ship; nursing and cursing seasickness; or by rail, doing exactly the same thing.
“Chum it over the side, ya’ blinkered mucker!”, I admonished one bottle-greenish national. “This ain’t the Captain‘s mess, Chuckles. You
have to clean up your own spew!”
I was reveling in getting back out on the water and regaining my sea legs. I never
Be it a seismic vessel in the heaving Arctic Ocean, a pirogue in the swamps of Louisiana, my cousin’s fishin’ johnboat back in northern Baja Canada, a US nuclear submarine under the permanent pack ice of the North Pole, or VLCC in the Straits of Somaliland; I just don’t get seasick.
Airsick? Nah. Carsick? Nope. Ready to puke in a Hind-20 over the Caspian Sea during a strong local thunderstorm? Close, but no cigar.
So, I’m doing a Titanic scene recreation. Up in the very bow of the craft, standing in stark defiance of the gusting winds and blowing salt spray, smoking a huge cigar, and totting out of one of my emergency flasks while trying to hang on to my Stetson. I am also endeavoring to remain upright, field vest and really, really ghastly Hawaiian shirt billowing in the breeze.
I’m not certain if it was the cigar smoke, the wind-whipped beard, and hair, the give a fuck attitude, or the flapping of the Hawaiian shirt to which the little local geophysicist objected. But he was pissed
. Olive-green with seasickness, rubber-kneed but still standing a good social-distance away, reading me the riot act in high-pitched Korean.
As I usually do in such delicate situations, I just smile and wave. Show them I’m mostly harmless and they either cool down or get pissed off even more and stomp off in disgust.
Either one was a winning situation for me in my book.
So, I return to doing my ship’s figurehead imitation and revel in the wind, spray, and feeling of really being booming. Sure, some might complain of the cold, but not me, the sting of the salt-spray or the windburn; but I eschew what most people enjoy as ‘normal weather’. I live for pushing the boundaries. I love rough weather and situations that thrust the edge of the envelope further past normalcy.
Besides, we were still in sight of land. Hell, if everything went south at this very minute, one could practically walk back to shore. I can hardly wait to see what these wigglers will do if a night storm comes up when were 100 or more kilometers from land.
The boat’s thrumming heavily from both the thrust of the Soviet-era diesel engines and the craft’s bludgeoning its way through the waves. Most hull designs are so the ship will ‘cut’ through the surface waters. This craft’s flattened trihedral hull design didn’t so much ‘cut’, as ‘slam’ it’s way through. The boat would then crash up one side and smash down the other of each large wave we encountered. The boat would shudder whole, adding a new note of resonance along with the monotonous one-note song of the aged Russian diesels.
The spray would fly, the boat would convulse, time would seem to freeze until we bashed into the next wave. The captain of the vessel took his orders very seriously. “Get to coordinates XXX
by the most expedient means possible.” If that meant charging, full-throttle into the teeth of the oncoming monsoon-force wind while we were traversing the worst kelp jungle I’ve seen this side of the Sargasso Sea; well, piss on it, full steam ahead.
“Fuck it”, I thought, “Not my pony, not my show. Let’s see how this plays out.” While I light a new cigar and search for Emergency Flask #2.
After I’d been upbraided by the geophysical student for transgressions still unknown, Cliff and Dax wander out to ask me what the hell I was up to.
“Have you gone completely barmy?”, Cliff asked. “It’s a full gale out here and you’re standing in the teeth of it like it was a warm, sunny Sunday in Piccadilly.”
“Nope, not at all”, I replied, “Just reveling in the delights of an angry atmosphere.”
“He’s nuts, I told you”, Dax smirked, “He’d go anywhere and do anything to have a cigar.”
“Not just a cigar, me old mucker”, I smiled and waved my second emergency flack under his nose.
“Figures”, they both respond in unison.
Dax departs and returns mere seconds later with paper Dixie-style cups he liberated from the ship’s one head. We are going to do our very best to extend the lifetime of the onboard water supply for our scientific and military friends. I pour them each a cup full.
“Whoa, Doc”, that’s gotta be 100 milliliters!” Cliff objects.
“As the Siberian saying goes: One hundred versts, roughly a hundred miles, is no distance. A hundred rubles isn't worthwhile money. And a hundred grams of vodka just makes you thirsty. Prosit!” I say in reply.
We retire to the overhang on the fantail of the boat. It’s a sunshade and keeps the worst of the weather out for the lightweights on the cruise. I decided we’d withdraw there to keep these Dominionites out of the worst of the wind and sea spray.
“Rock”, Cliff notes, “You are a complete throwback. You do not belong here in the 21st century. You need to find a way back to the Calabrian and ride herd on the continental Neanderthals. Give them the gift of distilling and tobacco agriculture, and you’d reframe the world.”
Dax agrees, but notes if I do find a way back, he and Cliff would be selected against.
“Good point”, Cliff agrees. “Rock, stay here. We need your expertise now more than ever. Plus your ready supply of strong drink and cigars.”
“Glad to know that I’m truly appreciated around these parts.” I chuckled slightly acridly.
“Ah, Rock. Buck up. You know we’re only takin’ a piss.” Cliff says.
“Aim it starboard. Don’t want it blowin’ all over the seismic gear”, I reply, laughingly.
The trip continued, and I found a not-bolted-to-the-deck chair and moved it outside under the shade back by the boat’s fantail. I refreshed my emergency flasks and replenished my cigar supply. I’m not about to sit inside and listen to the wails and gnashing of teeth of the landlubber crowd, the patter and timor of the geophysical throng as they titter and argue about array design, nor the military hut-hutting all over the fucking boat.
A couple of times, one or more of our ‘handlers’ would venture out as I had the only supply of readily available smokeables and drinkables. Oh, we had food, lots of beer, soju, some knock-off vodka, and some of that faux
homebrew bourbon for later once the workday was declared over; but for now, I was the one and only dispensary.
We’d have some random chats while they screwed up their courage to ask me for a smoke or a tot of drink. I brought several bundles of really cheap-ass cigars for just such occasions; besides, I figured one of my Camacho triple-maduros would have them chumming for the remainder of the trip. I had also many, many cartons of Sobranie pastel-colored cigarettes, and many more cartons of knock-off Marlboros I bought at the duty-free when we hit town.
It was chucklingly funny to see these harsh, military, no-nonsense characters walking their duty beats smoking pastel green, lavender, and mauve cigarettes.
We got bogged down a couple of times when one or more of the ship’s twin screws fouled with kelp as we tried to put some distance between us and the shore. Each time, one really dejected low-ranking young Coast Guard character would go over the side with a rope around his waist and a knife in his hand to free the props. I was going to object as this was moronically dangerous; but, again, not my pony, not my show. This called for full proper tethering and SCUBA gear.
They had neither aboard.
Welcome to the wonders of a centrally planned economy. To be continued.
Point Defiance Cafe And Casino, best slot game app on fire, games gentoo, star casino messina-Bonus. Top Casinos → 5 0. 0. 0. Full review go to casino. Prize pool: £600 + 200 free spins. Bonus. Mobile Ready Casino; Great Selection Of Slots; 24/7 Live Support; €500. Bonus. 0-How easy was it to get this bonus? Instant and easy Reasonably simple Time consuming Very difficult. Read our full ... Dec 28, 2020 - Currently closed through March 31, 2020. Treat your family to a special day at Point Defiance Zoo & Aquarium. Where else can you see sea lions and sharks, peacocks and penguins, wolves and walrus... Point Defiance Cafe & Casino main section: This casino is located in Ruston, Washington. Point Defiance Cafe & Casino has a total of 0 slots for your enjoyment. World Casino Directory also books casino hotel reservations in Ruston. Browse our gallery of photos of Point Defiance Cafe & Casino or read recent headlines about Point Defiance Cafe & Casino on this page. Point Defiance Cafe & Casino, L.L.C. is a Washington Wa Limited-Liability Company filed on March 4, 2003. The company's filing status is listed as Administratively Dissolved and its File Number is 602276571. The Registered Agent on file for this company is Steve Fabre and is located at 5037 N Pearl St, Ruston, WA 98407. Point Defiance Casino Ruston are a lot of online casino promotion categories you can use, and they all offer an advantage to you. It is possible to double your starting capital, spin the reels of your favorite machine games online for free, and even get partially refunded Point Defiance Casino Ruston when you lose. Before heading to dinner, we stopped at the botanical garden in Point Defiance Park. Thankfully for us, the flowers were all in full bloom, the weather was gorgeous, and this wonderful place is free! There are rows and rows of amazing flowers that circle the gazebo in the
The best Easter eggs and secrets in games take hard work. These here are shining examples of the over-the-top ways players will find and accomplish things in... Casino Royale Movie CLIP - Parkour Chase (2006) HD - Duration: 7:52. Movieclips Recommended for you. 7:52 . THE RHYTHM SECTION Car Chase Official Film Clip - Duration: 1:26. Paramount Movies ... Sorry for being away so long guys! Hopefully this review makes up for it but I'm back in the swing of things and I'm already researching my next review. Than... Phinisi or Pinisi are a type of super cool Indonesian sailing vessel that date back to 1906. In the early 1970’s they were actually the largest commercial sa... Catherine Engelbrecht's Calls Out Elijah Cummings for helping the IRS Target Citizens based off their political beliefs. This video shows the strength of pa... One of the most iconic scene in movie cinema, Al and Bobby going face to face for the very first time on screen two decades after their first movie, where th... 6 big Sheepshead caught on 1/2 of an oyster! Watch this Angler catch six big Sheepshead on half a shucked oyster for bait using the wrapfishingsystem. Go to... Vegan BBQ & Point Defiance Panda Monium. Loading... Unsubscribe from Panda Monium? ... Refill Water Tank At Rest Area & Boondocking Little Creek Casino - Duration: 16:25. Panda Monium 12,444 views ... Buy An Authentic Signed GODFATHER Poster - Signed by Al Pacino: https://amzn.to/2WoZXTO Buy "The Godfather" https://amzn.to/2HCDDh0 Buy "The Godfather Trilog... IFC. Investigation Discovery. LAFC. Local Now. MLB Game of the week. MLB Network. MSNBC. Motortrend. MTV.