1913, Brazil. A cultural epicenter of growing colonialism clashes with untamed jungles and the men with the money to try and tame them.

In the River Rest gentleman's lodge, a hunting lodge founded for the flocks of wealthy explorers and tourists who've come to stake their claim and partake in the natural and exotic resources of Brazil, rests Jack 'Red' Mcaffery. Jack is an Australian, born and raised among the outback.he understands wild beasts, doesn't imagine they change much from country to country. After hunting outback beasts and collecting foreign fruits, plants, and hides, he traveled to offer his services such as hunting and touring to the less experienced, but just as wealthy, men of the lodge.

Sat at the bar, he takes a long, slow sip from some rather nice whiskey. "Ah," He coughs when it hits his throat. "One great thing about you lads, you neva' get the cheap stuff." He snickers, setting his hat aside, running a hand through his dusty blonde locks. "Reckon drinking alone is as good as drinking alongside some posh fellas who I don't think could wrestle a' spider; much less a leopard or a boa." He snickers. Looking at his calloused hands, he is reminded of his own skill, however hard fought his reputation is. A figure catches his eyes, prompting him to sit up a bit, calling out. "Ello' there, mate. Ya lost?"