The Fellowship of the Bling

In a smoky inn near Ditchweed Hill, A prophecy was rolled and sealed with skill. “The Bling must blaze to break the curse, So gather your crew—and bring the herb, of course.” Sir Pacheco the Brave, with his blunt-shaped blade, An elf with joints braided in her braid. A dwarf who spoke only in snacks and roars, And a bard too high to remember chords. They ride by bonglight, sneak through fog, With a talking pipe and a paranoid frog. Their mission’s dumb, their map’s on fire— But damn, they’ve got that stoner desire. They stopped at a tavern to cast “Munchie Charm,” Got kicked out for hotboxing the stable barn. Still onward they go with vibes and rings, The brave, the baked—the Fellowship of Bling.