A quick note: I'll admit that I don't remember how Larikush explained how Kalas was created (something vague about blood), so I tried to write this in a way that wouldn't enforce any particular theory about Georg's exact methods.
"The Artist"
He sat at the brass table, his hands constantly at work with the fluid motions of a painter. The laws of creation, the laws of the Gods, seemed far from his mind—for now, he was an inventor, a maker of machines. A pulley there, a lever here; formulas to induce the most precise and delicate of movements.
What is an arm but a machine? he thought, And what is a brain but a mix of chemicals; thoughts but a reaction? The material does not matter, it is all the same.
He came to the eyes—smooth, round, and fleshy lenses of red-veined white—and saw as the blue irises stared up at him from beneath his fingertips. The poets say that the eyes are mirrors to the soul, he thought, but these are blank and dead things, like colored glass.
He looked closely at the blue eyes, then at the curled fingers of the hand. A stream of warmth touched his brain of metal, and suddenly it became flesh.
"For once," he said to himself, "I will have to be a poet."