I'm surprised this thread hasn't seen some more action given recent developments in the story.

I was reluctant to buy into the Fight Club allegory as it seemed far too obvious, but it hasn't been entirely eschewed yet, excepting
I was also waiting for Tyrell to be revealed as a much more tech capable character than he had been portrayed as initially. I want to argue that he might be working towards a similar end as Elliot but with a much more self-centered end.
I've also been entertaining some thoughts recently that the "third person" to which Elliot is describing events is less an emotional outlet as it is a constructed alternate ego, a truly dispassionate, objective personality to which he can justify "Elliot's" self

Not sure this fits here, but I reckoned science and technology some sort of symbiotic and indivisible enough relationship that I'd find forgiveness for it.

A little exposition as it brought about my observation/concern: I was out on a bar patio last night with a bunch of friends, maybe a dozen of us, for one last shin dig before the summer ends and school again takes over people's lives. We're all hanging out, having drinks, chatting, that kind of jazz, and at one point I notice that about nine of thirteen people have their phone out or in their hands. I couldn't help but be irritated by the fact that odds were we weren't likely to see each other again for months and these folks were absorbed in their phones.

So I did what any sensible passive aggressive person would and swallowed my frustration and did my best to get some more lively conversation going, thinking that perhaps that was all the technological distraction was about. It wasn't. It got to the point where I whispered to my buddy how ridiculous a situation this was and he remedied the situation by sending a mass text message to everyone saying something along the lines: "Anyone with a phone out must stack it face down in the center of the table. Anytime you want to check your phone you have to buy a drink for everyone stacked below yours"

I thought it was a little pathetic that that was what was required to get people off their phones whilst hanging out with their friends, but it seemed to work. Until one guy realized he could just buy a pitcher and take his phone out of the rotation and somehow managed to seem perturbed that I hadn't even taken mine out of my pocket since I had arrived.

I don't know if any of you have ever experienced anything similar or to what degree, but it kind of depressed me. At what point does--or has it long been past--constant availability and constant connectivity get in the way of simply being present? I mean, when did the fact that someone actually paying attention to the people they are with become in any way remarkable? Is this dynamic indicative of the current state of human interaction? Am I being unreasonable or should I start searching for some mountain cavern and take up residence?

“Every crash is always the same. You remember each one like it was the last, because each time, no matter where you managed to drop that thing, you haul yourself out, bloodied and bruised, and you get your ass movin'. It's the only way to survive in my line o' work, cause if you don't follow through on your job there's a hundred black flag crews out there that would just as soon melt your feet to the floor and leave ya then hear excuses.

'All that's the easy part though.' The scarred man leaned back and settled languidly into his chair, bloated on the self regard small men get from being the center of attention; even if it is only the admiration of a wide eyed twelve year old. He was pausing for dramatic effect, and so took a long draught from his mug before continuing, 'The real trouble that comes after any crash is getting away 'fore any one notices ya. This time though I wasn't nearly so lucky.

I managed to claw my way from the twisted metal and billowing smoke, far enough away to not have to worry about the flames. I wiped some of the blood and sweat away and pulled a battered flask from my belt, but before I could even unstopper it I heard a movement in the bushes. Never a good sign mate. I tell you this, you come down in the woods and any animal that even caught a whisper of it is going to be headed in the opposite direction. And fast.

Live a long enough, rough enough life and ya learn to slip a shooter from its sleeve as quick and easy as breathing, only this time when my hand shot to my hip it closed on nothing. Damn thing got lost at some point during my impromptu descent. Now, I'm not ashamed to admit that my nerves got the better of me at this point, normally ya'd find a worn leather handle to stop your fingers from shakin'; however, I am embarrassed to admit that I was half way through a string of curses that would make a witch blush when the unmistakeable sound of a pulse battery charging behind me silenced my profane litany.

I turned around slowly to see a tall figure stride from between the trees, blaster levelled at my chest. He was thin but muscled, some how lithe and solid at the same time. He was as graceful as a Horashi lantern dancer and from the looks of it twice as deadly. And here I was with nothing but a dented flask and trembling fists to disarm him. You can be the biggest, baddest bastard on two legs but there ain't nothin' that's gunna turn a gun barrel from ya but a faster finger or a silver tongue.

Now, whether you want to call it luck or misfortune, my whole life I've found myself in and out situations stickier than a barrel a tar and you don't get out of those without being a bit slippery, so I did what any smart man in my position would do—act the fool.

I slowly rose my hands above my head, made sure that he saw the flask before I tossed it his way, as if this were some kind of back alley robbery and not the scene of a pirate crash landing”

“----- Alright, that's enough.' a weary looking man behind the bar interrupted, 'Liam take those mugs in the back and off to bed with ya”

“But Dad---” a stony look from his father cut him off and Liam quickly vacated the barroom.

Once his son had left, the bartender turned his attention to the storyteller, “Look Tal, I don't care if you spin yarns for the crewman to hustle a drink or two. I even look the other way when you rehash the same exaggerated tales for those poor women who have the misfortune to cross your path, but save my son the theatrics.”

Tallan finished all but the last of his drink and settled it down on the bar just forcefully enough to splash its remaining contents on to the countertop.

“Ah Mick, it was all in good fun”

“For you, maybe, but I don't need my son signing on and sailing across the dark to die on some backwater planet because you filled his head full of stories about pirates and space elves.” Now that he had unclamped his tongue, Mick found that he was letting loose some pent up heat. “We both know you weren't more than a third-rate smuggler whose only payout came from a Confederation sting where you managed to slip away with the loot during all the confusion.”

Tal leaned in across the bar, his smouldering gaze framed by his infamous scar, and hissed, “The last I recall, that blundering mishap of mine funded this shit hole you call a tavern. If not for me, this place would still be a hopeless dream in your empty pocket.” Satisfied that his point had been made, Tal pushed the empty mug across the bar and turned to survey the room, “Now, how about another drink old friend.”

Mick's anger wilted when confronted by Tal's sudden ire. He took the mug, sighed, and wiped down the counter. All the heat of his resolve had cooled to a puff of helpless exasperation. He began to draw from the tap, tabulating the cost against Tal's investment and his own freedom.

Before Mick could set the full mug down, Tal spotted two women sitting down to an empty table, “Make that a pitcher Mick. I believe I see a few ladies who look as if they're longing to be regaled with the tales of my dangerous exploits”

Mick dumped the mug down the drain and began to recalculate as he drew a pitcher. He wondered if poison might be better than patience.

Terminus Est from Book of the New Sun

Another good one, and a reminder I need to finish the latter half of that series.

Also Burn's Hammer comes to mind.

Forgot about that one. It definitely has some heavy moments attached to it. Rake's brothers carry some pretty cool blades too. Vengeance has a fairly interesting role

Tolkien: Glamdring (Gandalf) Sting (Bilbo+Frodo) Orcwrist (Thorin) - I know there are a load more I just cant think of them.

Wondered how long before Tolkien would make an appearance on the list. Middle-Earth is packed with legendary gear. Aragon's sword Andúril, "the blade that was broken", and its reforged counterpart Narsil come to mind

I was just doing a quick reread of Richard Morgan's A Land Fit for Heroes trilogy before diving into the last book and it kind of surprised me that the topic of legendary weapons has never come up given that we comprise what I suspect is primarily a spec-fic audience. So, based on my most recent read, I present the Ravensfriend:

"I am Welcomed in the Home of Ravens and Other Scavengers in the Wake of Warriors," Ringil recited for him, hollowly. "I am Friend to Carrion Crows and Wolves. I am Carry Me and Kill with Me, and Die with Me Where the Road Ends. I am not the Honeyed Promise of Length of Life in Years to Come. I am the Iron Promise of Never Being a Slave."
"That's its dedication?"
"That's its name," Ringil told him flatly.

A few others come to mind immediately, but I haven't any defining passages to include for them. Any weapons you've read about that really stand out to you? If this catches on I'll add some more

Just finished. I found the Consul's tale to be not as tragic, but just as heavy. The story he tells for context moved me a bit. I get it now though Madness, I'll be picking up the second installment on my way home from work tomorrow. Are the following novels worth looking into, or am I going to find myself dragging through another latter-half-Ender-quartet?

I've been away for a while, so for an update:

I finished the Prince, King, and Emperor of Thorns by Mark Lawrence. I had a few qualms with each of the books separately, and a few small ones with the overall story, but would still recommend for anyone looking for first person grimdark. I might start a separate thread to discuss the trilogy and get other people's thoughts. It might be that I'm overlooking something or being too critical.

I usually keep a short story anthology at work to read on my lunch breaks. Since my last post I finished a great one on pirates called Fast Ships, Black Sails (can't remember the title editor at the moment, will edit later). Like most anthologies there are some weak shorts and some good ones. I think I lucked out with this one as there were only a few I didn't care for and more by comparison than by any fault of their own. I've moved on to The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling for my lunches and am quite satisfied. Disney is a poor facsimile. So far it has been a great example of someone who understands the folk tale and has quite expertly reproduced it.

I also burned through The Slow Regard of Silent Things, a non-story novella by Patrick Rothfuss. You have to be familiar with the character to contextualize the peculiarity of it, but it felt just right. I've even found the perfect t place for it on my shelf 

Right now I'm wrapping up Hyperion by Dan Simmons. I'm nearly done the fifth chapter and so far it has been an excellent collection of tragedies. The Wandering Jew's tale genuinely made me breath a sigh of despair and put the book down for a day; it was some heavy shit. Fucking love it though. I'll certainly be looking into the follow up.

Not sure what's next on the list, I have a bad habit of buying books faster than I read them, which I'm OK with. Always happy for suggestions too, and maybe they'll coincide with my pile of to-reads.

Read on my page brothers