The Mad Mountain, Gih'Tan

The Mad Mountain of Gih'Tan. 
Looming over the marshy land, it sits like a monster observing its prey. The lizardmen that call Hrongo home, Kik-Al-Aki or Marsh-Walkers in their tongue, avoid the mountain and caution outsiders to do the same. No amount of coin or goods can convince them to accompany explorers to the mountain and they will often beg the outsiders to not go. Ultimately, they will do nothing to stop them.
A scholar of the Amu-Ashi tribe from the Fikto Desert asked about the mountain and a young Marsh-Walker was said to tell him this tale.
Long ago, when the world was still humid in all corners, the gods built great cities of stone and magic. Mortals were still young and their minds unopened, so they lived in awe of these cities. They gave the gods gifts in order to walk the magnificent streets for a few days, basking in this glory. The gods were arrogant, reveling in their superiority over the mortals.
Then came the Calamity. A horrific event that ripped the gods to pieces and smashed their cities into rubble. The mortals were spared for they were small, weak, and of no consequence at the time. They hid in their holes, watching from afar as the great cities were destroyed and the gods lay bleeding.
One brave mortal who would go on to pull Mira from the waves, crept towards the destroyed city of Amala-Oth, the Radiant Jewel. He crept amongst the dead and dying gods, scavenging for food and supplies. A great creature watched him, feasting on the entrails of a Warrior God that had failed in their duty. They were amused by the mortal, so brave and so foolish as to be scavenging on a battlefield when the war was not yet finished. They moved on their many legs, following at a distance until the mortal was at the base of what was once the Offering Altar of Amala-Oth.
"What are you doing, little creature of flesh and bone?" the great creature asked.
"Looking for food," the mortal replied. "I brought food to the gods not a fortnight ago. They couldn't have eaten it all in that time."
"You walked by many bodies on your way here. Why did you not eat of that delicate flesh?"
"Mortals cannot eat god-flesh. It will kill us."
"Says who?"
This made the clever, foolish mortal pause. He had never stopped to think about it before. Why did his people not eat god-flesh when they ate deer-flesh and boar-flesh and fish-flesh? He pondered on the question, glancing at the great creature fearfully as time drew on. The great creature showed no sign of annoyance or impatience, letting him think and think and think. For three days, he pondered and wondered, going back and forth on many different ideas and reasons until at last he approached the great creature.
"We do not eat god-flesh because they are our protectors," he said.
"They are not your protectors now," the great creature said. "They are dead."
"That is true," the mortal said. "But you do not eat your parents because they have died. You honor them."
The great creature nodded their head. "That is very true, little mortal. But these gods are not your parents. They cared nothing for you."
"We still love them."
The great creature nodded again. The mortal had never met anything as patient as this creature. They had waited three days for his answer and even though they did not agree with him, they did not hurt him. The gods did not allow such differences to exist. They crushed all who disagreed with them beneath their heels.
"Why do you kill the gods?" the mortal asked.
"They are in our way," the great creature replied.
"Is there no better reason?"
"We don't need a better reason. The gods would not move, so we went through them."
"Would you kill mortals for the same reason?"
"If you impeded us, yes."
"What were they stopping you from doing?"
The great creature laughed. One of their wicked paws patted the mortal's head. The blow almost killed him, but he could tell that it wasn't meant to. He was a small mortal and this creature was far more powerful, but not cruel.
"Our methods are beyond you, little one," the great creature said. "But, let us make a deal. I will bestow upon you a great power and you will grow to become your own god."
"Is such a thing possible?"
"Of course."
The mortal contemplated the offer for two more days before returning to the great creature. "I will accept this great power and become my own god," he said. "What do you need me to do in return?"
The great creature smiled. It was a terrifying sight, but the mortal had grown used to the great creature's presence and saw the beauty behind it and the kindness.
"You will guard my body when I fall," the creature said. "Do not let the foolish desecrate it."
"I will," the mortal promised.
"Good. Now, I bestow upon you a name, little mortal. With this name, the land will obey you. People will listen and sing your praises. You will be the kind, generous god that these fools never were. You will be known as Akozana, First of His People, and you will shape this world as you see fit."
Akozana felt the power flow through him and rose. He bowed deeply to the great creature, acknowledging them as an equal and a friend.
"What am I to call you, Great Creature of Death That is Now My Friend?"
"Gih'Tan," the creature said. "You will know when I fall, Akozana, Friend of the Devourer. Teach your children to guard my corpse so that I might rise again."
Akozana promised to do so and left to enlighten his brethren. When Gih'Tan fell centuries later, Akozana returned to weep and mourn. He crafted a great mountain to reside over the fallen creature, promising to protect him.
The scholar asked why the bird-folk's champion was part of the myth when the lizardmen ruled the continent, but the young Marsh-Walker did not know. When asked if the great creature in the legend was one of the Star Eaters from other cultures, the young Marsh-Walker, again, said they did not know. He asked if they feared or revered the creature and the Marsh-Walker said "both".
The scholar headed for the mountain a few days later. The young Marsh-Walker accompanied for a few days, but fled as the base of the mountain came into sight. A few months later, when another expedition came through, the young Marsh-Walker brought all of the scholar's work to the boat-captain, tearfully asking that their friend's work be delivered to their mentor. When asked how they came to be in possession of these journals, the Marsh-Walker tearfully told the captain that they appeared in their room a week after the scholar had began the journey up the mountain. 
They would say nothing else about the scholar. These journals are all that remain of the scholar. The strangely optimistic legend about the Mad Mountain stands in stark contrast to the Marsh-Walkers' pleas, yet they all agree that this is the most accurate account of that legend.