G) Technology

The Dominion of Veins and Vitriol: Everyday Flesh-Technology of Hextor “Why suffer cold brass and dead gears when you could be warmed by a womb that remembers you?” —Itzmuatl, Fleshwright of the Verdant Veinlands

In the necro-industrial heart of Hextor, where bone replaces brick and blood flows through walls, the boundary between biology and technology has been purposefully obliterated. Under Xandera’s reign, flesh is not weakness—it is infrastructure. What the Ossuary Dominion has birthed is a civilization sustained, protected, and expanded by living tools, or what they call Tecuimotl—literally, "That Which is Grown to Serve."

Flesh-tech in Hextor is not an augmentation of life. It is life ritualized into utility.

I. The Philosophy of Flesh Utility

The Dominion regards fleshcraft as a fusion of bioengineering, necromantic discipline, and divine obligation. The flesh is programmable, not by code or wire, but by:

Memories,
Soul-saturated crystals,
Ritual exposure to ambient energies,
And carefully cultivated trauma.

All flesh-tech is grown, sculpted, awakened, and then ritually named, for to use an unnamed organ-tool is to tempt entropy.

II. Commonplace Flesh-Technologies in Daily Use

1. Gristle Vats

Biological sinks, lard vats, and recycler units in one.

These bloated, stomach-like organisms are found in nearly every household and public building.
They digest refuse, filter necrotic energy, and produce usable reagents—such as marrow jelly, sinew threads, or nutrient slurry.
Some households keep them like pets, feeding them personal objects so the vat may “learn” family taste.

Sound: Gentle gurgling, satisfied sighs when well-fed.

2. Dentrite Locks

Living door mechanisms formed from jawbone and cartilage.

They open only for individuals whose breath or boneprint matches the imprinted signature.
The locks gnash softly when approached by strangers, and bite intruders.
Formal buildings have singing dentrites, which open only when addressed in verse.

3. Eyestalk Relays

Visual surveillance organs perched atop bone pillars or mounted in sconces.

Each stalk contains three rotating eyeballs, allowing 360° scanning.
They transmit what they see through nerve-thread relays back to city cores.
If threatened, they emit a flash of a sacred glyph, burning visions of guilt into the attacker's mind.

Used in both city watch stations and temple libraries.

4. Sinew-Limbs & Modular Bodies

Living prosthetics that fuse with the body upon contact.

Grown from donor flesh, cloned marrow, or criminal remnants.
Adapt to their host’s muscle memory, often becoming stronger or more flexible than original limbs.
Military-grade limbs can contain hidden flesh weapons, such as barbed tongues, bone hooks, or venom sacs.

Those who wield multiple prosthetics are called “Teixochimalli”, or "Those Armored in Another’s Use."

5. Veil Cloaks

Flesh-grown, sensory-enhanced clothing made from nerve-laced dermal membranes.

Changes color and texture in reaction to mood, weather, or command.
High-ranking officials wear Veil Robes that whisper news, pulse to ambient song, or emit narcotic pheromones.
Some can absorb low-level spell energy and reflect it in glowing sigil patterns.

Considered a status symbol—their creation requires the memory imprint of a sainted corpse’s skin.

6. Incantation Spines

Compact, coiled organisms resembling spinal cords embedded with runes.

Implanted into walls, altars, or worn as belts, these devices speak incantations when stimulated by the user’s breath or touch.
Used to activate enchantments, open gates, or relay liturgical announcements to the dead.
Must be fed weekly with a single word of confession, whispered into their vertebral gills.

They moan if overused, and groan when forgotten.

III. Semi-Sentient Infrastructure

Not all flesh-tech is portable. Much of Hextor’s infrastructure is aware and responsive.

1. Womb-Hearths

Growling furnaces made of womb-meat and stomach lining.

Households feed them memory tokens, which they digest into heat and familial song.
Elder womb-hearths sometimes “sing back” memories of long-dead inhabitants.
Can be trained to respond to emotional temperature, warming rooms when sadness is sensed.

2. Bone-Bound Pavement

Paving stones lined with sentient calcite and enchanted marrow.

React to foot traffic by glowing slightly, remembering the paths most traveled.
Major roads “hum” with communal resonance, subtly guiding those lost toward centers of memory or safety.
Some pave personal names into streets where ancestors walked—part pilgrimage, part GPS.

3. Tendril Lanterns

Floating sacs of bioluminescent fluid suspended from nerve-vines.

Light levels adjust based on ritual timekeeping, weather, or user song.
Lanterns drift slowly, hovering over pilgrims, children, or mourners.
The brightest are bred from eyeballs of oracles, glowing purple-blue and occasionally whispering prophecies in unintelligible clicks.

IV. High-Level Bio-Arcana (Restricted Technologies)

Accessible only by elite Bonewrights, Inquisitors, or under Xandera’s direct sanction.

1. Thought-Flesh Tablets

Living slabs of synaptic tissue used for writing, data storage, and spellcraft.

Information is carved, sung, or bled into them.
They pulse faintly with thought and can replay recorded memories in sensory bursts.
Occasionally dream without prompt, creating unintended spells or hallucinations.

2. Choir Cysts

Living nodes of vocal cords and spiritual organs.

Used in rituals to channel ambient leyline energy into mass communication.
Each cyst must be “trained” in a regional dialect and “fed” with throat leech serum to maintain vocal range.
Larger cysts are installed in tower altars, moaning citywide chants during holidays or war.

3. Mourn-Engines

Titanic hybrid constructs, part cathedral and part corpse, used to gather and direct ambient grief as necrotic power.

They weep viscous black ichor, funneled into ritual weapons and resurrection chambers.
Always tended by Threnody Priests, whose duty is to record the dreams of the dead fed into the engine’s rot-core.
Their breath can summon storms, weaken hope, or soften the veil between life and afterlife.

V. Closing Invocation of Living Utility

“From breath, a blade. From sorrow, a door._ From rot, a roof._ Flesh was never weakness. It was waiting._ And now, we have remembered it into purpose.”_

In Hextor, flesh is not only a vessel—it is a city. A tool. A shrine. Every wall hums with intent, every tool sighs with memory. For what dies may rise again… to serve.

The Living Grid of Kilk-Mire: Arcanobiotic Infrastructure and Necro-Utility Networks “Stone may crumble, flesh may fail—but our veins pulse with purpose still. Kilk-Mire lives, and through its organs, we endure.” —High Engineer Thoxl-Yeh, Keeper of the Artery Looms

I. The Living City, the Dying God

Beneath the festering grandeur of Kilk-Mire, where bone pyramids loom like ossified memories and fungal light flickers through the fog-choked streets, lies a living utility grid—a marvel of necrotech sorcery and biological engineering unlike any known to the realms of man.

Here, buildings breathe, light bleeds, and warmth seeps from enchanted marrow, all drawn from a city-wide system of organ-grown conduits, ether-crystal hearts, and arterial tunnels that pulse with semi-sentient magic. This is not infrastructure. This is anatomy.

II. The Arcanobiotic Energy System (AES)

Known as the Throat of Kilk, the AES is an interconnected bio-magical nervous system that fuses the biological with the arcane. At its heart lies the Column Spire, a massive necrotic tower that serves as the central organ of the city. From this spine-like structure, arteries and veins—both literal and arcane—extend outward like fungal roots, threading beneath temples, barracks, bathhouses, and dwellings alike.

Components of the AES:

Mana Crystals: Also called “Soulspikes”, these are geode-like organs saturated with condensed magical energy. Grown in sacrificial gardens and harvested at peak resonance, they provide raw, transmutable power to the grid.
Veinlines: Flexible conduits made of flesh-tubes lined with silk-veined tendrils, these channels snake beneath the city, pulsing with liquid light. They carry magical plasma to all structures, functioning like both blood vessels and power cables.
Node Hearts: Located at major intersections or buildings, these are secondary hearts—fist-sized organic cores that regulate pressure, convert mana into heat/light/cold, and adapt to demand. They have a slow, rhythmic beat, and often give off a faint hum of necro-sorcery.
Spleen Loops: Circuits of necrotic filtration that bleed excess energy, rerouting it to waste or repurposing it to animate municipal undead, power bone lanterns, or keep heat-wombs functioning.

III. Utilities from the Vein

Thanks to the AES, every district in Kilk-Mire enjoys some degree of magical utility, though each varies by class, proximity to the Spire, and ritual permissions.

Artificial Light: Delivered through Eyestalk Lamps—bulbous, semi-organic protrusions that glow when fed filtered soul-energy. Some mimic natural sunlight, others emit haunting shades of red or blue depending on the district’s function or aesthetic.
Heating: Floors lined with bone marrow filaments gently radiate warmth using low-grade necromantic pulses. Common in noble quarters and mortuary libraries.
Cooling: Heat-leeching glands known as Grave Nodes absorb ambient warmth and store it in entropy sacs, which can later be bled off to heat other buildings or fuel siege constructs.
Ventilation: Vast lung-like chambers known as Breather Vaults inhale and exhale enchanted air, laced with fungal spores for cleansing or necrotic incense for spiritual hygiene. The breath of Kilk-Mire is a ritual in itself.
Waste Conversion: Biological waste is consumed by digestive ducts that run beneath each building—lined with parasites that process decay into biothermal energy, then return it to the grid in its next cycle.

IV. Crisis Quarantine: The Lock-Rings

In the event of disaster—whether arcane fire, necrotic breach, or enemy incursion—the city can initiate a sectoral quarantine through a defensive subsystem known as the Lock-Ring Protocol.

Valve Hearts located at sector junctions can be closed remotely from the Column Spire or at district temples.
This severs magical flow, disables utilities, and closes bone gates, effectively sealing the sector within its own flesh-walls.
Once sealed, Guardian Sutures—walls of enchanted tendon and bone—grow over entry points, sometimes adorned with glyphs of suffering to deter intrusion.

These quarantines also cut off soul energy to that area, preventing the resurrection of enemies, the spread of fire by arcane wind, or contamination of shared breath during plague or curse events.

V. Social Stratification Through the Flesh Grid

While every citizen benefits from the AES, luxury and control are defined by one's proximity to the Column Spire and influence within the Church of Reclamation or the Inquisitor’s Guild.

Highborn estates boast personal Node Hearts, allowing them to dim lights to mood, increase heat to comfort, or flood their chambers with dream-vapors or sensory illusions.
The lower castes, further from the core, suffer from pulsing outages, rogue warmth, and flickering bone lamps that often whisper old memories when dying.

“In Kilk-Mire, even the darkness is uneven.” —Sayith of the Whispered Plume, Deadlight Poet

VI. The Ethos of Entwined Infrastructure

To the Ossuary Dominion, a building without life is a corpse awaiting purpose. The AES is not a machine—it is a companion, a sleeper, a devout organism stitched to the will of Kilk-Mire itself. When you walk the halls of its bone-cities, you are not navigating architecture. You are navigating viscera.

VII. Final Incantation

“Oh Column, oh Father-Spire, Bleed into us the pulse of power. Let your crystals weep, let your veins sear, So even the dead may sleep without fear.

If flame should rise or war intrude, Seal us in your tombs imbued. For even trapped in a burning cell, We’ll know the Dominion reigns in hell.”

—Common prayer etched into the foundation of every Node Heart

Thus, the people of Kilk-Mire live not within a city— but inside it. Their homes do not consume power. They are fed, and they feed in turn.

Riding the Veins of the Dominion: Transit and Conveyance in Hextor “Roads are for the dead. Wings are for the sacred. But in the Dominion, we ride what remembers us.” —Zochitl the Bone-Mariner, Commander of the Suture Fleet

In the Ossuary Dominion of Hextor, transportation is not engineered in the traditional sense—it is summoned, grown, resurrected, or awakened. Roads throb with leyline pulses, flesh-airships soar with necrotic gas sacs, and canals carved into the bodies of extinct gods serve as thoroughfares. Movement across the Dominion is a sacred act, one that stitches each citizen into the living anatomy of the nation. To travel is to be swallowed by Hextor and moved through its bowels.

I. Living Roads & Artery Paths

“The ground knows your name. Step wisely, for it bleeds with memory.”

Bonepaths are paved with fused vertebrae and femurs, often grafted together from sainted dead or condemned criminals.
The more heavily trafficked roads are arterial corridors, with pulsing marrowvein cores that warm themselves and light up based on footfall and spiritual intensity.
Some walkways are sentient and will reroute themselves to avoid cursed travelers, wandering spirits, or outbreaks of soul-rot.

Wayfarers often chant while walking, their verses helping the road remember its purpose—a communion between flesh and direction.

II. The Suture Fleet – Bone Ships of the Black Channels

“Their sails are the skins of martyrs. Their hulls, the ribs of titans. And in their bellies—war.”

Hextor’s naval fleet and river transportation network is built from animated ship-creatures, collectively known as the Suture Fleet. These ships are grown in the Bone-Mire Wombs and blessed in sacrificial rites before becoming seaworthy.

Features:

Hull: Formed from the fused ribcages of megafauna, strengthened with ossified cartilage and ritual bindings.
Sails: Made of flayed skin, tanned and enchanted to capture not wind, but ambient soul-currents.
Eyes: Each ship has at least one fully functional eye mounted on its prow, used to navigate fog and magical turbulence.
Mouth Ports: Cannons are embedded in jawbone gunnels, able to vomit boiling bile, wraith-bound chains, or flesh-hook tethers for boarding.

Types include:

Chant Barges – Used for mass pilgrimages and funerary processions.
Fleshskimmer Cutters – Fast raiding ships used by the Inquisitorial Marines.
The Leviathan Chapel – A massive, semi-submerged cathedral-beast that carries the bones of saints upriver.

III. Fleshcraft Aircraft – The Choir of Wings

“They scream when born, and they never stop humming. Some say they fly because they remember the fall.”

The skies of Hextor are patrolled by living aircraft, also known as Aeroforms, grown in the upper biodomes and infused with wind-spirits, carrionbirds, and ancestral breath.

Core Varieties:

1. Necrowings

Fleshy gliders grown from stretched batwing membranes over spinal keels.

Piloted by a crew of two—one who steers via tongue-bone yoke, and one who sings the route into the Aeroform’s memory sacs.
Wings secrete buoyant ichor, allowing long glides.
Can land on vertical surfaces like cliff faces or bone towers.

2. Shriekserpents

Serpentine aerial beasts with hollow cores and vocal cord thrusters.

Used for fast message transport, surgical airstrikes, or emergency leyline rewiring.
Their flight is guided by chant pulse—specific verses alter direction.
Enemies often report hearing death songs long before the serpent is seen.

3. Choirhulls

Large, manta-ray-shaped carriers covered in feathered boneplates.

Function as mobile platforms for spellcasters, necromancers, or funerary choirs.
Powered by soul-bellows—lungs enchanted to repurpose ambient agony into lift.
Often seen drifting above major cities during ritual holidays or public executions.

IV. Beastborne Transit

“A mount must not carry your body—it must recognize your purpose.”

Carrionstriders – Towering bipedal beasts with hollow-bone legs, used to traverse marshes and shallow lakes.

Feed on swamp gas and decay.
Each step rattles with ancestral chants.

Huskbeasts – Massive turtle-like constructs with city-sized shells.

Used for mobile villages and slow pilgrimages.
Can sink into bog-pools and emerge weeks later without decay.

Xilkarra – Giant bone-scorpions bred for mountain or desert travel.

Each leg is tipped with obsidian, and its venom brands the soul of anything it touches.

V. Leyline Conduits – The Pulseways

“Why walk the road, when you can bleed into it and arrive on the other side whole?”

For elite officials, Inquisitors, and chosen priesthoods, travel through the leylines of Hextor is possible via Pulseways.

Travelers are placed into living cocoons made of vein-thread and psychic membrane.
Their essence is temporarily separated from the flesh, and drawn along the necrotic current of the leyline.
Arrival is accompanied by nausea, bone-weeping, and temporary prophetic trance.

Some say it is not you that travels, but your memory—rebuilt on the other side.

VI. Funerary Transit: The Processional Dead

In lieu of horses or carriages, some cities use the dead themselves as transportation.

Wagon-trains of reanimated giants pull bone barges and public sleds.
Walking litters carried by four deceased warriors chanting in unison ferry nobles.
During festivals, it is traditional to ride atop your family’s revenant, dressed in their burial robes.

This method is slow, solemn, and ceremonial, but considered the most honorable form of movement, especially for brides, infants, and convicted prisoners.

VII. Final Litany of the Wayfaring Vein

“I do not move through Hextor. Hextor moves through me._ The road is my marrow._ The ship is my breath._ The air remembers my name._ And the dead walk beside me until the journey is done.”_

In Hextor, movement is not mechanical—it is metabolic, spiritual, mythic. To journey is not to travel, but to be transformed by the Dominion’s living memory.

The Whispering Vein: Xandera’s Biomechanical Communion Network “Words die. Flesh remembers. And through the Vein, I am always listening.” —Xandera of Hextor, the Sovereign of Silence

I. Introduction: A Communion of Blood and Breath

In the decaying grandeur of the Ossuary Dominion, where glyphs are etched into bone and thoughts rot into scripture, communication is not cast through wire or ink. It pulses. It writhes. It lives.

The Whispering Vein is Xandera’s biomechanical, necromantic communication network—a sprawling lattice of living, enchanted organs, twitching nerves, and psychic tissue that threads through the swamps of Hextor like a second circulatory system. It is not simply used—it is fed, worshipped, and feared.

II. Anatomy of the Whispering Vein

The network is not constructed but grown—planted by Fleshwrights and Hymn-Binders from seeds of mummified tongue, cursed heart-marrow, and spinal parasites. It roots itself into buildings, ley-arteries, and the bones of the dead, forming a semi-sentient web of psychic-flesh infrastructure.

Core Components:

Throatroots: Tubular, pulsating veins that grow beneath streets and walls. They carry vibrations of thought and sound as if they were blood. When someone speaks into one, their voice is translated into a flesh-tone frequency.
Audiphages: Organic “listening flowers” that open when messages pass by. Their ear-like petals record everything heard and can reproduce sound via spore-speech or telepathic resonance.
Neuroglyph Nodes: Nerve-clots formed at key junctions. These allow trained citizens to send messages telepathically through blood-signed intent, offering secure, thought-to-thought communication.
Memory Glands: Fleshy sacs that preserve “verbal records” for later retrieval. Each gland contains suspended vocal memories, complete with emotional tone, timbre, and magical intent.
Choir Cores: Centralized, cathedral-sized brains that harmonize the psychic tone of a district. Each Core is fed fresh tongues, bound spirits, and dripping manuscripts to keep their song true.

III. Usage and Functionality

Message Transmission

Citizens speak into Throatroots using approved phrasing and blood-touched glyphs.
Messages are digested into bio-electric pulses and carried like lymph across the Vein.
The receiver’s skin prickles, and a whisper is heard in the marrow of the bones—not in the ear.

Security via Flesh Signature

Each voiceprint is bound to the speaker’s Vitae, meaning:

Forgery is impossible unless someone has consumed your vocal cords.
Messages can be encoded to decay after being received.

IV. Applications in Society

Military Orders: Issued through Crimson Pulse Channels, direct from Xandera’s personal Choir Core. These can override all other messages in times of siege or uprising.
Public Announcements: Whispered through city-wide Mouthstones, which moan news and decrees from shrines at crossroads.
Commerce & Trade: Deals made through Vein-encoded contracts that pulse when broken, alerting the Inquisitors.
Prayer Networks: The devout pray through Vein Altars, where thoughts are not merely sent to gods—but felt by the Spinal Choir.

V. The Cost of Speaking

Communication is not free. Every use of the Vein costs essence, measured in slivers of soul-resonance, taken in subtle spiritual tax. This energy feeds the Spine Tower, allowing Xandera to hear and archive the pulse of her dominion in perpetuity.

VI. Countermeasures, Censorship & Corruption

Veinburning: A rare punishment where a citizen is severed from the Whispering Vein, unable to communicate through any sanctioned channel. It results in slow madness as their thoughts pile up and cannot leave the mind.
False Whispers: Rogue parasites can infect the Vein, spreading blasphemous messages or hallucinatory directives. These are hunted by Neuro-Ecclesiasts—priests with knives and mnemonic solvents.

VII. The Cathedral of Bone Echoes: Xandera’s Private Choir

Atop the Spine Tower resides the Cathedral of Bone Echoes, the central choir node where all messages eventually resonate. It is filled with:

Choirists without tongues, who sing through holes drilled in their throats.
Living scrolls that rewrite themselves from the words they absorb.
The Voice-Drain, a pit where forbidden messages are devoured by silence-beasts.

From this throne of murmuring silence, Xandera listens—not for gossip or betrayal, but for the pulse of civilization: the communion of duty, devotion, and decree.

VIII. Final Whisper: The Litany of Communion

“My words are not mine. They are hers. The whisper is a blade that curls through marrow. Speak and be heard. Be heard, and be preserved. For all who speak in Hextor, speak through her.”

In the Ossuary Dominion, the flesh speaks louder than the tongue. And every message is a stitch in the Queen’s enduring silence.

The Living Armory of Hextor: Flesh Arms and the Parasite Pact “We do not wield our weapons. We wear them, feed them, become them. And in turn… they remember.” —Ossophage Therameth, Parasite Smith of the Geneblight Forge

I. The Doctrine of the Flesh Arm

In the necrogenic laboratories of the Ossuary Dominion, war is not merely a matter of blades or spellcraft—it is intimacy through integration, violence made vascular. Among their most dreaded innovations are the Flesh Arms—living, biological armaments grown from the warrior’s own genetic material, forged in vat and void to become more than weapons. They are familiars, parasites, and fetishes of bonded destruction.

Where others lift swords, Dominion soldiers grow their fury.

II. Symbiosis Through Blood: The Birth of a Flesh Arm

Each Flesh Arm begins with a ritual incision deep into the bone of a living subject—often a child or adolescent chosen for compatibility. A slurry of necrotic stem cells, marrow ichor, and parasitic progenitor tissue is introduced, incubated within the host until a tumorous bud forms on the back, shoulder, or chest.

After weeks of agonizing fusion, a proto-limb organism sloughs free, connected by umbilical tendrils of nerve and vein. This creature is then cultivated in a genetic cocoon, guided through spellsongs and injections of soul-diluted energy crystals, until it blossoms into a flesh-wrought firearm uniquely attuned to the user's bio-magical signature.

“The first time it moves on its own… it is like being touched by yourself from the inside.” —Field Notes of Arxibel, Bonewitch Initiate

III. Appearance and Functionality

A Flesh Arm resembles a twisted union of limb and weapon—a muscular, veined bio-cannon or lance-like appendage with bone ridges, gnashing mandibles, and a pulsing heart-nodule embedded near the base. When inactive, it clings to the host’s back or hangs like a leech from a harness of living straps.

When summoned, it writhes down the user’s arm, tendrils burrowing into the flesh and nerve endings, fusing temporarily at points of sensory junction. The user feels the weapon as an extension of themselves—sensation, pain, heat, recoil—all interpreted as one’s own.

Its central chamber—the Aether Maw—houses crystallized soulstones or aether crystals, which fuel a variety of magical discharges, including:

Hexfire Bolts – burning runic shards that explode with curses upon impact.
Necrotic Lances – beams of withering entropy that age flesh and unweave arcane wards.
Grease Spores – mucus-seeded shot that burns with living napalm.
Pulseworms – heat-seeking magical slugs with twitching tails and psychic signatures.

IV. Bio-Lock: The Womb-Welded Sigil

Each Flesh Arm is grown from the host’s harvested cells, often taken from the sternum, teeth, and pineal gland, forming a bond deeper than blood—a Womb-Welded Sigil. This ensures:

Exclusivity: No other being may wield the weapon; attempts cause violent rejection and tissue necrosis.
Sympathetic Feedback: The weapon evolves with its wielder, adapting its musculature and internal spell-lattices to combat style and personality.
Deathlink: Upon the host’s death, the Flesh Arm withers into ash or erupts in one final suicidal discharge, often obliterating both corpse and killer.

“It knows your thoughts. It weeps when you are wounded. And if you ever doubt your path… it will tremble.” —Parasite-Herald Ylgrenn of the 6th Marrow Host

V. Training: The Rite of Embrace

Wielding a Flesh Arm is not as simple as attachment. It must be courted—broken like a beast, loved like a limb, and feared like a twin. Training involves:

The Feeding: The host must feed the parasite with bits of themselves—blood, nail, hair, and dream-saliva—to nurture familiarity.
The Surge Communion: Host and Arm are bound in a ritual of mutual pain and spellfire, establishing trust and recoil-sharing.
The Scream Test: The wielder must fire the weapon continuously until they bleed from their ears and cannot scream louder than the recoil—if they survive, the bond is complete.

VI. Variants of Flesh Arms

The Mawcaster – A gaping mouth-cannon with fanged lips that fires howling plague blasts.
The Spinehowler – Rifle-shaped, with a vibrating bone-harp that screams before each shot.
The Leechgun – Fires blood-seeking leech bolts that drain enemies and return nourishment to the host.
The Corpse-Flayer – A shotgun-style limb that spews flesh-rending spores and acid bile.

VII. Philosophy of Flesh: The Gun is the Ghost

To the Ossuary Dominion, a Flesh Arm is not a tool, but a piece of you that remembers violence, a guardian twin born of pain and will. Many soldiers give theirs a name, dress it in charms, or tattoo symbiotic wards on their skin to ease the bond.

“A sword is forgotten when dropped. But a Flesh Arm mourns you. It dies your death. It dreams your screams.”

Those who wield these weapons become known as the Veinbound, or the Twinned Saints, feared across the Blood Planes and revered in Kilk-Mire’s inner sanctums.

VIII. Final Invocation

“Not forged in fire, but bled in prayer, The limb I wear is curse and care. It bites, it feeds, it fires, it aches, And in my soul, its hunger wakes.

Bless this limb of wrath and kin, Let my kills be carved within.”

—Oath of the Twinned Saint, recited before battle

Thus, in the Ossuary Dominion, the trigger is not pulled by finger—but by thought, by hate, by hunger. A Flesh Arm does not fire. It devours, and remembers who fed it first.