https://www.reddit.com/dndstories/comments/kc5k4p/the_crashed_tower_of_the_late_zephyros_skt/ - Previously our heroes found Zephyros' tower crashed in the wilderness and a bunch of stone creatures were attempting to burn all his notes; among them was a Large Dragon also made of stone but also possessed a regular Dragon's lightning breath. After crumbling all their enemies to rubble the party gathers up as much of their late Cloud Giant friend's notes as they could and put a full day's travel between them and the tower in case any other statue-like minions showed up to finish the job. .
The cast of DnD Comrades.

• Ransom - Tiefling Cleric of Thor.
• Paxton Hightower - Human Wizard.
• Otto Norona - Gnome Rogue/Fighter.
• Creedun Grungerock - Dwarven Bard.
• Sir Oswald Pinkerton - Human Paladin/Warlock.

.
Paxton spends a good part of the evening using a Language-Comprehension spell to pour over Zephyros' journal and other loose pages. He finds pages of recipes, philosophical musings, and several pages relevant to their previous experience together, along with where he went after he dropped them off in Triboar.

• 1st Page - "I picked up a group of Adventurers yesterday and am giving them a lift to their destination: Triboar. Nice bunch, not nearly as rowdy or treasure-grabby as some Adventuring groups. I especially liked that extra-small-folk with the eyepatch - Otto was his name. He got way to high off some of my less-potent pipe grass and... (at this point Paxton stopped reading to the group as he realized Otto still doesn't know what he did when he was blackout stoned).
  
• 2nd Page - "A Storm Giant Herald named Iymrith, from the court of Maelstrom visited me yesterday. She was quite condescnding to my guests, but it didn't feel right correcting a Storm Giant - Ordning or no Ordning. Iymrith claimed the Lords' Alliance murdered Queen Neri, and when King Hekaton went to confront them he went missing. Iymrith also added that Hekaton's youngest daughter sits on the throne, but that her inexperience is throwing the court into chaos and weakening the Storm Giants' Influence.
  
• 3rd Page - "That thing the Storm Giant Herald told me last week has been weighing heavily on my mind. If the Lords' Alliance is truly behind Neri's death and Hekaton's disappearance, might they also be responsible for the Ordning breaking in the first place? I will finally make my pilgrimage to the 'Eye of the All-Father' to seek answers for myself."
  
• 4th Page - "This temple is much more magnificent that I'd imagined; our ancestors were the pinnacle of Giant-kind to have made all this. The bad news is that it's about as cold as one would expect this far North. On the other hand, for some good news: I finally formulated some pipe-grass with the right potency for myself but now I'm TOO high - I grabbed the wrong weapon and stumbled off with it, hahahahahahaHahaha. Did I really just take the time to write out 'haha?' Oh man..."
  
• 5th Page - "They've been pursuing me since I cleared Lurkwood and will be upon me soon. The Dream Spell failed - my friends, if you find this: if what the Oracle told me is true, then I..."
  

.
After some deliberation, the group decided the notes don't provide enough new information for them to step away from their quest to find the Giant-Slaying weapon presumably left behind in Yartar by the missing Harthol Zymorven so they continue on, but mean to seek out more answers about this 'Eye of the All-Father' at a later time.
Around midday Paxton's Owl familiar communicates to him, "Don't look up, but there appears to be a dragon circling high above us."
Paxton quietly lets his comrades know of the situation. He casts Mage Armor on himself and Sir Oswald casts Armor of Agathys on himself. Their casting of spells seems to have alerted the dragon of their awareness of them as it begins to dive. Paxton then casts Invisibility on himself.
There's a nearby tor jutting out of the bog nearby that Paxton suggests they all run towards, but they only make it a little ways off the road before realizing that Sir Oswald is staying in place, trying to draw the Dragon's ire to himself.
In a flash of cobalt blue, the Dragon both forcefully and gracefully lands on a nearby boulder still some 60' from them. With its bulk nearly the size of a large covered wagon, it puffs out the yellow plates of its underbelly and cocks its head as it stares down its snout and horn towards the group. In a deep, steady voice it speaks, "Greetings little travelers. Are you lost? From where have you come? To where do you travel?"
Not wanting to divulge too much information Creedun only mentions they're traveling to Yartar and they didn't mean to trespass on the Dragon's territory.
"I'm only here to talk, let's drop the spells and magic in the name of diplomacy; I know there's a 5th member of your group skulking around somewhere. Now, normally I'd demand some tribute for such a trespass," the Young Blue Dragon continues, "but today I'm interested only in information. Just last night I passed the strangest thing - what looked like a tower... that had fallen from the sky... just off the road? You wouldn't have happened to have noticed that too would have, traveling past there towards Yartar as you say."
Creedun asks the Dragon if they can just be on their way and that they mean no harm or disrespect. Sir Oswald musters as much Charisma as he can (which is quite a lot) and says they'd be willing to trade information for information). He asks the Blue Dragon what he found in the tower, what he thought of it, and why he wants to know more?
"I found a dead Giant in the tower, I found it rather odd, and it is my business to know what happens in my territory." The Dragon adds with a thin veil of forced patience, "I'm normally not so generous but you amuse me human; I've now answered 3 of your questions and you none of mine. What do you know of the tower?"
Otto chimes in saying the Cloud Giant Zephyros had been their friend once and he believes he'd been trying to get a message through to them.
The Dragon grins a cruel smile, "As I suspected. I will add you to the collection of the Queen of Statues - the Gathering Storm!" as it pumps its mighty wings to take flight.
Roll Initiative!
.
Creedun conjures two Giant Eagles which Grapple the Dragon before it takes off.
This is obviously a cunning foe as it completely ignores the beasts and unleashes a torrent of deadly lightning into the Dwarven Bard, shocking him so badly that it's impossible to maintain concentration. As the Eagles poof into nothingness, the Dragon flies up 40' above the ground and begins circling the group.
Otto is struggling to hit the dragon at this range with his Hand Crossbow and uses his new martial training to stow his shield and attack with his Shortbow at the same time.
Paxton appears next to Sir Oswald, and laying a hand on him casts a spell allowing the heavily armored Knight to fly!
Sir Oswald streaks towards the Dragon and positions himself above it, striking mightily into the Dragon's back twice.
Ransom makes a Spiritual Weapon appear next to Dragon to slash at him, while Creedun resummons his Giant Eagles, though this time the Dragon fends off their grapple.
The Blue Dragon mauls Sir Oswald several times then tries to fly away, knowing that even if the Eagle can keep up, the Knight can't. He's betting that his scales can fend off their attacks and is partly correct, both eagles fail to land even a scratch. Sir Oswald with a lucky swing strikes a critical weak spot behind the Dragon's shoulder and adds a charged-up Smite into the fleeing Dragon
Paxton takes advantage of the Dragon having left the cluster of his allies and centers a Fireball on the Dragon. As the dragon flies out of the bursting flame it is singed and starting to look quite hurt.
The resummoned Giant Eagles catch up and both successfully grapple the Dragon as the 3 of them tumble to the ground, WHAM! Still thrashing on the ground the Dragon bites and claws the injured Eagles, causing both of them to poof from existence.
The Dragon takes an expert shot from Otto's Short Bow and not only looks very hurt, but for the first time shows actual fear itself. It moves to retreat, but instead of flying away it begins to burrow into the soft boggy soil. The group only sees it burrow in 10' and then loose sight of it in the dark tunnel.
Paxton throws a fireball right at the opening of the tunnel, hoping the edges of the flaming blast will catch the Dragon. He hears no sound as to whether it hit or missed.
Even running at top speed Otto isn't quick enough to reach the hole before the Dragon can burrow further in and the tunnel turns at such an angle the Gnome can't blind-fire in. Then he remembers that he has one more "Ka-boomer" left from the merchant cart they encountered south of Calling Horns. He lights the fuse and tosses it into the tunnel. 4 seconds later KABOOM!!! followed by a screeching roar of pain.
Sir Oswald flies down into the tunnel with no hesitation in hopes to finish off the Dragon but emerges a couple seconds later saying, "It's dead." The Kaboomer had blown open the side of its face as smoke poured up and viscera dripped down from its eye.
The group tries harvesting some scales and teeth, but damages their trophies in the process. Sir Oswald opens the Dragon's belly to find a couple human skulls and bones, along with a partially digested dagger. He also insists on spending more time to try to acquire the Dragon's snout horn. Paxton puts his Secure Hut spell over the tunnel while he works because spending several hours exposed in the wilderness doesn't seem like a safe plan.
The rest of the day and a half journey to Yartar is uneventful and everyone arrives fully rested.
.
They find a contingency of guards inspecting everyone who arrives to the city's outer gate. They make their way inside and get food recommendations from a cheery local man.
They're directed to the man's favorite joint - a "dive" dinner on the edge of the "bad part of town - called Karletta's Table.
There they find a one story flat-roofed building hemmed in by larger buildings that appear to have 3rd-story additions built atop older structures. Karletta's Table has crates stacked up outside that several young street kids are using to play and climb on, some have even climbed up onto the roof and are playing up there, another youngster in dirty clothes runs out from behind the diner with a fist-full of bread.
The group walks through the swinging saloon-style doors and gets their bearings in the dim light inside. Most of the booths have privacy walls, but they see a few folk who look down on their luck, a few more working class people, and a couple women arm-wrestling.
Behind the bar is a window looking into the kitchen where clanging pots and pans and sizzling can be heard. A half-elf with dark blue dyed hair cropped short on one side, wearing leather armor with an apron over it comes into view yelling at some staff around the corner, "You don't have that ready yet? By the gods, what am I paying you for, eh?" She notices the party standing in the dinning area and immediately switches her demeaner to a sweet and welcoming smile. "Hey sorry nobody was there to welcome you, feel free to seat yourselves! Someone will be with you in a moment :) " She returns into the part of the kitchen out of view and continues commanding the kitchen staff in an authoritative tone.
Creedun suggests they sit where he can watch the women arm-wrestle and after a few rounds he approaches them with Otto and asks if he can challenge one of them for a round of drinks. There's some brief chit-chat and the women seem fond of taunting Creedun and Otto, mostly in good fun. They tell the adventurers that they work the docks in the fishing industry. Otto mentions that he's a fisher as well and that's how he lost his eye.
One of the women cranks her shoulder a bit as though it's stiff and says to the other, "What do you think Sally? You wanna take 'im?"
Sally, "Are you gunna need some books to sit on, guy?" alluding to the Dwarf's stoutness. "How 'bout instead a drinks though we wrestle for the story of your friend's lost eye. I win against short an stout 'ere - you tell us your tale, little guy?" Otto agrees.
After a particularly close match Sally pins Creedun and Otto launches into a captivating tale from his youth when their boats' nets caught a Kraken, and how he had to climb into the nets to free the beast. In the process he slipped and severed the end off one of the Kraken's tentacles, fell back into the boat and the knife "poked him in the eye."
There is a long pause. Eventually Sally says, "Pffffft, I call bullsh!t There's no way that was a Kraken. That's a mythical beast; even if one does exist there's been no claims of seeing one in a hundred years at least. Plus, it would have dragged your ship to the bottom before you had a chance to free it."
Otto insists he's not lying.
Sally adds, "look, I'm sure you were entangled with something big and tentacle-y, maybe a Giant Octopus, maybe a newborn Kraken, but if that were a real one you'd be a skeleton at the bottom of the ocean right now."
There's a little more benign chit-chat. Otto refers to the women as "madams" which they get a hoot out of. Then he uses his Thieves Cant to see if there's more to them than meets the eye and mentions being "a part of their guild" and "wondering if they could help him."
The women look at each other and Sally says, "Let's step outside for a chat little guy. Just us and and you; your friends can stay in here and order their meal." Otto assures his party that it'll be fine. Paxton keeps watch on the situation with his Owl Familiar waiting outside.
Sally calls to the kitchen, "Hey Karletta could we get some more bread" and they're given a basket of bread as they walk with Otto out a back door.
.
Outside Sally laughs and says he must be new in town and there's no way he's part of their guild. They ask what he wants and he mentions he's looking for someone. Sally scoffs, saying they don't point strangers to members of their guild. He explains - still in somewhat vague terms - he's looking for a Noble's son who's gone missing. He offers them 50gp if they can help. Sally leans to the other woman and whispers something.
Paxton, listening through his Owl's senses hears her ask her friend, "Do you think he's talking about Mel?"
Sally tells Otto to go back inside with his friends and they'll be back with their friend who can tell him more. Neither Otto nor Paxton (through his Familiar) can discern any fowl-play or malice so they wait.
In the meantime Karletta had come by to take the group's order and comments about how quiet Paxton is and asks why he's sitting upright with his eyes closed. Creedun tells her his friend is just really tired and asks for a bib to put on the wizard.
Otto comes back in just as Ransom is pinning Creedun in their own arm-wrestling match.
.
Paxton has his owl follow the two women. One sets the basket of bread down on a nearby crate but the owl follows them to a warehouse where they disappear inside for several minutes. When they reemerge they're accompanied by a young woman and an older halfling woman; they all head back towards the diner. Paxton tells his owl to check out the bread basket, but when he gets there there are barely even crumbs.
The four women reenter Karletta's Table. Without pause the Halfling woman jumps up onto the bench, eye-level with Ransom and the others "I hear you want to ask my friend Mel some questions. I'm just here to make sure it goes smoothly, okay?"
Mel pulls up a chair and sits at the end of the booth. Between asking questions to Mel and the Halfling, they learn:

• Mel and Harthol Zymorven ran to Yartar with some of his father's stolen property to start a new life.
  
• Harthol ended up "also stealing her heart before proving he was a snake." He got involved with another woman on a Riverboat gambling cruise. They were seen leaving the riverboat together, but he was never seen again after that.
  
• They must have gone back to his apartment because everyone of his that was of value was gone - including gold, platinum, gems, and a weapon stolen from his father's keep.
  
• The woman always wears a purple dress and is often seen entering and leaving the riverboat casino.
  
• Their Thieves Guild - The Hands of Yartar - want payback on the woman in the purple dress, but (a) can't gain access to the cruise (they suspect a traitor in their midst), and (b) has a strict code of no assassinations outside of a hired contract. By pointing the Adventurers in her direction the guild hopes the situation will escalate and revenge will unfold naturally.
  
• The casino cruise itself belongs to a rival of the Hands of Yartar, so any additional mischief or trouble caused for them is a bonus in the eyes of the guild.
  
• The gambling boat - called 'The Grand Dame' - is owned by a man named Khaspere Drylund, who lives aboard the vessel.
  
• The best way to gain access to the cruise would be to pose either as staff (rowers, chefs/servers, musicians, game table facilitators, escorts) or to attend as wealthy guests who come to network and to gamble in the casino.
  

​
.
Next time - All Aboard the Grand Dame!

https://www.reddit.com/stormkingsthundecomments/kc5nai/the_crashed_tower_of_the_late_zephyros_chapter_35/ - Previously our heroes found Zephyros' tower crashed in the wilderness and a bunch of stone creatures were attempting to burn all his notes; among them was a Large Dragon also made of stone but also possessed a regular Dragon's lightning breath. After crumbling all their enemies to rubble the party gathers up as much of their late Cloud Giant friend's notes as they could and put a full day's travel between them and the tower in case any other statue-like minions showed up to finish the job. .
The cast of DnD Comrades.

• Ransom - Tiefling Cleric of Thor.
• Paxton Hightower - Human Wizard.
• Otto Norona - Gnome Rogue/Fighter.
• Creedun Grungerock - Dwarven Bard.
• Sir Oswald Pinkerton - Human Paladin/Warlock.

.
Paxton spends a good part of the evening using a Language-Comprehension spell to pour over Zephyros' journal and other loose pages. He finds pages of recipes, philosophical musings, and several pages relevant to their previous experience together, along with where he went after he dropped them off in Triboar.

• 1st Page - "I picked up a group of Adventurers yesterday and am giving them a lift to their destination: Triboar. Nice bunch, not nearly as rowdy or treasure-grabby as some Adventuring groups. I especially liked that extra-small-folk with the eyepatch - Otto was his name. He got way to high off some of my less-potent pipe grass and... (at this point Paxton stopped reading to the group as he realized Otto still doesn't know what he did when he was blackout stoned).
  
• 2nd Page - "A Storm Giant Herald named Iymrith, from the court of Maelstrom visited me yesterday. She was quite condescnding to my guests, but it didn't feel right correcting a Storm Giant - Ordning or no Ordning. Iymrith claimed the Lords' Alliance murdered Queen Neri, and when King Hekaton went to confront them he went missing. Iymrith also added that Hekaton's youngest daughter sits on the throne, but that her inexperience is throwing the court into chaos and weakening the Storm Giants' Influence.
  
• 3rd Page - "That thing the Storm Giant Herald told me last week has been weighing heavily on my mind. If the Lords' Alliance is truly behind Neri's death and Hekaton's disappearance, might they also be responsible for the Ordning breaking in the first place? I will finally make my pilgrimage to the 'Eye of the All-Father' to seek answers for myself."
  
• 4th Page - "This temple is much more magnificent that I'd imagined; our ancestors were the pinnacle of Giant-kind to have made all this. The bad news is that it's about as cold as one would expect this far North. On the other hand, for some good news: I finally formulated some pipe-grass with the right potency for myself but now I'm TOO high - I grabbed the wrong weapon and stumbled off with it, hahahahahahaHahaha. Did I really just take the time to write out 'haha?' Oh man..."
  
• 5th Page - "They've been pursuing me since I cleared Lurkwood and will be upon me soon. The Dream Spell failed - my friends, if you find this: if what the Oracle told me is true, then I..."
  

.
After some deliberation, the group decided the notes don't provide enough new information for them to step away from their quest to find the Giant-Slaying weapon presumably left behind in Yartar by the missing Harthol Zymorven so they continue on, but mean to seek out more answers about this 'Eye of the All-Father' at a later time.
Around midday Paxton's Owl familiar communicates to him, "Don't look up, but there appears to be a dragon circling high above us."
Paxton quietly lets his comrades know of the situation. He casts Mage Armor on himself and Sir Oswald casts Armor of Agathys on himself. Their casting of spells seems to have alerted the dragon of their awareness of them as it begins to dive. Paxton then casts Invisibility on himself.
There's a nearby tor jutting out of the bog nearby that Paxton suggests they all run towards, but they only make it a little ways off the road before realizing that Sir Oswald is staying in place, trying to draw the Dragon's ire to himself.
In a flash of cobalt blue, the Dragon both forcefully and gracefully lands on a nearby boulder still some 60' from them. With its bulk nearly the size of a large covered wagon, it puffs out the yellow plates of its underbelly and cocks its head as it stares down its snout and horn towards the group. In a deep, steady voice it speaks, "Greetings little travelers. Are you lost? From where have you come? To where do you travel?"
Not wanting to divulge too much information Creedun only mentions they're traveling to Yartar and they didn't mean to trespass on the Dragon's territory.
"I'm only here to talk, let's drop the spells and magic in the name of diplomacy; I know there's a 5th member of your group skulking around somewhere. Now, normally I'd demand some tribute for such a trespass," the Young Blue Dragon continues, "but today I'm interested only in information. Just last night I passed the strangest thing - what looked like a tower... that had fallen from the sky... just off the road? You wouldn't have happened to have noticed that too would have, traveling past there towards Yartar as you say."
Creedun asks the Dragon if they can just be on their way and that they mean no harm or disrespect. Sir Oswald musters as much Charisma as he can (which is quite a lot) and says they'd be willing to trade information for information). He asks the Blue Dragon what he found in the tower, what he thought of it, and why he wants to know more?
"I found a dead Giant in the tower, I found it rather odd, and it is my business to know what happens in my territory." The Dragon adds with a thin veil of forced patience, "I'm normally not so generous but you amuse me human; I've now answered 3 of your questions and you none of mine. What do you know of the tower?"
Otto chimes in saying the Cloud Giant Zephyros had been their friend once and he believes he'd been trying to get a message through to them.
The Dragon grins a cruel smile, "As I suspected. I will add you to the collection of the Queen of Statues - the Gathering Storm!" as it pumps its mighty wings to take flight.
Roll Initiative!
.
Creedun conjures two Giant Eagles which Grapple the Dragon before it takes off.
This is obviously a cunning foe as it completely ignores the beasts and unleashes a torrent of deadly lightning into the Dwarven Bard, shocking him so badly that it's impossible to maintain concentration. As the Eagles poof into nothingness, the Dragon flies up 40' above the ground and begins circling the group.
Otto is struggling to hit the dragon at this range with his Hand Crossbow and uses his new martial training to stow his shield and attack with his Shortbow at the same time.
Paxton appears next to Sir Oswald, and laying a hand on him casts a spell allowing the heavily armored Knight to fly!
Sir Oswald streaks towards the Dragon and positions himself above it, striking mightily into the Dragon's back twice.
Ransom makes a Spiritual Weapon appear next to Dragon to slash at him, while Creedun resummons his Giant Eagles, though this time the Dragon fends off their grapple.
The Blue Dragon mauls Sir Oswald several times then tries to fly away, knowing that even if the Eagle can keep up, the Knight can't. He's betting that his scales can fend off their attacks and is partly correct, both eagles fail to land even a scratch. Sir Oswald with a lucky swing strikes a critical weak spot behind the Dragon's shoulder and adds a charged-up Smite into the fleeing Dragon
Paxton takes advantage of the Dragon having left the cluster of his allies and centers a Fireball on the Dragon. As the dragon flies out of the bursting flame it is singed and starting to look quite hurt.
The resummoned Giant Eagles catch up and both successfully grapple the Dragon as the 3 of them tumble to the ground, WHAM! Still thrashing on the ground the Dragon bites and claws the injured Eagles, causing both of them to poof from existence.
The Dragon takes an expert shot from Otto's Short Bow and not only looks very hurt, but for the first time shows actual fear itself. It moves to retreat, but instead of flying away it begins to burrow into the soft boggy soil. The group only sees it burrow in 10' and then loose sight of it in the dark tunnel.
Paxton throws a fireball right at the opening of the tunnel, hoping the edges of the flaming blast will catch the Dragon. He hears no sound as to whether it hit or missed.
Even running at top speed Otto isn't quick enough to reach the hole before the Dragon can burrow further in and the tunnel turns at such an angle the Gnome can't blind-fire in. Then he remembers that he has one more "Ka-boomer" left from the merchant cart they encountered south of Calling Horns. He lights the fuse and tosses it into the tunnel. 4 seconds later KABOOM!!! followed by a screeching roar of pain.
Sir Oswald flies down into the tunnel with no hesitation in hopes to finish off the Dragon but emerges a couple seconds later saying, "It's dead." The Kaboomer had blown open the side of its face as smoke poured up and viscera dripped down from its eye.
The group tries harvesting some scales and teeth, but damages their trophies in the process. Sir Oswald opens the Dragon's belly to find a couple human skulls and bones, along with a partially digested dagger. He also insists on spending more time to try to acquire the Dragon's snout horn. Paxton puts his Secure Hut spell over the tunnel while he works because spending several hours exposed in the wilderness doesn't seem like a safe plan.
The rest of the day and a half journey to Yartar is uneventful and everyone arrives fully rested.
.
They find a contingency of guards inspecting everyone who arrives to the city's outer gate. They make their way inside and get food recommendations from a cheery local man.
They're directed to the man's favorite joint - a "dive" dinner on the edge of the "bad part of town - called Karletta's Table.
There they find a one story flat-roofed building hemmed in by larger buildings that appear to have 3rd-story additions built atop older structures. Karletta's Table has crates stacked up outside that several young street kids are using to play and climb on, some have even climbed up onto the roof and are playing up there, another youngster in dirty clothes runs out from behind the diner with a fist-full of bread.
The group walks through the swinging saloon-style doors and gets their bearings in the dim light inside. Most of the booths have privacy walls, but they see a few folk who look down on their luck, a few more working class people, and a couple women arm-wrestling.
Behind the bar is a window looking into the kitchen where clanging pots and pans and sizzling can be heard. A half-elf with dark blue dyed hair cropped short on one side, wearing leather armor with an apron over it comes into view yelling at some staff around the corner, "You don't have that ready yet? By the gods, what am I paying you for, eh?" She notices the party standing in the dinning area and immediately switches her demeaner to a sweet and welcoming smile. "Hey sorry nobody was there to welcome you, feel free to seat yourselves! Someone will be with you in a moment :) " She returns into the part of the kitchen out of view and continues commanding the kitchen staff in an authoritative tone.
Creedun suggests they sit where he can watch the women arm-wrestle and after a few rounds he approaches them with Otto and asks if he can challenge one of them for a round of drinks. There's some brief chit-chat and the women seem fond of taunting Creedun and Otto, mostly in good fun. They tell the adventurers that they work the docks in the fishing industry. Otto mentions that he's a fisher as well and that's how he lost his eye.
One of the women cranks her shoulder a bit as though it's stiff and says to the other, "What do you think Sally? You wanna take 'im?"
Sally, "Are you gunna need some books to sit on, guy?" alluding to the Dwarf's stoutness. "How 'bout instead a drinks though we wrestle for the story of your friend's lost eye. I win against short an stout 'ere - you tell us your tale, little guy?" Otto agrees.
After a particularly close match Sally pins Creedun and Otto launches into a captivating tale from his youth when their boats' nets caught a Kraken, and how he had to climb into the nets to free the beast. In the process he slipped and severed the end off one of the Kraken's tentacles, fell back into the boat and the knife "poked him in the eye."
There is a long pause. Eventually Sally says, "Pffffft, I call bullsh!t There's no way that was a Kraken. That's a mythical beast; even if one does exist there's been no claims of seeing one in a hundred years at least. Plus, it would have dragged your ship to the bottom before you had a chance to free it."
Otto insists he's not lying.
Sally adds, "look, I'm sure you were entangled with something big and tentacle-y, maybe a Giant Octopus, maybe a newborn Kraken, but if that were a real one you'd be a skeleton at the bottom of the ocean right now."
There's a little more benign chit-chat. Otto refers to the women as "madams" which they get a hoot out of. Then he uses his Thieves Cant to see if there's more to them than meets the eye and mentions being "a part of their guild" and "wondering if they could help him."
The women look at each other and Sally says, "Let's step outside for a chat little guy. Just us and and you; your friends can stay in here and order their meal." Otto assures his party that it'll be fine. Paxton keeps watch on the situation with his Owl Familiar waiting outside.
Sally calls to the kitchen, "Hey Karletta could we get some more bread" and they're given a basket of bread as they walk with Otto out a back door.
.
Outside Sally laughs and says he must be new in town and there's no way he's part of their guild. They ask what he wants and he mentions he's looking for someone. Sally scoffs, saying they don't point strangers to members of their guild. He explains - still in somewhat vague terms - he's looking for a Noble's son who's gone missing. He offers them 50gp if they can help. Sally leans to the other woman and whispers something.
Paxton, listening through his Owl's senses hears her ask her friend, "Do you think he's talking about Mel?"
Sally tells Otto to go back inside with his friends and they'll be back with their friend who can tell him more. Neither Otto nor Paxton (through his Familiar) can discern any fowl-play or malice so they wait.
In the meantime Karletta had come by to take the group's order and comments about how quiet Paxton is and asks why he's sitting upright with his eyes closed. Creedun tells her his friend is just really tired and asks for a bib to put on the wizard.
Otto comes back in just as Ransom is pinning Creedun in their own arm-wrestling match.
.
Paxton has his owl follow the two women. One sets the basket of bread down on a nearby crate but the owl follows them to a warehouse where they disappear inside for several minutes. When they reemerge they're accompanied by a young woman and an older halfling woman; they all head back towards the diner. Paxton tells his owl to check out the bread basket, but when he gets there there are barely even crumbs.
The four women reenter Karletta's Table. Without pause the Halfling woman jumps up onto the bench, eye-level with Ransom and the others "I hear you want to ask my friend Mel some questions. I'm just here to make sure it goes smoothly, okay?"
Mel pulls up a chair and sits at the end of the booth. Between asking questions to Mel and the Halfling, they learn:

• Mel and Harthol Zymorven ran to Yartar with some of his father's stolen property to start a new life.
  
• Harthol ended up "also stealing her heart before proving he was a snake." He got involved with another woman on a Riverboat gambling cruise. They were seen leaving the riverboat together, but he was never seen again after that.
  
• They must have gone back to his apartment because everyone of his that was of value was gone - including gold, platinum, gems, and a weapon stolen from his father's keep.
  
• The woman always wears a purple dress and is often seen entering and leaving the riverboat casino.
  
• Their Thieves Guild - The Hands of Yartar - want payback on the woman in the purple dress, but (a) can't gain access to the cruise (they suspect a traitor in their midst), and (b) has a strict code of no assassinations outside of a hired contract. By pointing the Adventurers in her direction the guild hopes the situation will escalate and revenge will unfold naturally.
  
• The casino cruise itself belongs to a rival of the Hands of Yartar, so any additional mischief or trouble caused for them is a bonus in the eyes of the guild.
  
• The gambling boat - called 'The Grand Dame' - is owned by a man named Khaspere Drylund, who lives aboard the vessel.
  
• The best way to gain access to the cruise would be to pose either as staff (rowers, chefs/servers, musicians, game table facilitators, escorts) or to attend as wealthy guests who come to network and to gamble in the casino.
  

​
.
Next time - All Aboard the Grand Dame!

Continuing
Well, when the props fouled the third time, I suggested we call it a day, as we’d already made some 32 sea-kilometers. We were out on the fringes of the worst of the kelp forest beds, and after a good night’s sleep, we’d be ready to deploy bright and early and get some seismic data acquired and recorded.
But, first, there was the first night aboard ship. In a rusty old tin-can with few creature comforts, as the annual winter monsoon winds wane and the seas actually begin to settle slightly.
I took that as both good omens. The bitching and kvetching I head from the locals about the ‘abominable weather they had to endure’, even from the Coast Guard types, really struck me as uproariously funny.
I just chalked it up to being sequestered from the rest of the world for so long. Put these characters in the path of a Midwestern tornado, East Indian summer monsoon, or Siberian blizzard, and they’d shit themselves blind. I didn’t really think too much of it, although it became somewhat of a game when the imperialistic foreigners tried to one-up each other with horror stories from excursions past.
“No shit”, Dax said, “We were snowed in for a full fortnight.”
“No!” several of us recoiled in mock horror.
“Oh, yah, hey.” Dax continued, “It’s just great when blizzards snap the power lines, and all the toilets freeze. The house cat didn't die until we burned up all our wood. Considering we ate her raw, she tasted pretty good…”
Several of our handlers, a few in the Coast Guard and most of the Korean scientists reacted rather badly to Dax’s story; especially when it had been gorily translated.
Seeing this, Dax stood up, got the soju bottle, and asked if anyone needed a top-up. I asked while puffing away on a large Jamaican cigar if anyone needed a smoke.
At this point, Dax was winning. He had seven of the assembled crowd run to the rail to relieve themselves of our canned Chinese dinner.
Not ever one to shrink from a challenge, I related my second-hand story of my Brother-in-law, who was in the US Coast Guard for years and years. I waited for the green crowd to re-join us and regain what remained of their composure. I figured the quasi-military national Coast Guarders here would appreciate the tale.
Mine wasn’t a gory or shocking tale, just one of the incredible water conditions off the coast of California.
I waited until everyone was settled, drink in hand, and smokin’ ‘em if you got ‘em.
“Well”, I said, “It was on board a ship much like the one we’re currently on,” I said as a rascal wave broke over the railing in counterpoint. “About the same size as this vessel, but with smaller wheels. You know these Coast Guard shallow-water boys”, I chuckled. Always meaning to jab one group or another in the place where I know it stings.
Yeah, I’m a real bastard that way sometimes.
The Korean Coast Guarders sneered hardly at me; but not too hard. They liked my cigars, cigarettes, and open disbursement policy too much.
“Yeah, anyways”, I continued, “He was offshore California in one of the US Coast Guard cutters. It was a boat about 26 meters or so in length. They were out doing search and rescue after a mega-nasty storm blew in from the west and scuttled a sailing regatta race.”
I was drawing them in with my ‘just so’ story, nice and easy, until…
“Yeah, there were several capsized monohulls, catamarans and trimarans. Damn, these things were fucking yachts. Owned by rich idiots that almost knew how to sail but didn’t know enough to get out of the way of a fucking severe storm…”
I really had their attention with ‘soaking the rich’.
“Well, the waves grew and grew, but my Brother-in-laws's boat was built to handle severe weather. These patrol and rescue boat has the capability to roll over 360 degrees and self-right within 30 seconds. Like right now, you’d never even notice this degree rock and roll”, I said as I demonstrated with my cigar, tracing out tighter and tighter rolls, and higher degrees of rocking and rolling.
“They were approaching a capsized trimaran, but the waves kept growing and growing…” I said, leading by example and having them watch me with unblinking attention.
“The waves grew and grew, and normally you’d take these head-on. But that was impossible, because when afternoon came it was slashin' rain, in the face of a hurricane west wind. The boat rolled to the left, heeled, almost keeled, a then rolled the other way just as quickly.” I noted.
They followed me as I timed it with the heavings of our own boat, to the left…to the right…
“Then, just as they were about to reach upon the trimaran, a rogue wave! Out of nowhere”, I said, rocking and rolling along with our own little boat, “BAM! Hit amidships! It didn’t roll once, it rolled twice!” I made great and magniloquent gestures of a tiny boat being savaged by a monstrous rogue sea wave.
I stood up, blew a great blue cloud of smoke towards the poop deck, and said, loudly, “Rolled over once. A full 360! Then rolled right over again. A full 720 degrees!” as I demonstrated what happened with my cigar and drink.
The eyes following me rolled and rolled as well. Some straight back into the owner’s head and some to the left, some to the right…it was like ‘Loose Slots’ night in Vegas, they were rolling and rolling.
And then racing for the rails. Topside to deliver the remains of their hearty canned dinners.
“Beat you, Dax!” I smiled as I sat back down, “I got nine with that at one. And two of them were Coasties!”
“Did that really happen?” Ivan asked.
“According to my Brother-in-law. But he’s an engineer if you know what I mean…” I smiled.
We concluded story night as we had drifted free of the kelp forest and the Captain of the boat decided he’d risk an anchorage for the night. The weather was ameliorating, the seas calming themselves down, and the wind dropping a couple of notches on the Beaufort Scale.
“Well, gents”, I said, “I need some air. The aroma down here of Chinese Aplo™ for dinner, those who didn’t make it to the rails, and the solitary head for the entire crew has lost its charm. If you’ll excuse me”, I said as I grabbed a bottle of ersatz vodka, and several cans of Taedonggang beer, “I’ll be on the aft deck; in my comfy chair and contemplating the wonder of it all.”
With that, I ventured up the stairs and out onto the aft deck.
Dax naturally followed and he found his own not-bolted-down deck chair. We had a constant flow of visitors, foreign and nationals alike. It was shaping up to be a fine night for being out under the stars, there was no light pollution at all. We sat in our chairs, drank our drinks, smoked our smokes, and argued the finer points of astronomy as seen from this part of the world.
I had several side chats with the scientists and academicians from the Korean side. They all had one thing on their minds. Well, one thing after cigars and cigarettes. They wanted Western scientific journals. They were actually trying to bribe me to get those copies, any age, any subject; of Science, AAPG Explorer, and SEPM Proceedings, anything of Western science as it is today. I said they were welcome to a couple of copies of Science and SPE journals I had brought with as an afterthought, for free. With 900 won to the dollar, they needed every won they could get. I wasn’t about to take anything for the free dissemination of knowledge.
However, if they saw it fit to buy me a drink or seven, I wouldn’t object.
In reality, I’d buy those as well.
We made secret pacts to meet at the hotel-casino the night before we left, whenever the fuck that would be. We had a lot of work before us as it stands. It won’t be for a few weeks, I reminded them.
They had no problem. If I could ask the other in the team if they’d do likewise, the appreciation would be palpable.
Great. Now I have to go get my field notebooks and make some more new entries.
Dax cratered around 0100. I elected to stay the night and sleep under the stars as the boat slowly rocked one way and rolled the other. It was quiet, dark as a tomb, and brilliantly lit up by the stellar backbone of the night once the clouds fumbled out. Tomorrow looked as if it were to be bright and sunny if the gentle westerlies had anything to say about the next day’s conditions.
The next day dawned early, bright, and ridiculously sunny as it usually does when the monsoons have departed and it had stopped raining.
“OK.”, I thought, “Time for a hearty breakfast. For someone else. I wonder what’s available here.”
I ventured down to the cold galley and there were several boxes of dry Chinese breakfast cereal, “Shredded Tweet” and the like, some sort of obviously aged bakery, and a case of Taedonggang beer.
“Hmmm”, I mused out loud, “Beer and rice crispies. Breakfast of champions.”
Dax walks in, rubbing his eyes. He sees me drowning my rice cereal in foamy ersatz milk.
“Reminds me of field camp!” I smiled as I chowed on the morning’s offerings.
After our ‘hearty’ breakfast, all the scientific parties gathered in the main stateroom. It was cramped, but the walls were magnetic and we could hang maps, well, charts actually since we’re well offshore now, and plots the day’s course.
Out in the Yellow Sea, we were supposedly over a subsurface, and by dint of being offshore, submarine, dome. Salt dome? Unlikely. Probably more of a shale dome, which isn’t a bad thing when hunting for oil and gas.
Looking at the charts, I ask the locals what our current position was relative to the domal uplift.
After several long moments of silence, I asked again.
“Umm, guys”, I said, “If you’re not going to be forthcoming with something as simple as positional data, then turn this boat 180^0’s and take us back to shore. I am fed up, as are my team, with this tight-holing of the simplest of data when you are the knotheads that asked us here for help. We get paid either way, and I for one wouldn’t mind being paid triple to sit in the hotel’s basement and drink”
After telling the translator to translate that last part literally, I sat back, pulled out a really nasty cigar, and went through all the threatening moves of firing it up in the enclosed cabin.
“You will have to excuse us”, came the reply from one of the elders, “We are not used to dealing with oegugseon [foreigners].”
“Are you used to following orders?” I asked brusquely.
“Of course!” came the near-unanimous reply.
“Great. Then consider this an order: You will relay the appropriate information when asked by any Westerner on this cruise. Consider it as coming from the Supreme Leader of this expedition.” I noted.
Using the term ‘Supreme Leader’ was both a bow to their current bad-hair-cut in charge and my desire to let them know I was serious as a kick to the scrotum about the whole fucking deal.
There were a couple of gasps and some consternatious talk, but eventually, one brave soul got up, walked over to the chart, and pointed to our relative location.
“There”, I added, “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Didn’t hurt in the least, did it?”
There were a few chuckles amongst our national colleagues, so I figured that was at least a little progress.
“OK, then”, I continued, “Volna? Ack? You’re up to bat.”
I turned the proceedings over to the geophysicists. They would devise the configuration of the towed array, our speed, direction, charge size, which was based on depth, and all the other geophysical flips and twists one has to do in order to acquire the best data.
This shit doesn’t come cheap. The Mesozoic-Paleozoic marine residual basin in the South Yellow Sea where these domes live is a potentially significant deep potential hydrocarbon reservoir. However, the imaging of the deep prospecting target is quite challenging due to the specific seismic-geological conditions. In the Central and Wunansha Uplifts, the penetration of the seismic wavefield is limited by the shallow high-velocity layers (HVLs) and the weak reflections in the deep carbonate rocks. With the conventional marine seismic acquisition technique, the deep weak reflection is difficult to image and identify. We confirm through numerical simulation that the combination of multi-level impulse source (i.e., explosive) array and extended cable used in the seismic acquisition is crucial for improving the imaging quality.
With that, we’re going to be recording a minimum of four stacks, with a receiver interval of 25 meters. The array will have a shot interval of 50 meters, with a 25 meter near offset, and a 2500 meter far offset. We will attempt to record 180 channels, off-end, with a sampling period of 0.5 seconds, and a record length of 5 seconds. We’ll sail the same course 4 times to verify previous records and attempt to add ‘fold’, i.e., extra data from the same point, to the overall records.
That’s the plan, at least.
Loads of preparation, logistics, and execution.
After a half an hour or so, both Volna and Ack are finished with the national scientists.
They set down their notebooks, pens, notes, and pointers; walk out of the meeting room and directly over to the galley.
“Hungry, fellas?” I inquire.
“Rock?”, Ack asks, “You have explosives here, right? Sink us. Just fucking sink us right now.” As he pours himself and Volna a stiff shot of real vodka.
“Uh, oh. Problems in Dreamland?” I ask, utilizing the derogatory name for the geophysical domain of exploration data.
“Un-be-fucking-believable.”, Volna adds.
“Your colloquial American is coming along well, Volna.” I snickered a bit.
“I learn from you”, he spat, “Cannot believe this. They don’t record while underway. They tow single array and stop. Then drop dynamite over side. They record. Then they do it again. Claim this gives them good fold. This is bullshit. You said devise program. HA! Take us to shore and let me teach them the fucking basics of geophysical acquisition. Then in a few years, we come back and do it right.”
“Oh, fuck”, I reply, wincing, “That bad?”
“Oh, no”, Ack continues, “It’s worse.” As he down 100 milliliters of booze in one draught and pours another for Volna and is own self, “No on-board demultiplexing. No on-board pre-processing. No-onboard QA/QC. No on-board anything. It’s fucking hopeless. Sink us, I’d rather take my chances with the sharks.”
“They can’t do all that stuff or they won’t do all that stuff,” I asked, expecting the worst.
“Oh, it might be possible, with this museum-grade crap they call a computer they have on-board. It’s just time-consuming, tricky, and will need constant attention. But with this raft of sad-sacks, flub-a-dubs and third rate hobbyists?” Ack and Volna agree as one.
“Consider it job security”, I replied, “How about this? One test loop and we use that data to do what’s necessary; just once. Then we can say we’ve shown them the way. After that, I’ll leave it up to the National scientists.”
“Good thing we have 2 full days, Rock”, Volna said, “Because we do a single AC (acquisition) run, it’ll take the rest of the time to show these buggers how it’s done.”
“Ack? You agree?” I asked.
Ack agreed, in spades.
“OK, gentlemen”, I said, “Let’s make it so. About time, too. I haven’t blown anything up in a couple of weeks. I’m getting antsy. Let’s go tell them the good news.”
“NO! WE REFUSE!” was the cheery response from the nationals when Ack, Volna, and I laid out the rather lengthy program for the next couple of days.
“OK. Someone tell the Captain to head for home. We’re done here.” I calmly told our handlers and the translators.
Panic in Pyongyang.
Immediately, there is this hue and cry about how this was not supposed to be how this trip was going to work. This was to be an acquisition trip only. This was to be a one-off to show Best Korea geophysical prowess. This was supposed to be data gathering trip on the Western scientists…
Oops.
That last one was a bit of a mistake.
I turn to one of the translators and ask them to re-translate that last part, just in case I was hearing imaginary things.
“Oh, yes”, he replied, “He said they were here to gather data on the Western Scientists as well as offshore data.”
“Is that a fact?” I reacted. “Please tell them I need to see all my team members on the fantail immediately if you would. Sorry, translators and nationals not included in this little meeting.”
We reconvene on the fantail a few minutes later. I walk in on this little conclave with cigar and drink in hand.
“OK, gents”, I say, puffing a huge blue cloud, swigging a tot, “Here’s what I think we, as responsible international scientists, should do in this regrettable situation. We were asked to come here, with provisions that we would not be under cynosure, observation, or surveillance. Given ‘Open and Free Access’, no questions asked. We were to be treated as “esteemed guests”. This is obviously a load of dingo’s kidneys. I think we need to get as creative as possible and do whatever we can to provide as much deliberate misinformation to these characters to annoy, amaze, or disgust them as much as possible. Comments?”
There’s a general buzz, but no real dissention. After a few moment's discussion, Dax suggests we get a load of XXXXL condoms, and leave them around packaged as “Texas Medium”.
“That’s the spirit”, I reply. “Anyone one else up for a little Psychological Operations on our not-so-clever-nor-truthful hosts?”
We all agree that we will, in our own little way, start a campaign of deliberate misinformation, misdirection, and general petty bullshit nastiness for our hosts to discover and by which be dismayed.
Everyone’s in agreement. This trip has been a rotund bale of jeers from the get-go.
Promises made, promises broken. Itineraries approved then inexplicably disapproved. We make requests, they accede; and then nothing ever happens. It’s most frustrating.
We’re tolerating a lot of horse, bull, cow, and assorted other farmyard excrements; all in the name of international harmony and scientific goodwill. This has been an outgoing one-way street for too long. We’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore.
“Hellfire and Dalmatians!” I growl, growing angrier every minute I think about the subject, “We need to take the high, low, and middle ground on this offensive. Nothing too overt or obvious; however we need to jank these bastards good. But they can’t realize they’re being janked…!”
Ack cuts in.
“The esteemed Dr. Rock is right. Psychotic...but absolutely right. We got to take these bastards. We could fight them with conventional weapons. That could take years...cost millions of lives. In this case... I think we have to go all out. I think this situation absolutely requires...a really futile and stupid gesture... be done on somebody's part.”
There’s a general buzz among the assembled.
“And we're just the guys to do it.”
Shouts and catcalls of deep agreement.
“Operation ‘Confound-a-Korean’” is now enacted.
“About fucking time!”
“Let’s do it!”
“Dissen gonna be bery messy! Me no watchin!”
“OK, I think, “Who’s the prequel-series wiseass?”
“OK, gentlemen”, I continue, “We continue with our scientific duties. No fucking around there. But, when it comes to…interpretation…opinion…or personal viewpoint; let’s go full impede. Dazzle them with brilliance or baffle them with bullshit.”
We all agree and after a couple of quick rounds of old thought provoker, we realize this trip has just taken a hard left into Wackyland. We will have to let our comrades onshore know of this, but that can wait until we return. Right now, we all have jobs to do. Real jobs, serious jobs, covert and sneaky jobs…
So, it’s back to the recording shack as we lay out the plans for the next couple of days.
Volna begins: “OK, listen up you primitive screwheads. We’re going to assemble and layout a recording array that’s called a Meisenheimer Triplet. You do know what a simple Meisenheimer Triplet is, don’t you?”
There’s a slight murmur from our national friends, but in the end, they all plead ignorance.
“Right. Thought so. A Meisenheimer Triplet is a central towed array flanked by two shorter, subparallel flanking sub-frammitz arrays. We will assemble this array on-board, even though it’s probably going to take every ounce of silver solder and electrician’s tape you’ve got. The amount of data received is orders of magnitude greater than any single Sheriff-sonde array, like the ones you been using.”
Suddenly, there are nods and murmurs of agreement.
“Right”, Volna smiles sinisterly to me, “With that, we’ll need to devise an explosive package, well, actually, a series of explosive packages based on the harmonia of the pre-bottom fore-sets, water depth, tow vehicle velocity, water column density, and decomposition coefficients of the said water column. Oh, yeah. Fish too.”
Volna is really getting into the spirit of the affair.
“Who is your explosives engineer?” Ack asks, “He’s going to have to do some serious number-crunching with all the pre-blast data we’ll need to supply. “
One quick translation and there’s nothing but long faces and querulous looks from our national crowd.
“We have no explosives engineer”, the head Best Korean geophysicist laments. “Explosives are very, very heavily regulated by the government. That’s why we have several Government Observers on board. They handle the explosives.”
“Oh?” Ack remarks, “Are they fully up to speed on the Barnard-Reichmann equations for hydro-displacement of serial charges? Which subset of the marine rarefication coefficients do they employ?”
“Ummm, don’t know.” was the answer.
“Don’t know? Well”, Volna continues, “Then, they must be pretty good with the Langefors-Kihlström formulae, right?”
“No. Not as such.” Came the response.
“I see”, Ack sighs, “Well, then, I guess they must utilize the Il’yushin algorithms then. OK, it’s a bit old school, but they should still work.”
“Ah. Well. No.” was the rejoinder they offered.
“Well, then what the fuck do they use?” Volna explodes, “A modified Ambraseys-Hendorn model? Ghosh-Damen 1? Ghosh-Damen 2? Indian Fargin Standard? Prejaculated Rai-Singh protocols, fer’ chrissake? Which?”
Nothing but shaking heads and wringing hands.
“They take a case of dynamite, wire it up, and throw it overboard with a long fuse.” Was the eventual answer. “That’s why we stop to record.”
Long, exasperated sigh later, “Jesus Q. Tapdancing Christ on a crème cracker. No wonder you never get anything done.” Volna continues, “You characters are in luck. You just happen to be so lucky to have an internationally-renowned Master Blaster right here on board ship today.”
Volna turns the crowd over to me, “Doctor? Do your damnedest. And good luck.”
“Thanks, Volna”, I say, cigar in one hand, stalwart drink in the other, “OK, guys. Here’s the deal. When it comes to explosives and explosive design, I’m the hookin’ bull. No one has authority over me. Not the Captain. Not the boson’s mate. Not the Captain’s Consort even. Nor the guys in the cheap shiny suits. What I say, goes. No exceptions. No hesitation. We green or are we going back to shore?”
“Cholog?” they ask.
“Yes. ‘Cholog’. Green. Are we understanding one another? Are we all in agreement? Are you fuckin’ diggin’ me, Beaumont?”
There’s some quick back and forth in Korean, a lot of seeming bad noise. Even the shiny suit squad and Coasties join in the fun.
“Grudgingly, we agree. Green as you say, Doctor Rock. You are the one in charge.” Came the head national’s reply.
“Splendid. I’m in charge of the charges.” I chuckle, puffing an enormous cloud of expensive Oscuro smoke, “Volna, Ack; please get me the required parameters. I’ll be in the ordnance locker to see what we’re working with here. C’mon fellas, chop-chop!”
Volna and Ack take their select set of geophysical wishers and wannabes while I get the rest of the locals, the shiny suit squad in reserve, but in tow.
I head off to the ordinance locker.
Dax runs behind “Hey! Wait for me.”
“We have to”, I snigger a reply, “We’re going to need a drinks runner.”
“Marvelous…” was the one-word response.
We get to the locked ordinance locker. It’s one of the few original structures remaining on the ship. The boat was torn down almost to the waterline and re-built for seismic acquisition, but they had enough brains to realize that the source of the seismic signals was usually explosive in nature. Dinoseis and Mini-Sossie were closed books to them.
Therefore, the locker remained intact, however grudgingly.
“Whew! And what a locker.” I whewed. “And what a lock. OK, who’s got the keys?”
There are general hemming and hawing and no one seems to know where the keys for the ordinance locker are kept.
“Well, gents”, I say, pointedly, “I would suggest that one or more of you toddle off and fucking find the goddamn keys or this will turn out to be a very short and unproductive trip, indeed.”
A while later, a bit longer than I personally care for, the boat’s Captain wanders up, all a-scowl and generally pissed-off looking.
“Who here needs the key to the explosives locker?” He asks in his Captainly, no-nonsense manner.
There’s more muttering and murmuring, but eventually, all fingers point toward me.
The Captain looks at me.
“Hello.”
He’s giving me the once over with a LASER stink eye. I don’t know which irritated him the most; the lit cigar, the drink, the Stetson, Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, Scottish knee socks or field boots.
“And who the hell are you”? He asks, oh, so wrongly, through an interpreter.
I stand up, fully puffed to full mammalian threat posture and say in a loud steady voice;
“I’m THE Doctor Rocknocker, the MOTHERFUCKING PRO FROM DOVER!, that’s who.”
Since I had a good 6 inches and way too many kilos on him; my loud, American and very un-oriental answer took him completely by surprise.
His eyes got as big as dinner plates and he shakily held out the ring of keys for the explosives locker.
“Why thank you very much”, I said, bowing in his direction ever so slightly. Wasn’t his fault he wasn’t totally clued in on all the recent goings-on aboard his vessel.
I toss the keys to Dax, “Here, earn your keep.” I snickered.
Dax deftly fields the keys, chuckles back, and begins the game of ‘which key for which lock’?
I thank the Captain and explain that I’m the de facto leader of this special education class, and make some pointed, mild epitaphs about landlubbers, national scientists, and the cargo of the totally clueless on board.
He sees I’m not a total boor and relaxes some. We haven’t really had a real introduction, so I grab a translator and engage the Captain in a short, though insightful conversation.
Cigars were exchanged. Handshakes were as well.
Seems he’s just as aggravated by these know-it-alls who really know-fuck-all. We see eye to eye and part friends once Dax finally figures out the combination to the weapons locker.
“Holy fuck!” I exclaim, “Now that’s a door.” I say looking at the slowly-opening covering of the weapon’s portico. Fully five solid inches of solid steel. Triple reinforced hinges. Deadman's latches. Bringles-jams and solid, non-decabulated cast-steel cross-members.
Just the thing to contain an errant blast and send all that excess energy skyward instead of into the bowels of the boat.
OK, bonus points for that design feature.
I look inside, but it’s dark and fragrant as the inside of an irritated oyster in the bottom of the Tonga-Kermadec Trench.
Dax fumbles around and finds the light switch.

FLIP

“Hmmm.” I hmmed. “Well, we’re all set for dynamite, I see.”
Case after case after case of leaking, cheap-ass Chinese knock-off sort-of Du Pont-style 50% dynamite. Box after box of Pseudo-Dyno-Nobel blasting caps. Delaminating, unwinding spools after spool of “PrimUcord”. Sticky “Korea” brand silk-woven coated Demolition Wire.
“Gads.” I sigh. “What a nightmare. Either this stuff goes off when you give it a dirty look or it doesn’t go off at all.”
Dax looks to me, “So, the trip’s a bust. Is that what you’re saying?”
“If we don’t find something that’ll work, probably,” I reply. “This shit’s worthless.”
We continue to search after I shoo everyone but Dax out of the locker. It’s damp and musty in here, smelling disconcertingly of kerosene, gherkins, and old sardines. That’s one sure sign of dynamite going bad. I warn Dax to be extra careful, that this stuff hasn’t had the best of handling. We could be in for an unexpected surprise.
So, we redouble our efforts and are much more circumspect.
Knock-off this and fake-ass that.
All Chinese in origin. It might have worked one day; but after sitting in here, unattended, unturned, and uncared for? I’m ready to both literally and figuratively pull the plug on this whole fiasco.
Dax is all smiles.
“Doctor?” Dax asks, “What is it that would make you happy?”
“A nice fishing boat, a huge never-emptying bank account, endless cigars, and a comfy chair back in the north of Baja Canada in a tavern on a good fishing lake,” I replied.
“Well”, Dax smiles, “I can’t do that, but how about this?” as he opens a cleverly hidden door.
I look in, let my eyes adjust to the low-light scenario to see no lakes, no huge bank accounts, nor fishing boats; but what I do see makes me smile wide.
It’s a sub-locker full of familiar Made-in-the-USA, True Blue, American-manufacture cyclo-trimethylene-tri-nitramine, or Good Ol’ C-4 explosive. Block after lovely hexahedral block of the stuff.
“Dax”, I say, “Take a gold star out of petty cash. You’ve just saved the mission.”
“I’ll settle for a tall vodka and one of your cigars”, Dax smiles.
“Later”, I say, “We now have a little job which to attend.”
With C-4, designing the impulse charges is seriously a walk in the park. They’re already waterproof, so all I need is water depth and the number of seconds to which they want to record data. I can bundle a series of blocks of the stuff, charge them with a couple-three or four, just in case, blasting caps, and connect them with stout lengths of demolition wire. These will be dragged, with a ‘Herring Dodger’, to control depth, behind the boat as we are underway.
It’s a novel idea, I know. One that’s only been in use in the west for about 60 years.
We’ll drag a daisy chain of C-4 packets. One after another, individual charges in the packets will detonate milliseconds apart. I can bundle the packets so that we can run a charge string of up to 12 discrete packets which will attenuate the amplification of the arrhythmic flux, I tell one of my Korean onlookers.
With this set-up, we can record data for literally sea-miles.
First, we will moosh the C-4 into a flattened, semi-hydrodynamically stable pancake or airfoil, OK, hydrofoil, shape; wire three or five of them together, charge them, then repeat.
Depending on what parameters Volna and Ack supply, the chain will just be a number of similar packets, trailing one after the other, detonating from back to front; down below the hydrophones, but well above the seafloor.
We know that the hydrophones will be at or very near the surface, but we need to know, explicitly, the basal bathymetry of the area we're about to shoot. Wouldn’t do anyone any good if we drove over a seafloor hump and dragged the C-4 over it to have it detonate prematurely.
Or not at all.
So, we need to plot our course and sail it today while we get the hydrophone arrays built and we image the seafloor where we’re going to do some blasting. After that, it’ll probably be an all-nighter to create the blasting strings so we can spend the next day recording, and then head for home as we’re nearly out of victuals and potables.
At least, that’s the plan.
I convene a quick meeting and we plot a course on the latest charts. 30 kilometers of recording.
Shit, that’s going to be a lot of explosives. Doable, but a pain.
Remembering the quality of the recording equipment, I suggest we do a test run in the morning of just 5 kilometers. If that works, and we can up it in increments.
Dax, Sagong the head Korean geophysicist, and I go to visit the Captain.
We visit the Captain and lay out our plans. He has no objections, as were in Best Korean waters and there are no obstacles out here like sunken wrecks, kelp forests, American aircraft carriers, or other impediments.
With that, we tell him to align the ship and let us know when he can begin doing the recon sortie.
He says that he can do that immediately, and before we're out of the pilothouse, we’re recording bathymetric, i.e., depth, data. The technology’s not much different, nor advanced, than a standard Lake Winnebago fish finder, so that’s one disaster sorted.
We are sailing along in a series of parallel straight lines, which when the data are played back and deconvoluted, will give us a good idea of the bathymetry which we’ve been motoring over. It’ll basically give us both a depth map and a surface, ok, bottom, map of the seafloor above which we’re sailing. A little basic submarine hyperbolic quantum trigonometry and well, we have the data we need to plug into the various equations to see what we’ll require when we want to record seismic data to 5000 milliseconds.
With that, there’s not much else to do until we have the survey map. I dragoon Dax and Cliff into helping me inventory the explosives bunker.
“The hell with the dynamite, PrimUcord, and other Oriental-Knockoff Horseshit”, I instruct my helpers, “Let’s just count up the C-4, and see what our tally is. Oh, yeah, give me a tally of the blasting caps. Gotta use those ratty bastards, they’re the only actuators here I sort of, kind of, trust.”
With Dax, myself, and Cliff, we’re done in less than an hour. I decide that I’ll be the keeper of the keys and take them back to the Captain my own self. Rules of engagements, chain of command and all that hogwash.
I hand the keys over to the Captain and instruct the co-pilot to make an entry in the logbook that I returned the key to the Captain, this date, this time.
“By the book. It’s not just a good idea, it’s the law.” I muse.
To be continued…