Fleshcraft is an art without equal, a grim discipline that bridges the Alchemic, the Physik and the Arcane. Its roots lie in the teachings of the Fleshsmith, a figure half-remembered from ages past, who never sought to create life but only to mend that which was broken.

The Remade, mistaking her art for something greater, have turned Fleshcraft from craft to creed. In their wyrd hands it has become obsession, a pursuit of perfection that can never be attained. What they call creation is but distortion, shaping scraps of mortal frame into mockeries of life, vessels animated by dark energies rather than soul or breath. For if a soul could be said to dwell within such patchwork things, it would be as fragmented as their flesh.

Thus their swarms are born; shambling, half-living constructs of sinew-stitched flesh and bone. These form the true body of the Remade host, while the dwindling Elves remain behind in their caverns, guiding their works from shadow rather than risking themselves in combat.