It’s become a smell that tastes of scag, two-leg machinery, chemicals, and waste. Of guileful predators in high towers pointing fingers and making bad things happen. Of razorguys and every form of animal fighting and dying in dark alleys and rotting in gutters. Most of all it tastes of two-legs and their monstrous magic and their inevitable treachery. It reminds her that the two-leg world is a lie, and that human or metahuman, elf, ork, or troll, they are all cheats, deceptions, betrayals just waiting to happen.