Immortalis and the Banquet Scenes That Blur Celebration and Decay
In the perpetual dusk of Morrigan Deep, where the overlapping suns cling to the horizon like reluctant lovers, the Immortalis indulge in rituals that masquerade as refinement. The banquet halls of Castle DTheaten stand as perfect exemplars, venues where the veneer of nobility frays against the raw appetite beneath. These gatherings, presided over by Theaten with his meticulous adjustments of candlelight and shadow, serve not merely sustenance but a grotesque sacrament, a celebration laced with the unmistakable tang of decay.
Consider the scene in the eighth moon of 1531 P.V., when Ducissa Anne and Count Tepes dined with Theaten. The tribute, a red-head stripped, washed, and basted by Klouthe and Harlon, lay splayed upon a bed of mango. The fruit did little to mask the primal reek of Kane, Theatens Evro, whose unwashed rags and rotting flesh offended Annes sensibilities far more than the living meal itself. Yet the true desecration came with Nicolas, who scaled the table, trousers undone, and penetrated their dinner before all. Anne recoiled at the breach of etiquette, her carving knife poised for the ritual incision, while Nicolas tore chunks of flesh and tossed them to Kane like scraps to a hound. The breast vanished into Nicolasss maw, ribs flung with canine precision. Such is the Immortalis banquet: a toast to civility drowned in the slurping of fresh meat.
No less revelatory is the recurrence of these feasts in 1536 P.V., where Anne, now averse to red-heads, demanded blondes, upending breeding programs across the six villages. The men complied without demur, as Klouthe infused the thigh with Ashurrel whisky. Crystal glasses filled with wrist blood circulated amid talk of Immolesses and wagers, the carving knife gliding through tender flesh. Theatens long black hair flicked as he savoured liver, Anne invaded arm and rump, their discourse on Soliss ambitions flowing as freely as the crimson vintage. Celebration, yes, but decay in every incision, every sip of infused gore.
Even Coraxs banqueting suite, reserved solely for Nicolas, embodies this duality. Though he dines alone, the hall hosts his solitary indulgences, echoes of feasts where Lucia, the second Immoless, awaited her fate on a silver trolley, crispy without, vital within. The Immortalis banquet is no mere meal; it is a liturgy of consumption, where the clink of silverware punctuates the wet sounds of unravelled sinew. The line between revelry and rot dissolves in the shared savouring of the still-twitching.
These scenes lay bare the Immortalis essence: gods who feast amid the ruins of their appetites, where the grand hall becomes charnel house, and every toast heralds another descent into the primal. Celebration endures, but decay claims the final course.
Immortalis Book One August 2026