Drow Quotes

“...a third [of three] had died in his bunk of natural causes--for a dagger in the heart quite naturally ends one's life.”
― R.A. Salvatore

“You think to turn these prisoners to our cause?” asked Jarlaxle.

“These little acts of mercy,” Drizzt said, then looked at Kimmuriel and emphatically clarified, “when and where we can offer such, will cost us little and possibly bring great rewards as the war continues. Let the priests and wizards of the houses of our prisoners scry for them and learn that we are not acting cruelly.”

“They’ll think it weakness,” Kimmuriel warned.

“Some will, and perhaps some will not,” said Drizzt. “And then that will be their weakness. But more importantly, we know the truth of it. We’ll fight this war and win this war, but we must do so without losing our own souls, else what’s the point?”

Jarlaxle appeared impressed and looked to Kimmuriel, who didn’t argue.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“Nearly every dark elf in Menzoberranzan dressed in a quiet and practical manner, in robes adorned with the symbols of the Spider Queen or in supple chain-link armour under the folds of a magical and camouflaging piwafwi cloak.

Jarlaxle, arrogant and brash, followed few of the customs of Menzoberranzan inhabitants. He was mostly certainly not the norm of drow society and he flaunted the differences openly, brazenly. He wore not a cloak nor a robe, but a shimmering cape that showed every color of the spectrum both in the glow of light and in the infrared spectrum of heat-sensing eyes. The cape’s magic could only be guessed, but those closest to the mercenary leader indicated that it was very valuable indeed.
Jarlaxle’s vest was sleeveless and cut so high that his slender and tightly muscled stomach was open for all to view. He kept a patch over one eye, though careful observers would understand it as ornamental, for Jarlaxle often shifted it from one eye to the other.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Exile

“Catti-brie once said to me that perhaps I was more constrained by the way I saw other people seeing me, and there is truth to that little semantic twist. But it went deeper, went to the core of who Drizzt Do’Urden truly was—or, more importantly, of who I ever feared I might be or might become. The expectation of others is an often-crippling weight. I lived under that weight. And as strong as I am, as much as I’ve trained my mind, body, and soul, I see now how it stooped my shoulders just enough to not be able to truly stand tall around my companions. To want to hide, if even in the secret part of my brain, all the things they might have perceived about me and other drow. But now I have the answer. Now we all have the answer, even those companions who perhaps never directly asked the question, and it is a wondrous thing:

We drow are not flawed. We are not lesser. We are not malignant by any measure of nature.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“I do not know how high the ladder of evil deeds such truth climbs, honestly. I have seen wicked dictators of every species and culture to match the vileness of the most zealous Lolthian priestess. I have witnessed truly evil people, from dwarfs to halflings to humans to elves to drow, and everything in between and every species or culture only a bit removed. So perhaps there are some individuals who have within them a natural evil. Or perhaps even with them, even with the most wicked, like Matron Zhindia Melarn or the magistrates of Luskan’s carnival, who torture accused criminals with such glee, there were steps in the earlier days of their personal journey which corrupted them and brought them to their present state. That is a question that I doubt will ever show an answer, nor is that answer truly the most important factor, for in the present, in the moment, in their own actions, these folk, as with us all, bear responsibility.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“You don’t trust the Matron Mother?” Catti-brie asked. “I am drow, and a male, so of course I don’t. More, I have several sisters and a bevy of nieces, all who once and perhaps still pledge themselves to the Spider Queen. We would all be fools to expect that everyone in House Baenre, or everyone who claims to side with House Baenre, truly is an ally.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“Zak thought of his homeland, Menzoberranzan, the city and the cavern that had stood for millennia. Every drow family tried to put their mark on it, be it with circling stairways flowing from stalactite to stalactite, highlighted with faerie fire of varying hues, but those were such little details, he thought. He was sure that the city looked very much as it had soon after its founding.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“They have opened a gate to the lower planes in this outer cave,” Avernil explained. “Nvisi says the barrier between the planes—”

“The Faerzress,” Zak interjected.

“We call it the Mezzonel, the winding fabric of Piu.”

“Piu?”

“Piu . . .” Avernil lifted his gaze and his arm, looking all around, sweeping his arm as he did. “The Everything. All that is and all that will ever be. Piu.”

Zak nodded. “The multiverse.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“One snarled at him and lifted a four-headed scourge of living, hissing snakes his way. A second crossed the hands of her outstretched arms before her in the spider symbol, thumbs as pedipalps, eight fingers as legs—a typical casting pose for a Lolthian priestess—while the third dropped a globe of darkness over the group.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“And there, too?” Catti-brie asked, indicating a lower point, a shelf not much higher than the floor of the rift, where a cluster of giant stalagmites lay at a strange angle, some broken, some still showing their full tips, and one even hinting at the glow of faerie fire. “That is what remains of House Oblodra,” Gromph told her. “Thrown in here by Matron Mother Baenre in the Time of Troubles nearly two centuries ago. They sought to use the silence of Lolth to their advantage with their psionic powers. Lolth didn’t like it.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“I do not make mistakes.”

“Your minions will die by the thousands here in this war.”

The giant being shrugged. “Mortals die. It is what they do. And how they die is my pleasure and my power.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“Lady Lolth,” the avatar corrected. “The Demon Queen of Spiders. Queen of the Demonweb Pits, the Mother of Lusts. You have heard all of these?” Yvonnel didn’t respond. “And the truest,” the avatar continued, “the Weaver of Chaos. I do so enjoy the unpredictability of the world. To roll the stones down the uneven mountain and watch their bounces and deflections.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“Yvonnel shook her head, not sure if this creature before her was diabolical or rational at that moment.

“It did not matter,” the avatar said to her. “Do you not understand? Your actions? The ‘truths’ you learned? They did not matter.”

“Then what does matter?”

“My pleasure. My chaos. My power. Me. Just me.”

“Then what future?”

“Who cares?” The avatar laughed at her, and it was sincere, she knew.

“You care enough to bless the matrons,” she said.

“Do I?”

“You care enough to start wars—in the Silver Marches, in Gauntlgrym, in your own City of Spiders!”

“The ultimate chaos. War.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“She laughed even louder and that answer told Yvonnel the truth. Lolth wasn’t angry with her. Anger would imply that Lolth cared

. “What am I to do with you?” the avatar said.

“You will never have me, foul beast.”

“I already have you.”

“You will never have my heart.”

“But I will have fun nonetheless.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“I do not lie. You know that I do not. You may find wealth in one of these cards. You might find items of great magic. You might find allies of great power, or enemies beyond you. You might find curses or blessings, your greatest wishes, your greatest fears.”

“What games do you play?”

“I’m not playing this game—you are.”

“What is the game, though?”

“One that entertains me.”

“Fiend.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“A beautiful drow woman. Too beautiful. Painfully beautiful. It was not an emissary of Lolth, she knew. No, no. It was the image of Lolth herself, reaching out to her from the Abyss. Sos’Umptu fell to her knees, as did every other drow in the Fane of the Goddess.

“Many of my handmaidens have come to Menzoberranzan, my city,” Lolth said. Sos’Umptu wanted to look upon her, but dared not lift her gaze.

“They brought me here, to you, in full confidence that you would be an acceptable and accepting host.”

“I pray you found me acceptable.”

“Indeed, Sos’Umptu Baenre. Indeed. Rise now, I command. Look upon me. Let me see the love in your eyes.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“House Melarn is within those stalactites,” the wizard went on. “Up near the cavern roof, mostly, and then within the roof.”
“Only commoners and prisoners are in the chambers above the ceiling,” Entreri said. “The throne room, the chapels, the war rooms, all are within the down-pointing spires.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“Tsabrak scoffed at her. “How long have you lived here? Freedom? You are free to do the best you can, based on your loyalty to Lolth and your inner strengths. On your physical, magical, and intellectual prowess. And, of course, your gender. That you, a noble priestess of a powerful house, daughter to one of the ruling matrons of Menzoberranzan, should—”

“Suppose that is not what I want?” Saribel interrupted. “Perhaps my heart does not condone that which I see all about me.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“But she is . . . a she!” Ravel replied. “As are you. The power here is yours to take and hold. Tsabrak has reached the limit of anything he could ever hope for, and still he remains beneath every matron of every house, every high priestess, even. Why would he stay in a society that forever makes of him a lesser class of drow simply because he is a man?”

“His power and his luxury come from the order of the matriarchy,” Saribel explained. “To this level only.”

“To this level he might not have achieved without the structures now in place in the city.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“It is hardly just the matrons and their priestesses, though. As this has sorted, there seem many more against our revolution than for it.”

“For many reasons, though,” Zak reminded.

“Fear of their matrons and of Lolth, of course. Or simply fear of this unknown future the Baenres have offered. They know the way it’s been, for the entirety their lives, even for those whose lives have spanned centuries. They know their place within that truth. They know the boundaries, the lines not to cross, the acts that give them gain and those that offer only pain. What do they know of this promised world beyond Lolth, particularly when it, too, from their perspective at least, will be under the designs of House Baenre?”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“Jarlaxle’s returning smile fit the moment perfectly, but behind it wasn’t Sos’Umptu’s offer, but rather his proof that even with her, even with this most loyal servant of Lolth, it was all about selfish gain. It was always all about selfish gain, he thought, but then corrected himself, and reminded himself why he loved Drizzt and Drizzt’s friends, and why, in a most profound way, knowing them had given him so much more than any promises Sos’Umptu or any other Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan could ever offer.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“Along with the refugees of House Baenre, the contingent of outsiders of the Dark Maiden, and the soldiers of Bregan D’aerthe, nearly three thousand udadrow had left Menzoberranzan, past Donigarten and through the little-used Wanderways.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Lolth's Warrior

“For five long years Vierna devoted almost every waking moment to the care of baby Drizzt. In drow society, this was not so much nurturing time as indoctrinating time.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Homeland

“Zak was able to smile at situations that didn’t necessarily bring pain to anyone. He was the first drow Drizzt had met who was apparently content with his station in life. Zak was the first drow Drizzt had ever heard laugh.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Homeland

“Information was Jarlaxle’s forte. The scouting network of Bregan D’aethe, the band Jarlaxle had founded and taken to greatness, was more intricate than that of any drow house. Jarlaxle knew everything that happened, or would soon happen, in and around the city, and armed with that information, he had survived for centuries as a houseless rogue.”
― R.A. Salvatore, The Legacy: Legend of Drizzt

“He was wearing his shimmering cape now, its magical colours cascading up and down his graceful form, and his wide-brimmed hat, hugely plumed with the feathers of a diatryma, a great flightless Underdark bird, adorned his clean-shaven head. A slender sword dancing beside one hip and long dirk on the other were his only visible weapons, but those who knew the sly mercenary realized that he possessed many more than that, concealed on his person, but easily retrieved if the need arose.”
― R.A. Salvatore, The Legacy: Legend of Drizzt

“The greatest weakness in Menzoberranzan was not the rivalry of the various Houses, Jarlaxle knew, but the strict matriarchal system imposed by Lolth’s followers. Half the Drow population was subjugated merely because they had been born male. That was a weakness. And subjugation inevitably bred bitterness, even- especially!- in one who had gone as far as Gromph.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Siege of Darkness

“A huge black tentacle snaked over the rim of the Clawrift, wriggling its way behind the Oblodran compound. Like a wave, dark elves fell back, stumbling all over each other, as the twenty-foot-thick monstrosity came around the back, along the side, and along the front wall, back towards the chasm.

“Baenre!” Pleaded the desperate, doomed Oblodran.

“You have denied Lolth,” the first matron mother replied calmly. “Feel her wraith!”
― R.A. Salvatore, Siege of Darkness

“That was the truth of his power, he realized, the ability to delegate responsibility and allow others to rightfully take their credit. The strength of Jarlaxle lay not in Jarlaxle, though even alone he could be formidable indeed, but in the competent soldiers with whom the mercenary surrounded himself. To battle Jarlaxle was to battle Bregan D’aerthe, an organisation of free-thinking, amazingly competent drow warriors. To battle Jarlaxle was to lose.”
― R.A. Salvatore, The Silent Blade

“Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the assassin, motioned for Entreri to go left, and went right, blending into the shadows so perfectly that Entreri had to blink to make sure they were not they were not deceiving him. He knew that Jarlaxle, like all dark elves, was stealthy. Likewise he knew that Jarlaxle’s cloak was not the standard drow piwafwi, it did have many magical qualities. It surprised him that anyone, short of using a wizard’s invisibility spell, could find a way so to completely hide that great plumed hat.”
― R.A. Salvatore, Servant of the Shard