[b]Griffin Rampart.[/b]

He was among the crowd of pirates waiting for the announcement. He believed himself to be a newcomer to the Marines and a surprise guest to the mysterious events. Glancing around he spotted several wanted crews. A few of them more infamous but most were small fish just hoping to survive. He placed his limp hand on the hilt of his sword underneath the cover of his cloak, the act so small that it would go unnoticed by normal eyes. He strode even closer to the stage but was content to remain between several others to mask his presence. 

[i]I hope they make this quick. I'm not use to waiting,[/i] he whispered in his thoughts. 

With practiced movements he pulled his pack of cigarettes from his leather belt and stuck a stick between his lips. As usual he hesitated with lighting it, the words of his mentor entering his ears. "Those things will kill before a enemy will my boy." He lit it anyway then placed everything back in its respective pouches. He tugged on the stick with his lungs than exhaled a thin wisp of pseudo-poison. 

"Perhaps," he admitted to himself, his wrist falling back to its place on his hilt.