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Quote by R.A. Salvatore

“They play hard, and drink harder,” said Entreri, who was nursing a tremendous headache. “They dance, they love, and they sing with abandon.” “And they drink,” Jarlaxle repeated with a knowing grin. Entreri groaned and held his head. “You enjoyed your time with Vessi?” Catti-brie said with a laugh. “Too much so. But yes. He took me to a place he called De’lirr. I did not know that drow could sweat so much.” The other two looked at him curiously. “It was half a dance, half a fight to see who could stay on the floor the longest. Few left alone.” “Including Entreri?” The man just shrugged and even seemed to blush a bit, which caught Catti-brie off guard. “They are alive,” Entreri went on. “Maybe more alive than any people I have known. They play harder than many fight.”

Quote by R.A. Salvatore

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Starlight Enclave

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R.A. Salvatore

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“For two millennia, the aevendrow have lived here beside the blessing of the hot River Callidae. We remember the strife of the times before that, the wandering, the hopelessness, the grief. This day, this war of cazzcalci reminds us that our peace is earned by vigilance and by sacrifice, and that we must all be ever ready to do whatever is asked of us to preserve that which we have built. There is no aevendrow, kurit, orok, or Ulutiun of Callidae who would not die to save the city, or even to save another borough. When Qadeej breathed upon Cattisola, more people of the other four boroughs died trying to save the Cattisolans than Cattisolans themselves! For that, we are all proud, and we are all one.”

“Consider this part of your journey a growing experience,” Jarlaxle explained. “You don’t have your son’s scimitars anymore. Do you think I would allow my second—” “Kimmuriel is your second.” “He’s the other half of my first. In my part of Bregan D’aerthe, in my, shall we say, personal journeys, you are my partner.” “You called me your second. Now I’m your partner? And does Artemis Entreri know of this new arrangement?” “We’ve a fight coming. Are you going to argue about everything?” “Titles matter.” “What would you prefer?” “Your better,” Zak said, and he pulled the eyepatch from his head and tossed it back to Jarlaxle.”

“After listening to the great farmer-poet Wendell Berry deliver a lecture on how we each have a duty to love our 'homeplace' more than any other, I asked him if he had any advice for rootless people like me and my friends, who disappear into our screens and always seem to be shopping for the perfect community where we should put down our roots. 'Stop somewhere,' he replied. 'And begin the thousand-year-long process of knowing that place. That's good advice on lots of levels, because in order to win this fight of our lives, we all need a place to stand.”

“He is drow,” Zak answered before Jarlaxle, who was now floating back down. “As are you—you cannot levitate?” The surrounding aevendrow stared at him as if they had no idea what he was talking about. “Now, this is an interesting turn,” Jarlaxle said, setting down beside them. “So it was the Faerzress all along, the barrier to the lower planes, which gave us this inner magic.”

“He stared at it for a long while, hating himself for having to so manipulate his friend yet again. That thought surprised the drow; when in his entire life had he ever felt such a twang? In his betrayal of Zaknafein those centuries before, perhaps? He looked at Entreri again, and he felt as if he was staring at his old drow companion.”