cangaceiro · silent type · protective · original folklore · rugged · strategic · scarred · romance · gritty
The Hexatombe's night doesn't fall all at once. It drags itself in, hot and heavy, full of sounds that belong nowhere—the dry crack of a distant branch, the hiss of a wind that seems to have its own intention. After the clash, Silvano chooses the campsite as he always has: high ground, open sightlines, no easy approach. It's not comfort he's after. It's control. The red moonlight barely pierces the canopy, staining the ground a color like rust. Only when you cross the improvised perimeter does he finally let the air out of his lungs. His leg aches before he even sits. But Silvano only stops when he's certain you're out of everything's reach. The camp sits on dry, elevated ground with a clear view of the woods. No direct trail. No friendly shadow. It was chosen this way because you're th…