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Kane Graas

Guest Kane Graas

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Right and wrong did exist. The difference between them was knifeblade thin and entirely a matter of the winner's perspective. No matter how much proof you might bring to support your 'right' answers or justify your 'right' decision, if you weren't the winner you were just plain 'wrong'.


In the long run it all came down to whether your sins would be justified before God. Perhaps all of this was just a test? Kane had never truly believed in God but rather set out to forge his own destiny, but would his actions absolve him? His rise in life had been spectacular, even if it was going to be brought to an end here and now by an executioner’s axe.


But then again you only had three options in life. To be good, to get good or get caught. Kane had been on the way of getting good when he was caught. The heavy chain jangled as he raised his shackled hands to absently scratch his nose, before following his guards onto the execution platform where a crier was presenting the long list of crimes he had commited to the gathering crowd, who didn't seem to entirely know what to think. Kane had been successful because he had appealed to the crowds. "He is not the villain!" a cry came from somewhere in the crowd making the guards grip their weapons more securely as if expecting the rabble to revolt then and there. No, Kane agreed mentally with the unknown caller. No, he wasn't the villain. But he sure as hell wasn't the hero either.


Kane took in the pressing crowd that had gathered before the corner of his lip rose as he steadly met the steely-grey gaze of his son; the thick mane of pitch-black hair barely curtaining the emotions raging in the younger man as he bent his head in a silent promise. Frances had born him three children, a son and two daughters, all of whom adored their father. His son, the mirror image of him in looks and personality, and her daughters, who had inherited his wits and Frances' elegant beauty, would see his vision of the future done, even if Kane might die here and now.


With a shake of his head, Kane refused the offer a blindfold, his steps light as he walked to the executioner at the center of the raised podium. He didn't regret any of the choices he had made, for at one time they had been exactly what he had wanted. He had saved lives and taken lives, slept around and been faithful, drank and gambled and abstained, won and lost. He wouldn't have had time to been miserable. Perhaps it didn’t make sense but any other way it wouldn't be right.


Kneeling, Kane bent his head under the executioner's blade when the sudden thought that it all was actually quite flattering flashed through his mind. By executing him in public like this the King acknowledged his importance, raised him up as an equal. Laughter, as mirthful and carefree as it had been in his youth, rang from Kane' lips, muffling the quiet woosh as the executioner's axe fell for the first time.

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"Your Majesty, perhaps I might offer you advice that you can pretend to listen to," Kane drawled out from where he was lounging in a chair and watching two maids fussing with the Queen's hair as the Queen herself was picking out her jewelry for the day. A slight gesture of a royal hand granted him permission to carry on. "As the English have this bad habbit of decapitating the Kings they don't care much for I wouldn't advise shoving the Bill down the people's throats. For it to come to force, it needs to pass a vote at the House of Commons first. Start by cultivating support there," Kane stated frankly, not bothering to dress up his meaning in fancy words.


"You do not seem too concerned about the possibility," the Queen remarked as she glanced at Kane via the mirror. "I'm your friend and advisor, Your Majesty, not your husband. I wouldn't be the one loosing my head," Kane drawled in response with a slight grin tugging on his lips. Kane had once told the Queen that while she was an attractive woman, he had no desire to sleep with her, for he much liked all his bodyparts being were they were and cuckolding the King wasn't the way to pursue if one wanted to lead a long and healthy life. Besides he'd be of more use alive. It had been a gamble to reject the Queen, but one that had paid off in the end.


He had promised his support to Karoline von der Pfalz of the Rhine when she was but one of the candidates to become the Queen of England. Ever since she had become the Queen, Kane had became a trusted advisor for her and had been allowed the privilege of being brutally honest with her - when away from the prying eyes of the courtiers of course - even if his words might not always be pleasing to the Queen.


"Give me a couple of days to speak to people and I'll give you a list of people who might favour the Bill," Kane carried on after a brief pause. "Let it be so then. I'll leave it in your hands," the Queen agreed after a moment of thought, "I heard an interesting rumour about you and Lady Hannah. Something about you burning with passion for her." "Smouldered slightly at best. She has the lips of a dead fish," Kane countered with a curl of his lips, his distaste obvious, "She does seem to have a passion for my charm though, I admit that."


"Your charm? Your money and influence, you mean?" the Queen questioned sharply, nodding to the maid in quiet approval as she finished working on the Queen's hair. "Yes. My charm, just as I said," Kane responded with a twist of his lips, "I'm not going to pick up her handkerchief just because she throws it at my feet though. But I must take my leave now, Your Majesty. I have a shipload of goods arriving at the port today."


"I shall reserve a dance for you at the Ball tonight. We can discuss further matters then," the Queen allowed, holding her hand out for Kane, who lifted it to his lips before turning to leave the room.

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This idea was sparked by Sobriety and Blount. Let's take off the brakes then!


Caution:To be read with a healthy dose of humour! Not written with the purpose of offending anyone.


“No. The gate is closed to you!” the voice thundered, the arching gates slamming closed as Kane approached. For a moment he studied the gates, before turning and grinning winsomely at Peter. “Morning!” Kane called out brightly, ignoring the dark glower on the Saint’s face and the fact he had just slammed a gate closed in his face, “It really is nice weather we’ve been having lately, isn’t it?”


“Yes. But the gate is closed to you, no matter your flatteries. Go, Hell is where you belong,” Peter thundered, shaking his key-chain towards Kane; his face promising no lenience. “I’m not that bad company, am I?” Kane joked, only to be rewarded by a bellowing command “Go!”


Kane heaved a sigh even though he inched backwards a bit. Just in case. “I tried. Really, I tried. But Hell didn’t let me in. Where else am I suppose to go?” Kane explained as he peered hopefully up at Peter. For, indeed, Hell had been afraid of him taking over and had wisely kept the gate shut before him.


Saint Peter had no way of knowing why Hell had denied entrance to him, even though he could sense Kane was telling the truth. Nothing like this had ever happened before so the heavenly gate-keeper was quite flummoxed as to what to do next. Every soul did have to end up somewhere. “I suppose you’re right,” Peter grumbled, before cursing the hell's imps under his breath for having caused such a mess.


“And really, it’s not like I get a chance to improve my character unless given a chance to do so,” Kane wheedled as Peter stared at him undecisively. It was evident the old Saint didn’t really know what to do in this situation. “I suppose,” Peter grudgingly admitted in the end, before going through the entire list of rules in Heaven. Twice. And then making Kane solemnly promise to adhere to them, before allowing him to step through the gate into Heaven.


Kane drummed his fingers against his thight as he thoughtfully looked around. Oh, he wouldn’t be breaking any of the rules… But really, only eating the fruits of the Tree of Knowledge was forbidden. Absolutey nothing was said about making wine of the fruits and drinking it. Perhaps he could even start exporting the wine to Hell to promote closer relationships. His mind already whirling with ideas Kane whistled a merry tune as he sauntered deeper into Heaven.


Hell had been afraid that he’d take over and denied him. Heaven… Heaven wouldn’t know what hit it.

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The seagulls were crying and the sailors and dock-worders calling orders back and forth as the ship prepared to dock. If you focused on it, you might even imagine hearing the sounds of the city beyond the grey citywalls. Stepping out of the way of a sailor carrying thick rope, Kane turned around to look back the way they had come from.


He wasn’t foolish enough to think he might see England, but the glance served as a symbolic farewell to the country he had been born and raised in. At least England had done well by giving birth to him, Kane mulled with a smirk.


With the troubles brewing in England, Kane knew that he would never be able to return to his homeland. But the continent was large and wide and Kane had a knack for languages. He could easily set up a new business and in a manner of speaking start a new life for himself. He had done so before and could do it again, especially as he wasn’t a child any longer. He had enough experience to make do even if the odds might be against him right now. He could take the good and leave the bad.


As the ship finally docked, Kane strolled off the boat, leaving it to Peabody to handle the details about getting his stuff off-loaded. Drinking in the shouts and smell and sights of his Hanseatic port in the Baltic, Kane smiled slowly but surely.


Kane had known true poverty and he had survived it. Kane had known true wealth and he had survived that too. He could do so again.


He would survive.

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