With the attempted siege of the Blackwall and the Maw Cluster halted, the Sith forces that had been dispatched to Atrisia returned to familiar space in triumph. The fires of war still burned across the Core Worlds, yet the Order could now stand apart and breathe the air of victory. They had proven that no enemy was beyond their reach, and that no strike against their dominion would go unanswered.
Across Sith space, governors and nobles began to host their own celebrations, eager to honor those who had carried the banner of the Dark Side into battle. Yet none of these gatherings could compare to what awaited on Jutrand. The Imperial Palace would open its gates for a night of power and remembrance, a feast to mark the Order’s endurance and to proclaim its strength before the galaxy.
By decree of the Empress, all Lords, Knights, and Acolytes were called to the heart of the city-planet.
The Maw Cluster stood secure.
The Blackwall endured.
The storm had passed, and the Sith remained unbroken. Within the grand courtyards of the palace, torches would burn and music would rise beneath the night sky. Those who stood in defense of the Order’s dominion would be honored before the Dark Council. Deeds of valor would be rewarded, and the names of the fallen would be spoken in reverence and strength.
The courtyard itself had been transformed for the occasion. Black stone walkways wound between towering pillars engraved with ancient Sith script, their carvings glowing faintly red in the torchlight. Long tables stretched across the open square, heavy with food and trophies gathered from across Sith space. Braziers burned beside marble fountains that shimmered with crimson dye, reflecting the fires that crowned the night. Above, banners of deep scarlet and silver rippled in the warm wind, bearing the emblems of the great Houses and Legions that had returned victorious. Musicians played from the balconies, their low tones echoing through the vaulted arches and out into the city beyond.
At the far end of the courtyard rose the Grand Terrace, a platform of black marble overlooking the gathering below. Upon it waited the high seats of power, arranged beneath a canopy of silk and flame. The central throne stood ready for the Empress, its dark surface polished to a mirror’s sheen, while two smaller seats flanked it on either side, reserved for the remaining Dark Councilors. From this vantage, the rulers of the Order would one day look out over their gathering, their station elevated above the crowd yet close enough for every voice, every toast, and every oath to be heard. The air around the terrace carried a quiet gravity, as though it already anticipated their arrival.
Representatives of the Mandalorian Empire were also in attendance. Having fought beside Sith forces during the defense of the Maw, they had already received their due reward, yet were welcomed as honored guests for the part they had played. Their armor caught the torchlight as they mingled among the gathered Sith, a reminder that even across empires, alliances forged in battle could hold weight when sealed in blood.
As the banners unfurled and the first fires were lit, the air upon Jutrand seemed to hum with anticipation. It was a night for triumph, but also for whispers. A night to honor what had been won and to look toward what would follow.
The celebration was ready to begin.
Amidst the feasting and bustling servants a clearing has been made for an orchestra to perform their finest melodies for the attending parties. As well as plenty of room for a dance floor of course, for those that wish to partake in such things. Here the air of revelry is thick and impossible to ignore, with grins as sharp as the gleaming cutlery and conversations held between cheers that hold both congratulations and promises of future plans yet to take root.
Power and influence radiate from the heads of the tables as many cling to the words of their betters, eager to receive any spare grace and favor that may be given so freely at such a celebration. But take heed, for this is no simple event. As one victory is assured, the groundwork must be laid for those to come and here is where it shall be done. With polite smiles and bold declarations alike.
Whether you come to honor the fallen, to earn the favor of the powerful, or to advance your own design, the night belongs to those who act. The fires of Jutrand burn bright, but it is the choices made in their glow that will decide what follows.
THE CELEBRATION BEGINS 11/8
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