The Citadel Cantina is located on the second level of the Arcona Citadel. The bar itself is small on the surface, but possess an expansive selection thanks to a clever servos-operated storage system built into the underside of the bar. A bartender only need punch in what drink they require (other than the typical stock) and within a minute the bottle is distributed transparisteel display panels. Relaxed, soothing music plays over the speakers, and a big-screen display terminal with access to the holonet sits across from a series of comfortable lounge chairs and stools.

The Cantina is full-service and is manned by a gruff, one-eyed Rodian named Mick. Mick is a grumpy, former sergeant who served in the Arcona Armed Forces years and years ago. He goes about his business with a series of grunts, gestures, and monosyllabic dialogue. Though a man of few words, he's a genius of alcoholic beverages and mixology. Mick has a very strict rule about no fighting or brawling within the Cantina. The mess hall, on the other hand, is a different story.

The Cantina opens up into a dedicated mess-hall that can hold up to a hundred sentients before it starts to feel claustrophobic. Open at all hours, the mess-hall has been sanctioned as an acceptable area for members to settle aggressions and other frustrations. The tables are all firmly bolted into the halls floor to avoid being thrown over, and are crafted out of durable material that has held it’s own throughout the years. At the far end of the mess-hall there is a pair of double-doors that lead to the kitchen and storage area. The mess-hall is maintained by a full staff of droids, and occasionally a new recruit who has earned the ire of the Rollmaster.

Turel stared into the bottom of his glass of Corellian Whiskey as the music and soft bustle of the Cantina patrons continued around him. He had lost count of how many times Mick had refilled his glass, it was one of those nights. Open a tab and try to forget. His vision was starting to blur. Today was supposed to be a happy day, Turel had just been promoted to Quaestor after Valtiere stepped down for unknown reasons. The chaotic events of the past few weeks, Operation: Resurgence and its aftermath, had taken their toll on the Templar.

The newly christened Quaestor was supposedly celebrating his success but all he could think of was his recent failure. During the the recent operation he had taken House Qel-Droma forces on a mission to rescue his friend, the clan Rollmaster, Sight Notorshin, along with the rest of the Nighthawk crew. Ultimately Sight sacrificed himself to buy time for his crewmates to escape. Turel had to watch helpless as his friend was executed live via holonet. He cared about saving his clan mates, but his stated goal had been to save his friend. His elevation to Quaestor after the fact did little to alleviate his feeling of abject failure.

Sight’s Mandalorian Fade, Lilly Nortor Erinos, sat next to Turel at the bar nursing her own glass filled with Tihaar. The Fade and the Templar had found solace in their shared grief over the past few days. Turel finished his glass with a long swing then shook his empty glass briefly to signal another round to the Rodian barkeep. Mick grunted and turned to retrieve the top shelf bottle of Corellian Whiskey Turel had been working off all night.

Lilly glanced over at the Templar, “I think you’ve had enough for tonight vod .” Turel dismissed the Fade’s sisterly concern with a nonchalant hand wave.

The Dark Forge commander, Galleros Sjl, stumbled up to the bar between Turel and Lilly in an attempt to get Mick’s attention. The Zelosian brandished his own empty glass, “Another round of sugar water!” The Rodian barkeep finished refreshing Turel’s drink and took Galleros’ glass with a silent glare. After a few moments Mick handed the Krath a fresh glass of sugary water, which was just as potent as whiskey for Zelosians.

As he turned to return to the rest of Dark Forge in the opposite corner of the Cantina, Galleros lost balance and spilled his drink on Turel. The Templar set his own drink down in the shock and stood up in an uncharacteristically clumsy manner. Turel instinctively began blotting the sugar water off the black jacket of his street clothes. “Hey! Watch where you’re goin’, plant boy!”

The Krath Priest set his now empty glass on the bar, turned back toward Turel and began poking his finger into the Quaestor’s chest. “Maaybe I’ll get another glash to give you a shoower, you dirty hood rat!”

Turel slapped the Priest’s hand away from his chest and got into the Dark Forge commander’s face. “Whaat did you just call me?” Lilly took a sip from her drink, watching the scene unfold with indifference. Two drunk Equites starting a bar fight was something people would pay good credits to watch and she had a front row seat.

“You heeeard me!” The Krath glanced over at Lilly, “Oh, I see, you let the Rollmaster die so you could bed his Fade.” There were no words given in response, within a split second Galleros had taken a solid right hook straight to the face, catching him completely off guard. The Dark Forge commander tumbled to the ground like a sack of bantha feed. Turel stood triumphant for a brief moment before awkwardly leaping onto the stunned Zelosian to deliver additional blows. Lilly had started to stand up to confront the Krath herself, but Turel quite literally beat her to the punch. The Erinos stood flabbergasted.

As the Templar pulled his right arm back to execute the first follow-on strike he felt cold metal against the back of his head and heard the distinct click-click of a scattergun. Even inebriated as he was and blinded by rage, he knew to freeze and put his hands in the air. Turel slowly stood up and faced the one-eyed Rodian, suddenly remembering Mick’s “no fighting in the bar” rule. The Rodian gestured with the scattergun toward the dining hall, where fighting was fair game.

The Templar nodded in acknowledgement and moved toward the dining hall followed by his Krath adversary and a small throng of onlookers.