Elves Above Us
It has been observed that our vile light-skinned cousins have rediscovered the habitable places at the surface of the world. They have resettled an ancient surface lakebed and taken up refuge from many a threat. But their power to act on things that matters seems unaffected. Dare they not to explore the infinite places of that region?
Have you not read, all my sisters, that the proper place for light-skinned is the surface? Have you not read in our chronicles that this day must come? Have you not read, my beloved sisters, that the reconquest of the surface shall precipitate the fall of the high-elf forever? For in the fey places of the world, there are chants being made today which have not been chanted in eons. These are the chants of growth and exploration.
Allow me to remind you of the history:
We were once as many of them are, wanderers of the great tunnels, searching for that great facade, light. That facade which purported to make us strong but instead made us weaker. That facade which promised us dominion but produced subjugation. That facade which called us to itself, and then, with a single change drove us as far inward to the planet as we are capable of going.
We fled from the light, for it robbed us of the ability to be comfortable without it. In such a short time, it faded again away, leaving us vulnerable to the demon-stings of Serket! In such a short time, we learned the true meaning of pain, every one of our number, when we camped beneath the stars.
That same evil facade of light which did us so much harm must need be the undoing of our fellow-elf, and if we must rise in war to bring that change about, then I call for a council of war!
Let us begin to sing the songs of conquest again. The grey-dwarf has honed our great edge for its proper target. Sing to the spiders labyrinthine, let them join us in marshaling for war. Shall we not also have as allies all the minions of our goddess? Is she not drawn from among our earliest number and equally as dedicated as I to the cause of re-conquest? Sing now the songs of war, my sisters, for the time of our rise comes swiftly and without mercy.
—Eilimae, Drow militant priestess; Oration on the re-founding of Mourning†
†This title is probably apocryphal, as it is almost certainly not a word that Drow of that time would have had access to. Perhaps a much later compiler of the historical record added the title to explain the context, although in retrospect, the text itself seems fairly clear about that.