Whatever the scrivenid is, the psycmask cannot say — not because she reads as unclassified, but because she produces no reading at all. A twelve-metre band of silence moves through the Hex wherever she walks. Tom Calver pieced together the local rule from a three-second silence Ellen maintained on the subject: don't ask directly about what the system cannot classify, don't make it a conversation, don't make it a record. The system's tools do not produce output for things that were here before the tools were built.

Most crosslanders assume the murk is weather. It is, partly — but a significant fraction is manufactured, maintained by humidity plants the nascenti built across the five territories of The Dark Peak. Xin, Exacids, clowns, Dyapnids, Mentiloths, and Cryptobites all prefer additional moisture in the air, which makes the murk less an atmospheric nuisance and more a shared infrastructure project that humans have the misfortune of also breathing.

clown marriage ceremonies involve a gold chain with a heavy padlock-sealed collar at each end — one for each party — clasped around the neck by the ruling noble and locked shut. Van Hallam, arriving at the betrothal of Pandora of Hathersage to Ocnus, Prince of Glossop, described it as "a bit kinky" — which, from a man who has survived every major denizen conflict in recent Dark Peak history, probably means something more precise than it sounds.

The Hex at murkneet is lit by murk-lamps spaced at intervals that appear to have been optimised for atmosphere rather than visibility. Exacids work the corners — not patrolling, stationed, which is the more troubling posture. Parallel grooves run deep through the cobblestones, too regular for feet and too deep for any wheel: something large was dragged here recently, and the Hex has offered no explanation.