Pern Scabhair Meat on a stick. Nearly everything about this sprawling human city irked him in some way. From the gutter runners looking for purses to cut to the manure on the streets to the pointlessly large towers and crowded markets. Not this. Meat that had been minced, mixed with egg and spices and then grilled at the side of the street on a stick. What a great idea. Overcooked, but nicely spiced and could be eaten on the move without burning your fingers. Hath dropped a small charred stick with a clatter and turned his attention to the other two he carried. A pair of peasants looked up at the orcs in their travelling furs in bemusement. Hath had learned to shut that out already. Meat wasn't cheap here in the city. Fortunately the stolen spices they had sold meant he had coin to eat properly. He was glad not to have to stomach down the sheep food the humans mostly eat. Grains and bread and vegetables. Scabhair had agreed to take one of the six large coins. He couldn't even remember the name, just that it was worth one hundred of the smallest denomination. Hath had a suspicion that if Scabhair's father could get her a place that the college that she probably wouldn't be short of coins if she had the need. The blacksmith was by the corner of a street. There was a large space marked out in front of the building, sheltered from the rain but open to the wind. Anvils and tools too, he assumed so that work could be done outside in the heat of summer. A particularly diminutive orc emerged from the smith wearing heavy leather aprons and Hath made the leap of logic to assume this was Scabhair's old friend. "Greetings!" he called out, with a slow nod of respect. He did, of course, speak in orcish.