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R. A. Salvatore

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"I assure you, paladin king, that if I had a sword in hand, I would willingly cut out your heart, here and now. If you expect me to beg look elsewhere. The fool monk can bring me to my knees, but if I am not there of my own choosing, then calling it begging would ring as hollow as does your crown, yes?" —Artemis Entreri

R. A. Salvatore

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"Or animated", Friar Dudgald added. "And you know of course that to animate the corpse of a goodly man is a crime against all that is good and right. A crime against the Broken God!"
Entreri stared at Dudgald, narrowed his eyes, grinned, and spat on the floor. "Not my god", he explained.
Celedon rushed over and slugged him. He staggered, just a step, but refused to fall.
"Gareth is king by blood and by deed!" Dudgald shouted. "Anointed by Ilmater himself!"
"As every drow matron claims to be anointed by Lolth!" the stubborn prisoner cried.
"Lord Ilmater strike you dead!" Lady Christine shouted.
"Fetch your sword and strike for him," Entreri shouted right back. "Or get your sword and give me my own, and we will learn whose god is the stronger!"

R. A. Salvatore

"I believe in things I never used to. I think someone is trying to find me — has found me. And is calling. Who it is I don't know. What they want I don't know. But a little while ago I found out one more thing — this sword."
I picked the sword up from the table.
"It isn't what I want," I went on, "But sometimes, when my mind is — abstract, something from outside floats into it. Like the need for a sword. And not any sword — just one. I don't know what the sword looks like, but I'd know if I held it in my hand." I laughed a little. "And if I drew it a few inches from the sheath, I could put out that fire up there as if I'd blown on it like a candleflame. And if I drew the sword all the way out — the world would come to an end!"

Henry Kuttner

"It is undeniably beautiful, do you not agree?" Jarlaxle asked, looking back at the soaring cathedral, with its tall spires, soaring buttresses, and great, colored windows.
"The mask of a god," Entreri replied sourly.
"The mask or the face?" asked the always-surprising Jarlaxle.
Entreri stared hard at his companion, and back at the towering cathedral. "The mask," he said, "or perhaps the illusion, concocted by those who seek to elevate themselves above all others and have not the skills to do so."
Jarlaxle looked at him curiously.
"A man inferior with the blade or with his thoughts can still so elevate himself," Entreri explained curtly, "if he can impart the belief that some god or other speaks through him. It is the greatest deception in all the world, and one embraced by kings and lords, while minor lying thieves on the streets of Calimport and other cities lose their tongues for so attempting to coax the purses of others."
That struck Jarlaxle as the most poignant and revealing insight he had yet pried from the mouth of the elusive Artemis Entreri, a great clue as to who this man truly was.

R. A. Salvatore

"If you are to be so emotionally wounded when you are bested in battle, then perhaps you would do well to hone your skills." —Artemis Entreri

R. A. Salvatore

"Artemis Entreri is dead. He died in the Protector's House in Memnon, chasing ghosts."

R. A. Salvatore
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