*Almost 5 years had passed since Charles XII, once the pride of Sweden and the greater Baltic, was forced to retreat to the Ottoman Empire alongside a frenzy of dazed and frightened soldiers. Sure, the Sultan had treated him kindly, but he was growing bored, TERRIBLY bored from his humiliating house-arrest following that little riot. Really, he was in exile for God’s sake! How was he supposed to have raised enough funds to pay back all those merchants who had helped him? There was only so much one could play chess and study the local naval forces before it became something akin to a silent insult.

“If this is supposed to be a punishment, it’s not working.” *Charles grumbled to himself one day as a chess board lay in front of him, its pieces scattered haphazardly across the floor. He ought to put everything back in place, but what was the point when he couldn’t even raise enough troops to get the heck out of here without immediately having to fall back?

However, his unpleasant mood was quickly reduced when he saw an officer from his remaining army step into the room carrying a letter. Without hesitation, he immediately stood up, dusting off his uniform until it was spotless. For good measure, he kicked the chess board under a drawer, that way it didn’t look like he was slacking. Due to his pride, he wouldn’t dare stoop to the point of appearing weak in front of anyone.

“Pray tell, what news do you bring from our homeland?” *He asked, his voice simultaneously soft and authoritative. He was inwardly uneasy about this. Russia had only been gaining strength as he had sheltered himself away from Sweden, and they had surely not changed all of a sudden.