A Day in the Life: Naegling's Heroes

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Dear Readers,

  Monday brought you the Song of Naegling, a poem which I am convinced was written by the weapon itself.  How this is possible I am not sure, though I can imagine there are a number of mundane technical explanations for the creation of an intelligent weapon.  While your time stream makes a certain effort to provide itself with scientific explanations of things, I will leave that to my colleagues on the other side of the quad, and just remain impressed with Naegling's autobiography.
 
  I find it interesting that I can find outside sources that confirm the weapon's existence.  For one, Naegling survives in your time stream's versions of Beowulf.  Personally, I recommend the Seamus Heaney translation of the ones that are available to you and your contemporaries.

  My own work intersects with Naegling when she/he/it finds James Strongman, a personality who has yet to appear in your consciousness, but will become quite important in one of the time streams that branch off from your current temporal position.  Strongman is a warleader for a troubled age, and one that I hope you do not have the opportunity to visit.  Below you may find one of Strongman's journal entries during his rise to power.  I caution you that Strongman was never one to avoid profanity.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople


March 17th, 2017 4:36 PM

   Quick update on our movements:  We made it up from Port Chester in the past few days, though it got pretty fuckin' hairy on the way.  Some gang, probably existed before all this got started, tried to hit our group when we camped near the Metro North tracks for the night, to wait out the snowstorm.  I lost two people.  Like always, I'd shed some tears, but they were dead guys anyway.  And we took out five of the raider bastards to boot.  Scored some good shit, too; antibiotics, a little bit of morphine.  They must have found a hospital at some point.  Like usual, I took two shares and gave the rest to my people.  One share for me, one share for Ashley.  If I ever see her again.

   Something a little strange is going on, though, with the rifle I found.  It's a great gun, of course.  The runes are a little weird, but some rich old fart in Chappaqua owned it, so I'm not surprised.  Odd thing is, though--you know in old war movies, how a tracker will scratch his kills into the barrel?  Well, I could've sworn there wasn't a scratch on this fuckin' gun when I found it.  Now there's twenty skulls, clear as day, right near the bolt.  Freaks me out a little.  I've lost count, but I think since I found this thing it's taken about twenty lives.  Still, it's a great gun.  Hard to find one this good anymore.

  We gotta move.  I'll try and write more when I get the chance.