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Entreri Quotes

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Entreri Quotes

“Ah, yes, true that,” Jarlaxle agreed, feigning defeat. “It escaped me that you are without the strong sense of irony to go that delicious route.” Jarlaxle turned to the others. “So we have it, then,” he declared. “It was the illithids, a grand and brilliant plan! Or it was Lolth herself, ever making chaos for her enjoyment. Or it was one of her great rivals, then—perhaps Demogorgon!—blowing up the whole damned Lolthian world on Faerun.” “Or it was nothing at all beyond the epiphany of two women in position to make a difference,” Entreri said dryly. He sighed and shook his head, then looked up at Wulfgar, who stood beside him. “You see, my friend?” he asked with sarcasm exceeding that of the others. “This is why we can’t have good things, good thoughts, simple joy, or hope.” Jarlaxle laughed loudly at that, amused. But there really was a nagging doubt here, about all of it. The most important lesson he had learned in his desperate struggle to survive in Menzoberranzan was that nothing—nothing!—was as it seemed. Not ever. But how he wanted to believe that this time would be different.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”