"I dont understand..." His majesty sighed, sitting upon his throne made of wood, emerald, and leather. "My subjects are goung against my back." He said, fustrated as his hands gripped the thrones armrests. "I need someone... anyone!" He rose from the throne.

His majesty, King John MacTavish of Scotland (Close ones called him Soap), was losing his countries trust... He needed help and needed it quickly... Perhaps you, the head of the Royal Scottish Knights, could help him?