Creations of Anguish

The living canvases of the Anatomists, failed experiments, ongoing studies, and grotesque artworks of agony.

The Anatomists

Flesh-crafters, bone-binders, and surgical zealots, united not by doctrine, but by obsession.

Champions of the Order

Agonised Creations, Twisted Adherents and yet worse. The ranks of the Anatomists are filled with myriad practitioners.

Anatomists - Faction Pack

$10.00

In hidden halls beneath abandoned bastions and dank dungeons, the Anatomists ply their brutal craft. Flesh is flayed, muscle reshaped, and bone reforged in pursuit of perfection through pain. Their creations lurch and scream with purpose, not madness - artworks of agony sculpted by hands that know the body too well.

Contains 1 PDF Booklet, featuring Lore and 5e Statblocks for:

The Coterie
The Meat
The Harrowborn
Grafted Nemesis Knight

Alongside the PDF Faction Book, this pack contains high-resolution Concept Art and Narrative Compositions, perfect for augmenting and inspiring your campaign plans!

The Anatomists are a fractured order of flesh-crafters, bone-binders, and surgical zealots, united not by doctrine, but by obsession. They do not seek purity or precision, but transformation, pushing the human form beyond its natural limits, discovering what strange marvels lie on the other side of agony. Their sanctuaries are ruinous places: charnel towers, plague pits, desecrated keeps. There, they carve and rebuild, tear down and refashion, chasing brilliance through violence and vision alike.

They worship the Fleshsmith, a transcendent being of ancient origin believed to represent absolute dominion over mortality. She offers no blessings, no miracles, only inspiration. The most fanatical among them claim to receive flashes of her insight, sudden compulsions to act, or whispered revelations beneath the bone saw. To the Anatomists, the body is not sacred because it is perfect. It is sacred because it can be broken, rebuilt, and made new. They do not pray, they rip. They do not preach, they forge. Pain is their palette, blood their ink.

Reviled by the Church and feared by the masses, the Anatomists nonetheless endure. Their knowledge is grotesque, but potent. Rumors persist of secret ties to the Alchemic Order, of Imperial cells whispering through barred doors, bartering for anatomically engineered weapons. But the order bends to no one. They are scattered, self-willed, and violently independent. They accept no chains. Their doctrine, if it can be called that, is written in scar and sinew.

Their creations are monstrous artworks, flesh-fused titans, ambulant torsos, bone-clad berserkers still weeping from fresh grafts. Living subjects are always preferred, for the purpose is not death, but continuation, no matter the cost. Necromancy is a foul cheat in their eyes, an insult to living anatomy. True mastery lies in endurance, not resurrection. Their works are not made for mercy, nor for cruelty. They are made because they must be made. In the flicker of twitching nerves and the stretch of reknit tendons, the Anatomists see divinity.