[color=dcb246][center][h3]The Burned-out Clearing[/h3][/center][/color]
After consulting with each other for a few minutes more, the Jedi survivors made their way to the Republic encampment, the air still sticky with humidity despite the sun’s fading light. Before they left, Thuda had bid the Twi’lek who had first led them to the Onethi village to be their guide and after a short negotiation he agreed, introducing himself as Firanesh as he grabbed his lever-action blaster rifle and turned to guide his charges towards their destination. Dr. Lamenk’srey joined them as their translator, treading behind them and explaining Firanesh’s actions as they went.

The cuts the Jedi had made as they came to the village, though as precise as they could hope to make them, seemed wild and frantic by comparison to Firanesh’s movements as he cleared the way; instead of slicing through each and every plant in his path, he warded away what vines he could with the barrel of his blaster rifle and hacked only at that which he could not peacefully traverse with a vibro-machete he wore slung under one arm. Once he shot a massive insect with a thousand teeth that came too near—the Bunumi leechfly, Dr. Lamenk’srey said—but otherwise he moved with a practiced elegance achieved only through a lifetime of familiarity with the jungle, preferring to leap or to roll rather than to cut or to shoot, though always taking care to not stain his blue sarong.

Back at the village, Dr. Astulli had disparaged previous scholars who had claimed upon discovering the Bunumi that the peoples of the planet were uniquely one with nature in a fashion that more-developed peoples had forgotten; to the contrary, she pointed out that they were masters of exploiting what abundance there was in the jungle through selective breeding and planting so that a place considered to be harsh and inhospitable by Republic-led expeditions proved sustainable and full of life, a fact bolstered by Firanesh’s treatment of the jungle as they passed under its canopy. Once on their trek, Firanesh sliced open a stranglervine (Dr. Lamenk’srey’s calque of the native word [i]jimavol[/i]) to reveal an interior bursting with the same sweetwater that had filled cups by the fireside; when he shot the Bunumi leechfly, he plucked its bioluminescent eggs, thrusting them into a sack and tying the sack to the barrel of his blaster rifle. Where the canopy grew dark, Firanesh raised high the glowing eggs, their bright light piercing through the blackness of the jungle even in lieu of a lightsaber. He was proud to show the Jedi his prowess in shooting and in bushcraft, grinning at them each time he showed them something new.

Eventually the careful cutting and cultivation of Onethi efforts gave way to burned-out trees and scorchmarks as moonlight returned, the trees began to thin, and the path grew easy to tread. Firanesh needed cut no more when he and the Jedi stood at the edge of a vast and empty clearing in the jungle, trees replaced by black soils and the sharp-sour smell of noxious but effective industrial pesticides. He only pointed the way forward before falling behind the Jedi and shrinking back, his Aurebesh-tattooed skin sticking out in this place just as the bare skin of the Jedi had in his own village.

The communications tower rose high as they passed by it into the encampment proper. Within it, there were a number of tents and hastily-erected buildings, the area large enough to provide a medbay, a large Republic base of operations, an area for the tents of dozens of various personnel, and a shiny octagonal building that stood three stories high for the local garrison of mercenaries whose name was blazoned beneath the logo of a gamecock’s bladed foot: ʙʟᴀᴄᴋꜱᴘᴜʀ ꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛʏ. The camp was full of people at this hour who gawked at the strange company who came, miners and archaeologists peeking out of their tents and turning their heads from the fire as they regarded them, more-disciplined mercenaries who spared them cautious glances, and Republic personnel rushing between the buildings in crisp green uniforms. On the other side of the camp stood a legion of shiny transports, marked alternatively with the rondel of the Galactic Republic or Blackspur's talons.

“I hope he listens to you better than he listens to me,” Dr. Lamenk’srey said, “but if you’re wanting to talk to the man in charge, you’re headed to that square officials’ building over there—Good luck. He’ll give you access to the medbay at least, and that might help. I for one am going to check on the archaeology situation at the moment, but either way, give Blackspur a wide berth. I trust them as far as I can throw them—and as my wife will tell you, that isn’t too far at all.”