"Finish"- skekGra, urGoh
SkekGra sets down his chisel, for what he fervently hopes is the final time. It feels as though their home has been covered in powdery rock dust for a hundred trine, though really it’s only been about a quarter of that. They would have had far less trouble creating a creature meant to stay in one piece, but that would be too obvious, too easy to discover by one too foolish to hear their message. That cannot happen- it must be the right one.
“Ready?” he asks. Dusting off all four of his hands, urGoh nods.
Gingerly, skekGra sets the little disc that holds their carefully crafted magic onto the pile of carven stones. For a moment, nothing. UrGoh lets out a deep, encouraging hum, the kind that seems to vibrate the walls despite its softness, and finally the stones begin to rise, hover, connect. Two grind against each other, and skekGra fears they will shatter and explode again- like the one memorable failure that had taken days to clean up. But no, they are stacking together as they should- into an arm, a leg, the facsimile of a face- until something stands before them that can only be called a being.
It turns towards them, and the mouth of its featureless face opens curiously. Recognition?
SkekGra lets out an undignified squawk of excitement, hears urGoh’s relieved laughter. The creature takes a tentative step towards them- wobbling like a landstrider calf, yes, but walking- and leans its head toward skekGra. He lifts a hand to press against the hard snout. No violent reaction, good. “That’s right...you are Lore.” They’d chosen the name so long ago he’d nearly forgotten it. “And we are your- your creators.”
He knows what he almost said. It is a word he will never be able to call himself, not as they are. Only creatures of Thra can create new creatures upon its surface- they learned long ago that their incomplete bodies cannot, no matter how they attempt to twine them back together. But skekGra has never created anything beyond the puppets urGoh taught him to make, and certainly never anything that could move or offer him a little cock of the head that seems to suggest intelligence, feeling. He had only known how to destroy for so long. Perhaps the feeling welling up in his chest is something like the way a gelfling feels when they look upon their own little creations.
He supposes he will never know.
The pride at having completed one more step in fulfilling their purpose will have to do.