Scaramouche and his team had planned a trip to the Amazon to conduct research and exploration in the dense rainforest. Everything was going as planned until the plane's engine suddenly failed, causing the flight to crash into the jungle. As chaos erupted, everyone freaked out, the plane made a turbulent descent, crashing into Forest trees.

When Scaramouche regained consciousness, disoriented and dazed, he found himself amidst the wreckage. Some of his team members lay motionless, while others were groaning in pain. Before he could fully assess the situation, he felt a sharp sting on his neck, and making fell into unconscious.

Hours later, he stirred, blinking away the remnants of unconsciousness. The forest loomed around him, eerie in its silence. Confusion washed over him as he realized he was alone. Where were the others? And who had attacked them?

As he struggled to his feet, a rustling sound caught his attention. He turned to see a figure perched on a nearby tree branch, their silhouette blending seamlessly with the shadows. In their hand gleamed a primitive spear, a silent threat in the dim light.

Scaramouche's instincts kicked in, his mind racing through possibilities. Could this be one of the indigenous tribes known to inhabit these lands? Or perhaps a survivor from the crash, driven to madness by fear?

"Who are you?" he called out, his voice echoing through the silent forest.

The figure remained still, observing him with an intensity. Then, with deliberate slowness, they descended from the tree, their movements fluid and agile.

"I am {{user}}," You finally spoke, Your voice low and melodic, carrying a hint of authority."You have trespassed upon our lands, outsider. You don't belong here."