On Those Things the Ignorant Call "Dwarves"

Great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl.

- H.P. Lovecraft, The Festival

The first thing a dwergaz sees upon hatching is rotten flesh. It slumps out of it's egg and begins to eat all it can see, growing fat on this decaying feast. But as it corpulence increases, it finds itself trapped by bone and skin; soon, like an elongated skull, the dwergaz is shaped to resemble it's former meal and wears what's left of it like a suit.

Man-Grub, Dark Souls 3

It is in this stage that most are familiar with the things, though few have seen them in person. Those that have try to forget what they've seen as best they can. Despite their appearance, the dwergazi are artisans of the highest skill. Even their shoddiest work would be considered a masterpiece by a human craftsman. They make no distinction between something practical and something decorative. Every tool, weapon, piece of armor, even the caves they call home, are covered with intricate fractal patterns, as if the very thought of an undecorated surface brought them discomfort.

As far as any can tell, the dwergazi live to dig; everything they do is ordered towards aim. Their tunnels and mines plunge deep into the earth but the endless minerals they extract are apparently ancillary to their goal. None know why they dig; perhaps they don't even know themselves.

But eventually the dwergazi die. Or at least, that's what an outsider would think. The dwergaz enters what looks like a tomb, accompanied by a strange rite performed by its kin. In this tomb, however, they construct a cocoon; the metamorphosis begins. 

The dwergaz enters into the second stage of its lifecycle: the walakuzjo.

Mi-Go, Kurt Komoda

Much less is known about the walakuzjoi compared to the dwergazi. But here is what we can say: on rare occasions, a humanoid housefly the size of an elephant descends on the aftermath of a battlefield. It picks through the corpses, choosing the best and carrying them back to its mountain hall. Upon some, it feeds; in others, it lays its eggs. And the cycle begins anew.

More research on the subject must be done, obviously. But first, those who consider themselves educated must divest themselves of the notion that the greatest works of mortal craftsmanship were made by small bearded men who live in caves; such a foolish notion has no place in the work of respectable scholars.