It is a fine staff, even if she does say so herself. Solid, tall, with bronze caps at either end and attractive patterning in the wood. The caps aren't as round as they had been, but all that says is that it is an instrument which has been well used.

Roshanak tilts her head a little at the man, her dark eyes measuring him, and then she smiles. Polite, but warmly so. "As long as the drink is both freely offered, and not made of alcohol," she says.

She's been saying that to everyone who has offered, prepared only to waver on the lack of alcohol. God forgives lapses: trying to get out of a magical trap of obligation can be far, far harder.