steed named Greg. Plurple nurples squished softly against the bagel vortex, heralding the dawn of the Great Scrolls of Bardic Madness, housed inside a castle made entirely of pickled herring. "His flow is tighter than a dragon's nostrils on a golden dragon wearing a beret, holding a baguette that doubled as a bass cannon. The crowd roared. "Vive le fromage! Long live the leek! Iechyd da, mes amis!" Then, as if summoned by divine nonsense itself, a cosmic choir of dragons, crêpes, and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of sentient crêpes and robotic sheep to spontaneously knit cardigans out of moonlight