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Date Posted: 17:42:31 01/19/04 Mon
Author: Rocko Delamuerto
Subject: The death of the Black Ghost

The winds howled, and the waves lapped at the side of the Black Ghost, as if trying to devour the entire Pirate Brigantine. On the decks, Captain Rocko Delamuerto was shouting orders at his crew. They found themselves tossed between hard rocks, and the ship began to fill with sea water. Some tried to jump ship with the rats, but they were quickly drowned as the sea claimed their souls to it's everlasting blackness. Finally, the ship could take no more, and burst into thousands of pieces. Rocko and two mates, Smith and Patch were the only ones to make it to shore alive.
Rocko was in his early 30's, had several days growth on his face, long, black, tangled hair, that went down to his shoulders, and almost resembled dredlocks. He had a dirty trench coat, which could have been black when it was made, but had faded in patches, and was caked with mud and blood stains. He had many throwing knives hidden in his coat and in his clothes, and two large sabres hung on his belt. He drew them both, to protect himself against the dangers that this new world would bring.
Patch was a skinny boy, no older than 17, with a huge ear ring in his left ear, and tattoos covering his right arm. He drew his cutlass, and joined the captain.
Smith was a little less fortunate than his companions, his leg was cut open, and bleading badly. He was in his late 40's, his hair already greying, but still very thick. His right eye was light blue, and his left was dark brown, by some freak genetics. He was the shortest, and somewhat portly, but his arms were thick and muscular, and he wore an open vest, some torn pants, and black boots.
"Cap'n" Smith called, "I can't move me leg more'n a shake."

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