The Righteous and Free; Captain Scalybeard, and his first mate, Delyn!(Aura)

Selvanes was a little bewildered at the current situation, and grunted slightly as he broke arms, legs, and smacked the heads of his crew. THis rowdy band of unloyal wretches wished to maroon him and his first mate, Delyn, on a nearby tropical island. It was a nice isle, with a lush coastline of sand and rock faces and palm trees, with a line of trees behind, but he was a bit offended that they wished to force him off his own ship. So far, the sailors had been nice enough to not use weapons, but it was only a matter of time until someone got smart and they came at him with clubs and rope. These scurvy dogs wanted to pirates, and when their captain forbade it, they mutinied, against the very man who had made them respectable sailors! He had fed them, paid them, laughed with them, and here they were, fighting him. Selvanes bashed two more heads together, sending the sailors to the floor, just as one got behind him with a menacing sight in his hands. A net was thrown over Selvanes when his back was turned, and in his frantic fighting, he panicked, tangling himself in the mass. THe sailors descended upon the scaly captain with fists and clubs, kicking and beating him as he lay on the ground, a tangled mess. A sly voice rang out as the boys beat upon their old captain, "Now, now, boys, we don't want da kill da ol' seadog, eh?"

The men parted, revealing Selvanes on the ground. He staggered to his face, a fearsome scowl on his face, and a low hiss sounding as he pulled the net from him. Blood dripped from his nostrils, and he was sure at least one of his ribs was broken. One of his eyes had already started swelling shut, but he could clearly make out the fat, greasy outline of Pitts, the conniving ship's cook. "Lookin' a little unda da weather, Cap'n," Pitts said, a grin alighting his face. Oh boy, was he an ugly one, most of his teeth missing, and potmarks sprouting all over his face. Even for a sailor, he was ugly. "I don't think he has much fight left in him, personally, all things considered."

Selvanes spit in his eye at this, and Pitts shook his head sadly, wiping it away with his left hand. "I wouldn't do that again, Cap'n," he said, as he pulled a struggling burlap sack from behind his back. He pulled the gun from his belt, and shoved it toward the sack, "not unless you want your first mate to have a face full of my lead, Cap'n."

Selvanes hissed loudly, his rage surging to new levels. He spat onto the floor of the ship, and shoved his way towards Pitts, "I'llssss jusstsss bess grabbingsss my thingssssess, thensssss."

He shoved his way towards the son of a bitch who rallied his crew against him, and as he passed towards his cabin, he stepped towards Pitts, who lept back and nearly pulled the trigger, a frightened look on his face. Selvanes grinned, a grim thing that promised death, and shoved his way into his cabin, glad he could still put the fear of god in these fools. He took his bag from where it hung on his chair, and shoved every map, book, and valuable item he wouldn't want in the hands of these pirates, bloody fools that they were. He slipped in his sextant, compass and looking glass before latching the bag shut and activating the enchantment to keep the water out. He slung the bag over his shoulder, and was glad to have some wait on his hip in the absence of his belt. He picked up his bundle of armor next, and slung his shield onto his back. He picked up his belt, which held his gun, shots, powder horn, and sword, and slung it over his shoulder. Trying to remember what else he would need, his eyes lingered on Delyn's bow and quiver of arrows, which he took as well, knowing she full well hated the noisiness that flintlock pistols provided. Finally, he put his hat on, and headed out onto the deck.

As he emerged from his cabin, there was shouting and shoots fired on the deck. He stepped out onto the wood, and was met with the image of Pitts kneeling on the deck, his hand on his left eye, blood flowing freely between the grubby sausages he called fingers. Delyn soared down towards her Captain, and landed on his shoulder, her talons digging softly through the cloth of his shirt and drawing blood. The sailors pointed guns at he and Delyn, as the greedy little hunter swallowed what Selvanes assumed was Pitts's left eye. He hefted his packages, and made for one of the skiffs, a crew man following. He and Delyn were rowed to the shore, and thrown onto the beach. He tossed his things onto a rocky patch as he watched the skiff return to the boat, hissing loudly as Delyn flew around the beach, probably scouting what she could from that height. He pulled his shirt off him, and began tearing it into strips to bandage his wounds, collapsing in an exhausted heap on the warm stone.

They were marooned, without any help in sight. As he wrapped the strips of shirt around him, Selvanes began to sing, slurring some words, his s's very exaggerated, but the tune was clear.

"Yo, ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me..."

Selvanes sat on the rocks, sunning himself pleasantly as Delyn wandered through the forest doing god knows what. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting her garments, but they hadn’t exactly been in plain view. His whole body wracked with pain each time he inhaled, and he knew he would have to move at some point, but he hardly wanted to stand up, knowing his body would feel the pain of his fragile ribs for a long while. He watched the birds circle over him slowly, grimly wandering if they where scavengers, hoping he would die.

He solemnly pulled himself to a sitting position, hissing loudly as he moved, quietly hoping he hadn’t shifted anything out of place. He leaned over steadily, hissing as he pulled the herbs Delyn had brought onto his lap. He pulled a small book out of his bag, Le Herbas Ebronica scrawled across the spine in fading gold lettering, the worn leather creaking as he opened it. He quietly identified the plants, his mouth easing into an easy smile at their luck. He quickly trimmed the stems of their leaves, slipping them into an inner pocket of his satchel, before moving slowly and cautiously into the woods with his sword. He deftly cut through the branches of a tall Wampia tree, the soft wood felled easily by his mighty blows. His back creaked as he pulled the boughs of light wood from the jungle, grunting as he anchored them into the ground, building it into a light lean-to, covering it with palm leaves and tying it all together with vines. Lastly, he stuck a longer limb into the ground, and hung some of the herbs to dry, sitting down on the rock again. This would serve as basse camp for now, though they would need to find some sort of cave or clearing to turn into a better camp later on.