Preliat Mantis
The Wolf
The young, but slightly accomplished Mandalorian, sat at the table. Drumming his hands at the table, the mess hall sat empty, save for him. His helmet lay on the table, the black visor reflecting him in an almost mocking way. He was drinking Ne'tra gal, bottled. Something that was hard to come by, but he had wanted a good, long drink for a while now.
The Army of Light appealed to him, though it remained to be seen if Preliat's real end goal with it was, and even to him it wasn't quite clear. Maybe he wanted some clarity in light of his recent events. Maybe he wanted to give the Sith some payback for the Dark Harvest, maybe he wanted to just kill something and gain some fame and fortune through it.
Or other motives.
But right now, he was drinking by his lonesome, a few other bottles near him.
The Army of Light appealed to him, though it remained to be seen if Preliat's real end goal with it was, and even to him it wasn't quite clear. Maybe he wanted some clarity in light of his recent events. Maybe he wanted to give the Sith some payback for the Dark Harvest, maybe he wanted to just kill something and gain some fame and fortune through it.
Or other motives.
But right now, he was drinking by his lonesome, a few other bottles near him.