Felix Caelus

He follows dutifully into the tavern, grinning secretly to himself at the setting, the banter, the smells and sounds. There's something familiar and welcoming about this. The sort of places he used to travel to in Mercia abroad, to speak with other magi, to council with other sneaks. He slithers from the shadows on the floor up onto the wall, the glint of red eyes muted in the flickering candlelight. Naugus peers over shoulders, lurks beneath tables, impishly tips over a cup to splash onto papers that were probably important.

The moment someone mentions thievery, he pauses and lingers, keen ears tilted to catch the gossip. Trophies are much the same; anyone who looks to be bragging about a haul is going to have a hidden observer soaking up the banter.