An excerpt from the Codices of Subterranean Lineage, penned in quiet scrutiny by the Librarian.
“They are the forsaken children of the sunlit glades, those who turned their backs to the light and were, in turn, shunned by it. Born of the ancient elven stock, the drow—dark elves, as the surface dwellers name them—were cast into the Underdark in ages long past, having sworn fealty to the Weaver of Webs, Lolth. In her image they remade themselves: ruthless, cunning, and wreathed in shadow.
Their society, rigid and cruel, is one of endless intrigue and devout cruelty, patterned after the divine sadism of their Spider Queen. Within the pitch-dark cathedrals of the Underdark, the drow have flourished into a civilization both magnificent and terrifying, built upon sacrifice, dominance, and the endless struggle for power.
Aesthetically, the drow are unmistakable. Their skin gleams like polished obsidian; their hair, a pale cascade of white or washed gold. Eyes, pale and piercing, shimmer in hues of lilac, crimson, sapphire, or ghostly silver. In form, they are lithe—slimmer and often shorter than their surface kin, but no less deadly.
Though rare, there are those among them who escape the spider's web. Drow who forsake Lolth’s path, willingly or otherwise, walk a perilous road. When such individuals emerge into the light, they often do so cloaked in suspicion and legend, their names written not in ledgers—but in whispers.
(Consultation with one’s plane’s current arcane custodian—often called a 'Dungeon Master'—is advised should one wish to encounter, or embody, a drow.)”