The Wolf

Carida
Serpent's Tail Tavern
At one point, Carida had been home to an Imperial academy of sorts. It had been lost to history, the exact details and what it was. But the ruins remained. Another Empire fallen. Burned by in it's own incompetence. By it's own weakness, by it's own foolishness.
Preliat felt that fire, felt that rage. He was set to put his anger to a fruitful end, finally. The tavern was empty, Preliat had paid the bartender to close up early. Their debts would be paid, and the gathered would cause no disturbance. They were civilized, sometimes. The only request that Preliat had made was a long table, with no seat larger than the other. All equals sat at the table.
He had his compatriots gathered, and a drink in hand. Tonight, they were drinking and talking, as most did before enacting some form of plan. Preliat stood at the end of the table, rising to his full and mighty height. He was wearing his Beskar'gam once more, golden and adorned with a cloak and a Wolf's fur, as fitting as it was.
Beskar'gam'Kandar. The heaviest, the most protective- the ultimate symbol of Mandalorian might and prowess.
He raised his mug first.
"To all who lost their lives in our Civil War. May they find peace in the Manda."
He looked at the Mandalorians gathered.
"And may we seek retribution upon those who have turned their backs to them and all that they died for."