Watching from a safe spot in the rafters, the pest in question kept a careful eye on the Tiefling while she searched the ale kegs and brewing supplies. Unwilling to draw attention to the rich, new hunting ground behind the shelving, it settled itself comfortably in a pool of shadow and began to groom and preen contentedly.
Occasionally pausing to check on the fruitless search taking place below, it trusted to the innate camouflage that its coat offered in the dim light of the ceiling. It ignored, for the most part, all the cajoling calls as well as the profane threats. Only becoming concerned if it appeared that the building’s owner might look upward.
It took a lot longer, this time, for the Tiefling to give up and admit that she’ll not be catching her quarry this day. With a final expression of frustration, she stormed back into the main building … her hooves striking a sharp staccato on the cobble stones.
Waiting until it is certain that she is not returning right away, the creature slowly and carefully makes its way down from the ceiling. Licking its lips in anticipation, it wends its way between a given pair of barrels and then up and over the stacked burlap sacs of hops and other grains to find the place where the scents changed and the air buzzed and crackled with static.
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