Deep in the desolate lands of Aldionia, where the ground is naught but ash, and the very air is nothing but swarms of flies, waiting for a poor, lost creature to die, so they can feast upon it, dark men were assembling amongst the ruins of a tower that was once home to a mighty wizard, long since dead.
In the room in which they were assembling was a oaken table, laden with food and drink, in the dank corner of the almost bare room lay a pot, in which a sticky, green substance boiled and simmered in its pool of putridity. The men and dwarves converged around the table and made merry at the feast in front of their eyes. They ate and drank their way into a stupor, until the air grew thick with their songs and perspiration as they drank themselves more into the oblivion which only drink opens the door to.
"But where is the founder of the feast?" shouted Bjorne, King of the Dwarves of Vernke, over the din of the clamour.
"He is rarely seen. He does not wish to walk in the light. He is more than the founder of the feast-He is the Clockwork Hand", replied Longand, Chief of the Bokkenjriders, those bandits from the mountains of Tywald who struck a deal with Physis, handing It their souls, in return for forever bountiful raids and successful plans.
The hubbub grew and grew as time went on, but more of the gay were wondering when they would meet their mysterious host, for they knew that it didn't bode well when a host of a feast such as this does not show his face. But, come he did. From the darkness of the upper levels of that ancient tower echo'd a slow, quiet ticking which hammered its way into the minds of the assemblage. It got louder and louder, while the din of the feast died in its way. From the door came a tall man. In the half light of the tallow, something glinted over his right hand, the source of the ticking. He sauntered to the head of the table and stood, silently, as if waiting.
"Friends", he said suddenly, his voice croaking, yet confident, “Thank you for joining me for this little feast. I know that you must have come from the far corners of the World. But now, to business. I know that you all have given me your service again and again, and for that I am thankful. However, it has come to my attention that you haven't pledged your absolute allegiance to me".
The men shifted uneasily. What did this strange man want with them? How did they do it? Did they have a choice?
"Do not worry," said the Clockwork handed man, “It is a choice. If you choose not to, I will dispense with your service forth-with and you can return home, never to hear of this again. However, if you do choose to stay with me, I will cover you in riches beyond your imaginings. You will take your rightful place with me as rulers of this World and stay in a position that only the Terrabyssians could rival! Now, who is with me?!" he shouted, inflating the greedy hearts of the men.
"How are we to do this, oh Lord?" asked Bjorne.
"Take a deep draught from that cauldron. I promise you that you will never want of anything if you do"
And so it was that twenty of the thirty men that night allied themselves with the Clockwork Hand.
"So", said the wizard, flatly, “You few have decided against my generous offer? Even you, Longand? So be it".
As those ten poor souls made their way to the door, a tongue of fire leapt from the floor and completely enveloped the poor fools. They should have known better than to trust the word of evil. As the flames died away, leaving nothing of those ten, the wizard turned to the ones that remained, and with the fire still burning in his heart he screamed:
"This is the beginning of a new time! We will prepare! We will strengthen! We will arm ourselves with arrow and spear! We are the Deviance Confederacy and we call the World to War!" And so started the Time of Clockwork, unknown as yet to the inhabitants of the World.
~*~
In the Halls of Terrabyss, the Gods had been watching these events.
"Should we act?" asked Lady Spring.
"Of course we should!" shouted Lord Summer, “Fellow Gods and assembled spirits, what can we do? We must not let him go along with this monstrous plan!"
"But what can we do?" replied Hertz, Guardian of the Radioteers
"I think there is a much more pressing matter, ladies and gentlemen", whispered a hoarse voice at the other end of the hall.
"Nomos?! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be judging the departed!" exclaimed Summer, enraged that Nomos, Judge and Keeper of Reason was neglecting It's duty.
"My brother, Physis, is on the World", said the Masked Boy. The Gods, even hot blooded Intel, was shocked to silence.
I suppose this could be a made up word for the group, but you might want to choose something more fantasy sounding if so. 
