79.hail-ripperthroat.1.18

When I said a little while back that the off-world pressure was lessening, it clearly wasn't true, because since I have made it to Hellsborough every day of the last month, we are now almost into a new one and this is my first diary entry in well, sometime.

The only recent highlight in terms of adventure was a couple of days ago when I went down the muddy banks of the Rivelin. All was fine, until I ascended to higher ground, and was yet again assaulted by a hailstorm that came out of the murk with such venom that it stung severely, and seemed to time its attack in a place -- somewhere out the back of Stannington -- where I was unable to find any shelter at all. I was placed completely at its mercy, it pounding me relentlessly for a period of time that felt much longer than it should have. Even the barghest, my companion always, seemed somewhat perturbed, and maybe even a little shaken. Wet through because of the accompanying rain, I refrained from visiting any bars, on the Middlewood road or otherwise.

I did have a sighting of Van however -- not on the same day as the hail, but a day or two earlier. He looked rather dishevelled and was clearly tripping on some or other substance -- hallucinogenics -- maybe organic, maybe synthesised, who knows. Probably Van doesn't (or didn't) even know himself. The only thing that I can say for certain is that, although I wasn't in earshot, people were avoiding him completely.

I gathered from others later, that at the moment he has something of a hygiene problem and was babbling incoherently -- which is something of an achievement, considering his level of intolerance to most narcotic substances.