The air around the patrol is still as they stop for a rest. Slowly, delicately, the scent of heather 
permeates the surroundings. You look around to see where it might be coming from; the scent gets 
stronger until it becomes almost overwhelming. You hold your hand over your face, trying to blot out 
the smell, momentarily covering your eyes.

The scent dies away again, replaced in part by the smells of food cooking nearby. Good food at that; 
your mouth waters, no matter that it's the same smells as every night. The crisp, white sleeve of your 
shirt brushes your nose as you lower your hand once more, and you look around to check everything is 
alright. You nod with approval at the neatly-laid tables, white linen over tartan tablecloths and vases 
of heather flowers to make the experience more authentic. Bill stands behind the marble-topped bar, 
smart in waistcoat and bowtie.

You take a quick peek into the kitchens on your walk around; Travesty is the calm in the middle of the 
whirlwind of activity, the stripy apron clashing horribly with the tartan chef's hat, wielding knives 
perhaps better suited to the field of battle than the kitchen - although, as he once pointed out to you, 
there's not much difference between the two.

Back at the front of house again, you see the podium deserted and guests waiting; you quickly step in, 
having seen Rain busily trying to organise reservations for Mara. You deftly seat Zephyra, Winterlight 
and Heulwyn at their usual table; some of your favourite regulars, given the size of their wine bills 
and the extravagant tips.

You make it back to the podium just before Rain; he smiles at you. "You know, when you first said you 
were going to turn the Warrior's Rest into a restaurant, I had no idea it would be this successful..." 
The sound of a vase being knocked over makes you both turn; you go to help clean up, the scent of the 
heather stronger than normal in the warm air. Mid-wipe the cloth fades from your hands and you find 
yourself back in the world you left behind.