Captain Volgo stretched his arms to the sky and let out a giant yawn. He was sitting up in a tent made for a Barbarian, his armor in a neat pile beside him. The past several days had been taxing on him and the long night of rest had only reminded him that he was getting much too old for this.
He walked out of his makeshift quarters and to the center of the camp where a small fire was still smoking. He picked up a stick and began to stir the embers until a small flame began to dance in the charred bits of wood. Looking around, Volgo could see that none of his men were awake. They were usually late sleepers and this tended to disgruntle him. He cooked himself breakfast and waited for the others.