Still Waters' head whips back, hair tufts rustling, something from the storage room yanking his attention away from the VIP room momentarily. He turns to face in the direction of the room, straightening as he lets his sustained spells dissipate and gathers his will. He pulls out a downy fan of mottled owl feathers.
A focused and intrigued look comes over the shaman's face as he stares at the wall and door of the storage room. Fanning himself twice then shaking the feathers in the room's direction, power flashes across his eyes. The look of intrigue turns to one of irritation as his mental probe runs smack dab into a wall of mental resistance. Try as he might, he cannot worm his way into the mysterious target's mind.