They had thought that after so many years of dormancy, they had finally rid themselves of this worry, but who was the bastard who pissed this man off again? If they could find them, they would most definitely wring their necks until there was no blood left in their bodies.
However, though these old men had these thoughts, since they had managed to survive so long, their hegemons obviously couldn't compare to the ones of the past. And, since that man had been gone for so long, they had had time to consolidate the resources of the plane around themselves.
In the Elven Hegemon.
"Clarisse is dead."
The place was exactly how you might imagine an Elven Haven. Even the meeting room was filled with signs of nature. Thrones created from the weaving bark of precious heavenly trees, flowers budding in the wake of their every step, and a gentle sunlight glow from the open ceiling above.
