The city was always a bustling, too much going on for too long. Everyone seemed crazy, no patience as merchants and traders peddled their goods to every hamstrung minor noble in a frock coat - made all the worse that Grimm was eye level with their leather cod pieces and jingling coin purses. He pressed pass one group of spoiled youngin's, pushing into a favored tavern in the region. It'd been standing for nigh on two hundred years - and while its ownership had changed a few times since then, they seemed to keep the beer cold throughout it.
He'd come to the city for the sake of some great leader who wanted one of his blades. It wasn't a custom job, the rich sod didn't deserve a custom piece - but he paid a pretty penny for one of the Ulfberht's he had made through the years. Special steel, infused with runic magic by the forge and hammer. It was a lost art to every smith save a few - but Grimm could count on a single hand the people left that could make a blade worth its weight.
The tavern was bustling as it tended to, placed carefully between two busy streets and near one of the gates to the city. He lifted his hood, waddling his short stature to the bar and making a bit too much of an embarrasing effort to get atop the seat. The cost of living in a world full of tall humans meant his kind often had to embarrass themselves at simple tasks - but it beat smelling the ass of the man next to him just by being eye level.
So he ordered a large stout, curling up on himself, and hoping to enjoy the passing taste of alcohol before he returned to his home in the Felwood. At least for now - until he moved on once more, as he always tended to do.