The Wolf
The doorway became silhouetted by a looming figure, sans helmet. His cloak covered the left half of his armor, and it swayed as he found his way to the back of the bar. The bartender gave him a nervous nod- not because he was afraid of the man, not because he had heard what he had done, but simply because he did not know why he had reserved the largest space in the back. The place in question, was nothing short of historic. It was the Oyu'baat, a cantina so well known, so well preserved, that it was nearly now essential to Mandalorian culture and history on the planet. He had not planned to come back to Mandalore yet, but the meeting, and being called here especially, would serve a powerful gathering tool for this endeavor. He parted the sea of armored Mandalorians, visitors, merchants, and whomever had come to the bar, and found himself facing the table. He took in a breath to gather the gravity of what he was doing, and all those who were coming were doing. He turned his brown eyes outward, looking at the patrons over the bar. The Wolf sat down, and laid his crushgaunt-adorned hands on the table. He tapped his fingers on the bar, patiently waiting for those that were coming, to come. He would not force anyone. He would not guide anyone here. He knew only those who were dedicated to the cause, dedicated to what they believed, would come.
He believed. But he didn't like that he had to believe in it. So, he waited- waited for his compatriots to come forth.