Diary of Pip Rippon

All Hail Hail-Ripperthroat! A weekend of carnage and extreme weather in The Dark Peak. Storm Eloise, as it came to be known, ripped through over the weekend just passed, barely pausing for 72 hours, and yes, I took another battering at the hands of the lord of hail and wind, at one point lifting me and Shad off of our feet and dumped us unceremonially into the road. The Dun, Loxley and Rivelin rivers all burst their banks and spilled a plethora of muck and garbage into the streets. Van -- who has now materialised as if nothing has happened, and isn't interested in discussing anything about his wearabouts of previously stated condition -- had this to say (in his usual way) -- In all my years, I have never known weather like this, those clouds, that murk -- moving faster than I have ever seen it. We are on the catalyst of something, mark my words well young one. I'm not sure what, but we exist now on some precipice and I really do shudder to think what might come next. I need a hit. I am any man with a beard. I am Gandalf, I am a wizard, a cunning man, yet I wield no magic. I am a wizard, yet I wield no power over this weather, it is more than I can control, more than I have the power to overcome. I fear our time is done, that the murk has won.

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.

High Neb today, and Onesmoor again for good measure. Spotted a longleg tearing up the rift in the Coumes Wood part of the Wisewood on my way up, and then a hoverwing on the way down.

The off-world pressure is starting to reduce somewhat, so my attention is turning towards Van more and more. I need to hook up with him again to continue work on his memoirs. The murk was again thin, which is always good for exploring, so headed out down the Loxley valley and then up, when I reached Damflask to Wadsley common. The wind blowing off The Dark Peak must have been the strongest I have ever experienced, many times blowing me and Shad to the ground and making hard work the ascent from the valley to the higher ground. Once on the common and heading back East with the wind at our backs, going was much easier. Finally, encamped in the bar on the Middle wood bar with Shad, I thought I saw Van walking past outside. Could have been; might have been, not sure. By the time I had got to the front door, if it was him, he'd melted into the crowd.

Out and about as usual, the murk being thin around Hellsborough at the moment. I don't want you to get the wrong impression about Hellsborough, it can be a dangerous place. The folk, suppressed as they are -- I am lead to believe -- through empirical experience and from my previous conversations with Van (still no sign of him, and I am starting to get a little worried now, but not much) are folk. Youths are youths and dangerous people are dangerous people; it doesn't matter where you are for that to be true. Luckily, my bars of preference tend to charge a little more, so that keeps much of the riff raff away most of the time, but there were a number of unsociable types hanging around tonight, causing Shad (yes, he's still looking out for me -- which I'm not sure is a good thing or a bad thing, considering Van's absence -- and the poor fella is clearly hungry, I fed him. But then he's always hungry) to bare his teeth and utter that guttural growl of his on more than one occasion. Nothing happened, I'm careful and always have ways to protect myself, but always sensible to be on your guard.

Ditto yesterday. Planning another assault on Onesmoor, or it's not a big stretch to go for West Neb, so, yes, that'll be the next destination, the murk permitting, obviously. Still no sign of Van. I've asked after him, but no-one seems to have seen him this week at all. Not worried, it's not unusual, not yet anyway.