Diary of Pip Rippon

I mentioned Nigel not long ago. I was out at Outibridge, and I bumped into a guy in a pub there. Nice enough chap. He said that he worked in an office on the Middlewood road and he was pretty happy with his job. I mean, in this place, most people are content, so no surprises there -- that's the whole point about the psycmasks and the hivemind, to keep folk content and happy with their small corner of life, or so I understand. Van has backed that theory up many a time, although of course a century or so ago, he wasn't content at all, which is why he decided to abscond to The Dark Peak proper, and why we are now finishing off his memoirs.

Anyway, getting back to Nigel, yeah, seemed like a nice enough bloke, but then the very next day, I heard on the hive mind:

#### HMM::IN('DPDC Alert: Hellsborough junction closed, suspected sabotage of Hellborough Bridge.') `hits:: 4991007 // [this]2001:0db8:85a3:0000:0000:8a2e:037g:7334 [loc::hellsborough//middlewood_road//467]__ // now:: 79.squall-longleg.12.0.9.15.11`

`Avoid area. Roads closed. Suspected casualties.`

This might put that into some sort of context, a video I came across earlier, you can view it here.

I was out in the greater Wisewood today, not far from the banks of the Loxley river, a part that I call the copse of mystic beasts -- it really is full of some of the strangest creatures that you have ever come across. There was a web. Possibly the largest web you have ever seen. It was suspended between half a dozen trees. At the centre of that web was an eightleg -- they are something of a rarity in The Dark Peak -- strange that, since they are pretty ubiquitous in the off-world. And I say eightleg, since that is what they usually are, but this beast, this was something different altogether. I didn't get too close, you wouldn't would you? I mean, look at the thing, it's difficult to see where the creature stops and the branches begin, it's as if it is melded with the trees -- at one with its hosts. Lying in wait for unsuspecting prey, which I had no intention of being me, or Shad -- I don't even know whether a padfoot like him could handle whatever venom such an heinous monster might be capable of dishing out, and I'd very much doubt that I could; so best to stay away from a character like that.

I spend about 50/50 of my time between Hellsborough and The Dark Peak and the off-world -- the place that you likely reside, what you'd think of as Planet Earth, the real world, where you live.

In the off-world, there is lots of talk about AI -- Artificial Intelligence -- ChatGPT and Big Blue all that sort of thing. Clever stuff init? Well maybe you think so. Over here in Hellsborough, it is mere child's play.

You have social media. This side of The hinge we have the hive mind, it's pretty much the same thing, but it is immersive, it goes straight into your brain via your eyes and ears. I have to wear a physical psycmask when I'm here, otherwise I can't breath, but everyone here these days has their psycmask nano-implanted at birth -- and those devices determine your ability to do many things: If you’ve got no chits, then you don't "see" what's on the shelves of the supermarket -- you only see what you can afford. That stops a lot of alcoholism and the like, and wanton spending. The Nascenti are nothing if not clever and powerful overlords, not that you'll ever see one of them (if you wear a psycmask).

Then there is the organic network. Think of that as being like your CCTV. The organic network sees everything, especially out in The Dark Peak. In Hellsborough, it being a build up area, the organic network is much less effective, but it still exists, and folk are still wary to step outside of the law. Drop a sweet wrapper or leave your barker’s smelt on the footpath, and you could be spotted and charged chits -- and you don't want to run out if chits -- doing that will put you on the radar on the exacids, and you really don't want to be on their The-fungal-ai, or fungai, take its input from both the hivemind and the organic network. This is where your off-world AI starts to look really lame, and when I read an article, it really made me think about the difference.

The Dark Peak has an advanced Artificial Intelligence, which is also quantum based. But more than that, it's not some artificial quantum simulation like you have in the off-world. In The Dark Peak, or more accurately, the entirity of The Dark Peak, is a quantum computer. But it is far more than that, it is an organic quantum computer built upon the mycelium of fungi that communicates with every living entity in the land mass. This is not just quantum computing, this is not just Artificial Intelligence, this is quantum-organic computing –- there is a word for it: Quantanic (some call it quorgantum) computing (the official definition is yet to be decided). It is the most general artificial intelligence you have ever come across -- entirely carbon based, and fully sentient.

It runs the humidity plants, and will protect against anything that tries to cause it -- or The Dark Peak -- harm, but mostly -- get this: It may sound dystopian, but it's actually fine — or maybe I am just becoming far too accustomed to living here?

Grab a copy of the curated guide for a more in-depth investigation into what I understand about this technology.

Was out and about with Shad and the murk was heavy. I struggled to see more than a couple of feet ahead of us. So it kind of came as no real surprise when I found myself penned in by barbed wire -- as soon as I realised my mistake, I knew where I had made it: Instead of turning right after crossing a stile, a turned right before it, and straight into a farmer's field -- several minutes later, I came up against the aforementioned barbed wire. Seeing no way out that didn't involve potentially damaging myself or Shad, I about turned and started to retrace my steps. That was when I heard the yapping and yelping of barkers, and started to quicken my step. But I was caught up by the owner of the field, who had somehow managed to spot me and ploughed his Gruizer across the field to intercept my path. I was wondering if I was about to see the wrong end of a fungun, but instead, he jumped out of his vehicle, and, after establishing that I had clearly made a mistake, and was simple retracing my steps, held me in conversation for twenty minutes or more. The guy was a simple fellow -- and a rarity out here in The Dark Peak, where many humans no longer care to tread, never mind live. He lived a simple life, he said, tending to his demonspawn and wooltard, growing cabs and other vegetables, making a living selling his produce to The Nascenti, who in turn process it into biofeed for the pop. He invited us into his humble dwelling, and I was at first hesitant, but after he had explained -- in this very broad accent, far far broader than even Van's -- that he saw few folk and he would welcome a little company, I relented and in his sparse kitchen we drank warm fresh demonspawn milk and he warmed up some salted wooltard shank, which was delicious. He didn't keep me beyond me welcome, and after half and hour or so I was back on the road again heading for the banks of the Loxley. I didn't get the guys name, but I have a distinct feeling that out paths will cross again.

The gloaming comes quick at this time of year, but I think it is my favourite time of year for experiencing it. During the Windstrom, it comes on all too quickly, before you even notice. It this time of year, just around the vernal equinox, the gloaming takes a little longer before it turns into full on murknight, it lasts for many moments, and that allows the creatures of the gloaming to make more of a presence, they flit and float about and you'll hear their growls and grunts as they make the most out of the final glimpses of the murklight. It is at this time of year that the magic of The Dark Peak is at its greatest natural strength, now is the time to practise spells and mysticism, if only I knew some -- yet I do have access (and copies) of the milting's semagrams -- the ones that I don't know what they do, not just the one that opens The hinge. Now is the time of year to be reciting those incantations. Why do I feel that now? or why do I know that? call it intuition. I'm going out to feel the gloaming now. The screetch-chatter of a pied corvid -- raptors of The Dark Peak, the laughter of a scrufftail as it raids a nest of ashpeeps, the coo of rooterwings, the hoot of the flatface, the yelp of barkers and the odd slyfluff, the flitter-flutter of the Backflit.

I was up on Wadsley common last weekend, walking through the bracken dunes, my bare legs scratched by the course bracken, the gorse and the briars. I got to thinking about change, and the way seasons bring on so much variation in the landscape -- it is the vernal equinox after all, and this season is my favourite. You call in Autumn. Here in The Dark Peak they call it Windstrom -- the time of the howling, the vicious, biting wind that infects the murk and drives folk crazy with its high pitched whistle.

It is easy to see how legends come about, here's an extract from Hellsborough Chronicles Book 1, where Van is trapped in the Wisewood:

And my mind that night, it played the worstest of tricks on me. Many a time I thought I'd be eaten alive by that beast in the shadows. I was awake and could hear everything, yet my body could do nowt to escape, or even move. I'm sure I might have died of fright only to be resurrected as some revenant, to forever stalk the Wisewood. I imagined mesen with my arms of twisted sharp briars, with legs of bandy Ash and a scream in me throat.

And this monster - this me of my murknightmare - carried a big old knife in its bloodied and broken hand of thorns.

I'm listening to Van telling me this, and my first thought is of an ancient poem: "Brackenman of Wadsley Common". The common is not so far distant from the Wisewood as the corvid flies, and Van's description certainly bares a distinct resemblance to the creature of the poem -- a cryptid from here or hereabouts:

"Bracken Man of Wadsley Common". I researched it in Hellsborough library. Decide for yourself, but to me, it sounds very similar to what Van is talking about:

The Common at Wadsley was ever dark, ancient and sinister.
Its man of bramble, thorn, bracken and briar;
And no one scrambles over the sliding gannister
Bowed legs of ash, four arms of yew and perishing juniper
Down the precipices of its sides, with tangled roots
Swirling fronds of green and purple heather shoots.

So the old poem goes. "Witnesses" of the creature, according to the ancient legends, at least had the Brackenman of Wadsley Common with his half dozen arms and legs made from twisted and bendy tree stalks with his body as a tangle of bramble and briar.

In an account that I read doing my research, a middle aged chap -- he'd been quite wealthy and of high standing, something of an engineer by all accounts, so a trustworthy type; not some fly-by-night who was likely to profit from some sort of supernatural tale. This engineer had been out for a few beers (and, if he's like me and Van, likely several more after that) at the Star Inn on Fox lane and had taken the Coal Pit lane back across the common, heading for his home somewhere off the Stubbing.

It is extremely dark up there on the common, and this was a late Windstrom evening, so it had been dark for some time that night. The murk hung low and heavy, making it hard for this chap to keep to the path and avoid the rocky outcrops, of which there are many. He had fallen several times, bruising shins and other limbs, but had still managed to get as far as the standing stone circle, at which he paused for a while to catch his breath; he'd ascended to quite some height by that time.

The legend has it that whilst resting against one of the great stones of the circle, he was attacked by a beast that came forth from the centre of the circle.

The beast had a body of a thistles and thorns, legs of bandy ash and arms formed of twisted briars. Its head was a gorse bush. Its eyes were the orange of burning coals.

The bracken man beast enveloped the exhausted engineer where he stood and encased him in those spiky arms of briar.

The engineer's skin was punctured many times, causing him to almost to bleed to death.

He was found sometime after dawn by a passing knife grinder. The engineer lay in the undergrowth in a sorry state, barely alive. His body -- but not yet his corpse -- had been picked over by scavenging slyfluffs and grizzlers through the night, and corvids during murkrise.

But that's just a legend.