Gadka Burtannon

Blacque Jacque Shellacque's page

34 posts. Alias of Patrick Curtin.


heh heh heh

Twenty one...

Le French Chef! wrote:
Patrick Curtin wrote:
Très bien
Comme ci, comme ça.

Zut alors !!

Le poisson
Le poisson
Le poisson

First I chop of its 'ead
Then I pull out its bones!

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Heh heh


Sacre Illyac!

I am ...'ow you say Nak-eeeed!

Heh heh


heh heh

heh heh

twenty one!


taig wrote:
Shellac is a fun word.

So you say misseu. The wimmin of St. Marie de la DeDah seem to theenk so, yes?

Heh heh heh


Heh heh tweenty one!

Sunny, mild, birds are a-chirpin'

Heh heh heh

Twenty one!

1 person marked this as a favorite.

Heh heh...Twenty one ...

Calisse de tabernac!

mariage heureux !

Sacre Illyac!


C'est ci bon mon vieux. I will be waiting here, sending ze logs down ze Drolo whenever you are ready.

I'm just BSing the French from high school as well. No worries ..

Jacque frowns

But m'sieu, we have not finaized our preparations? Do you still wish me to build ze bonfire?

Jacque grins and refills the mugs with the rough red

Well, a few bales of these nice pelts will be a start. I shall have my moose Napoleon bring the logs to the place you desire. You have a map, eh?

The swarthy lumberjack grins

Of course mon vieux! Take your time! Enjoy! My wine may not be ze finest, but it quenchs ze thirst, no? Salud!

Jacque raises his mug in salute

Jacque spoons out helpings of venison stew for his visitor and himself into carved wooden bowls. He draws two mugs of red wine from a small keg in the corner. A loaf of dark chewy bread appears on the rough table along with a large hunk of cheese.

So mon vieux, 'ave you come for my famous 'ospitality? Or was zere something else you wished to discuss?

The cabin is rough and homey. A rich venison stew bubbles on the stove. The cabin smells of fur, and there are several stretched on the walls drying.

Please mon vieux, have a seat?

The Grey Wanderer wrote:

It must have been our imagination, friend. At least I hope it was. Or perhaps a little too much of this.

He produces a silver flask, filled with brandy, and takes a pull, then offers it to Jacque.

Jacque takes a healthy swig

Ah! Brandy! From the Old Lands! Just the thing to chase bad dreams away. Come! I have venison and onions tonight! We shall eat like kings of the forest, no?

Jacque was getting up to greet his guest when he dives in the bushes

What is the matter mon vieux? Surely even my ugly face isn't that frightening, eh?

He then sees the swelling darkness and the vast an edritch shape passing in the twilight sky.

Mon Dieu!

Jacque sits at a cozy log cabin, smoking a long pipe and humming as he sharpens his axe. The river is packed with logs, and an immense purple moose browses on the riverbank.

The Grey Wanderer wrote:

You live not far from here?

The lumberjack shrugs in a quintessential Gallic manner

I 'ave a cottage outside ze forest by ze river Drolo. You may find me zere. Good day, mon vieux.

The lumberjack saunters off humming. Occasionally he tosses his axe into a tree, yanking it back out as he passes.

The Grey Wanderer wrote:

Magic items which you are perhaps seeking?

The short man gets a crafty gleam in his eye

Mon vieux all of the above! If zere are guards at zis place perhaps something to, how you say, blend in? Perhaps a Cap of Disguise, or something for me and my moose.

The squat burly man laughs, a short barking sound.

Mon vieux you 'ave come to ze right man! I am Blacque Jacque Shellacque, ze mightiest lumberjacque that ever felled a tree! I shall hitch my giant purple pet moose Napoleon to as many logs as you should desire and bring zem up to zis 'place of the Winds.' 'Ow many do you need, and what shall you give me in return?

The lumberjack pauses and grins

But of course, mon vieux. What may this 'umble lomberjacque do for you today, eh?

The dark-haired lumberjack glances over at the woodcarver's house as he walks along the trail.

Huh HUH! Les gendarmes des bois! Tres droll!

By a river bank, the short man unlimbers his axe and begins hewing trees

C'est dans dix ans je m'en irai
J'entends le loup et le renard chanter
J'entends le loup, le renard et la belette
J'entends le loup et le renard chanter

L'hiver viendra, les gars, l'hiver viendra
La jument de Michao, elle s'en repentira

La jument de Michao et son petit poulain
Sont passés dans le champ ont mangé tout le foin

An axe weilding unshaven swarthy short man dressed in checked flannel with a knit cap jammed on top of his lumpy head skulks around the periphery of the forest