Cegorath, the immortal clown god of the elves, wasn't having a good millennium. His exquisitely painted, multi-tiered jester's hat was askew, a single, iridescent tear tracing a path through the meticulously applied glitter. The reason? Emperor Darer, that pompous, self-important… thing, had dared to enter the Webway. The Webway! Cegorath’s sacred, sparkly, slightly sticky, and utterly labyrinthine Webway!

“Honestly!” Cegorath bellowed, his voice echoing through the cavernous, candy-cane striped throne room. “The audacity! The sheer, unadulterated gall! Does he think my meticulously maintained network of shimmering, interdimensional tunnels is some sort of cosmic shortcut? Some sort of… express lane to… wherever it is that emperors with questionable fashion sense go?” He paused, dabbing at his eye with a silk handkerchief embroidered with tiny, giggling mushrooms.

“It’s not just the disrespect, you see,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s the mess! Emperor Darer, with his entourage of equally fashion-challenged lackeys, probably left a trail of discarded golden crowns, half-eaten space-bananas, and… and… sniff… I think I smell burnt toast. Burnt toast in the Webway! The sheer sacrilege!”

He paced back and forth, his oversized shoes squeaking rhythmically on the polished, rainbow-colored floor. “And the glitter! Oh, the glitter! My meticulously applied, ethically sourced, unicorn-tears-infused glitter! He probably tracked it all over his… his… whatever he calls that thing he wears instead of proper elven attire. It’s an outrage! An absolute, cosmic, glitter-based outrage!”

Cegorath stopped pacing, his eyes widening as a new horror struck him. “And the gnomes! The poor, defenseless gnomes who maintain the Webway’s intricate system of miniature, self-propelled lollipop-powered trams! They’re probably all traumatized! They’re probably hiding under miniature mushroom caps, whimpering about the Emperor’s… his… horrifically mismatched socks!”

He let out a long, mournful honk, a sound that somehow managed to be both hilarious and deeply tragic. “And the worst part? The absolute, utter, cosmically infuriating worst part? He didn’t even leave a thank-you note! Not even a tiny, sparkly, hand-written note on a particularly delicious-looking gingerbread man! The ingratitude! The sheer, unmitigated… sniff… the… the… I need a nap.” With a dramatic sigh, Cegorath collapsed onto his throne, his multi-tiered hat finally falling completely off, revealing a surprisingly normal head of perfectly coiffed, bright pink hair.