H'mog traveled south, toward the great light. He feared it, yet was drawn to it. He respected it, but he didn't know what it was... H'mog would eventually reach the Cradle of the World. It had changed much since his last visit, millennia ago. The upland region had become a wonderfully fertile forest, full of creatures and colorful wild plants and berries. Fae fluttered about, tending to the garden-like hill country.
H'mog arrived where sea air could be felt. In front of him were familiar faces; His siblings Paloria and Eira! "Sisters! I have found you!" He said half to himself.
---
In the lava field, Birds flew overhead for the first time. The image-bearers of H'mog ate and replenished themselves, at last on something better then grass and leaves. They would call themselves Orcs, and they were on a journey. They must find their creator.
Shel opened her eyes in the cold, damp cave. Donning animal skins, she exited and rejoined her Father's tribe, known simply as a Fist. The First Fist. Shel Was greet warmly; as a sister, and to the Fistmaster, Blackrock, a beloved daughter. Shel's beauty carried her far in life. She was well used to warm greetings. Not particularly fond of them, but used to them. "Father," she asked Blackrock; "Where are we going now?"
"The great morning-light dawned south and faded last month. My dreams guide me to it's site, my beloved." blackrock responded.
"Will the Great One be there?" Shel lived in the fourth generation of the First Fist. She was accustomed the legends of the Great One, their creator, and how finding him was the Orcish way of life.
Blackrock mulled deeply on his prophetic dreams. "I believe so."
---
Dymos Made his way to the light as it faded. Along the way, he observed many new creatures and plants, all the while mulling over his problem. The Lech are vulnerable to an unkown threat; they must not be eliminated. They are integral to the creation of his Magnum Opus. When he arrived in the green Hill country, now host to Fairies and Humanity alike, He took a rest. He was... Anxious. He was not sure he wanted to meet the Allfather yet. He had made nothing for the Allfather to be impressed by. He had to make more; more powerful, more impressive! Yes, that's what he would do!
Following a family of badgers to a mighty lake, He focused his strength on these creatures. Invention was not good enough. Industry would not suffice! Dymos's tears burned the earth as the generations passed for these poor Badgers. They would grow, not only in size, not only in strength, but in ambition. They grew a sense of greed; a lust for power, and a need for Authority. On them mortals could model imperialism. "You are to be known as the Bohamber. All will fear you, you will adopt the Lech as your own, and slay and eat all your enemies with the greatest of predjudice, only until the greater beings I will create for you to serve appears." And so the Bohamber became vicious, ever hungering predators of the forest. But by the time Dymos was done, the Allfather had left. Dymos grew dark, brooding on anger...