The Dark Horde.
Its name alone inspires tales of misery and woe for all denizens of Skellbrieg, whether they were directly affected by the demon legions or not. It is an extraterrestrial foe, one drawn from all corners of the hell-blasted Fargate, where the Eight Gods of Ancient Chaos reign supreme. Humanity outside of Skellbrieg has caught but minor glimpses of the Dark Horde from time to time, the only remaining evidence of this cult being the massive underground Lost City somewhere in India.
Ever since time immemorial, the Dark Horde has plagued the planet Earth. The Twilight Elves were the first to encounter this threat in full force during the days of Pangaea, but they were eventually cast out of their heavenly homes. Once the continents drifted apart, the Titans arrived, knowing that the Dark Horde had made its presence known on the humble planet. The Titans and their demonic nemeses were intertwined in a war that superceded any other war before or since, extending not only throughout time and space but also through soul and reality. Therefore, the Titans had to establish a bastion against the Dark Horde so that it would not continue to fester throughout Earth's history.
Thus, Skellbrieg was born, and all the races upon it, bestial and sentient, were both chosen and created specifically for the task of either containing the Dark Horde within the Edge of the World or fighting it. However, once the Titans departed and the Exiled persisted, those tasks were soon forgotten or not enforced due to the sudden emergence of a widespread Dark Horde threat. Wombs of Evil, portals into the Fargate that allowed for minor evils to trickle through, started to spring up by the tens of thousands. Some would combine together and create rifts into the demonic homeland in order for larger beasts to lumber into Skellbrieg. The first Titanomachy could have been established in this time, yet the Exiled were concerned with preserving the races they watched over rather than ruling them.
The tragedy of Jotun Miremorg, the sacrifice of Vogna the Wanderer, the bravery of Dragga the Skullsmasher, and the foolishness of Monxaxes all happened in this age of confusion, division, and seemingly endless war. While all of this was happening, the Dark Horde did not linger. Its leaders progressed into battle formations like never before. Kalgoth the Truthslayer, infamously, killed Dragga while only suffering a scar on his nasal bridge. He would have enslaved the Orcs, Thrae, and escaped into the Worldscar to do the same to Skellbrieg if Dragga had not forced them to retreat before closing the portal. Kalgoth plots on his throne of iron within the Burning Island, waiting for the day that the Worldscar will flicker whole once more, all the while playing with the souls of the Orcs and Thrae still left to suffer and die within Fargate.
Kalgoth is neither the greatest demon lord nor the one most fear, despite his vicious reputation.
Fargate is governed by creatures who do not sleep. The swamps of Deadmarsh hide eyes in every spore, spores that choke those traveling into the bogs with visions of unimaginable pain and anguish until they are little more than shells for the leeches to feast upon. The Cracked Spheres, the remnants of Kalgoth's rage during Dragga's insurrection, linger in subspace, floating ever onwards into oblivion as a reminder of the power enslaving those who would think to rebel. The Worldscar opens into the gaping maw of the Shadowclaw Gulf, a confusing maze of razor-sharp rocks where empty castles once dominated by foolish kings still stand, the brave armies that guarded them now little more than howling spectres dancing to the amusement of fiends.
There are very few peaceful realms in Fargate, and even if one does find a decent place to sleep, they will only awaken to an unwanted bunkmate staring up at them through a mouthful of half-chewed legs. It is rumored that Fargate used to be the wondrous kingdom of the Thrae, a place they begrudgingly shared with the Orcs. The Thrae were a dominant priesthood caste, worshiping something called the Light and endowing their shamans with impressive magics.
The Orcs, while already suspicious of their neighbors, were not initially fully hostile towards them. Instead, the order to begin the war that would tear Fargate apart came from a warlock who saw visions of the future, visions that were twisted by distant voices so that the warlock saw the destruction of the Orcs by Thrae hands. Rather than accept this grim possibility, the Orcs marched to battle, ignoring parley altogether for the sake of their own survival.
A few honorable Orcs still with their heads on their shoulders actively tried to convince the Thrae of the incoming genocide. They were ignored on most fronts, but Priest-Duchess Antilda listened. She and Gorrom Thundereater initiated a mass exodus from her temple as well as Gorrom's tribe. They managed to escape into the Worldscar, but became stuck between dimensions as their bodies were forced to hibernate until the portal found an exit point. These would be the first pilgrims of their kind to Skellbrieg, with Gorrom founding the Thundereater tribe within the Black Jungle and Antilda going northward to build the first Temple of the Light for her Thrae followers.
Meanwhile, the war between the Orcs and the Thrae followed a gruesome pattern. Blood drenched the battlefields, no matter where they erupted, whether it be the plains of Matildion, or the sacred crystal mines of Ahz'nor'e. Sooner or later, the Orcs began to realize they could not win. Again, they turned to the warlock who predicted the future. The voices were now in full command of this Orc, and he unwittingly told them to drink of a foreign mixture.
Unbeknownst to the Orcs at the time, they were drinking demon blood, sealing their fate forever as slaves, as well as providing a way for the Dark Horde to emerge into Fargate.
Ever since then, Fargate has belonged to the Dark Horde, and it has provided them with a suitable base of operations with which to assault Skellbrieg relentlessly. Their leader is strangely unassuming, considering the size and grandeur of other demons. His is a crown of corpses, ringing his through of hellfire in the shape of a dragon consuming itself, a fitting icon due to the tragic history of Aggradon the Living Cataclysm, a formerly noble creature corrupted into a weapon.
Though this is the primary figurehead, his name remaining a mystery even to this day, he ultimately answers to the Eight Gods of Ancient Chaos, a force of eldritch horrors that seeps into the minds of mortals every single day.
They manifest everywhere, perhaps even in the most minor of ways. But thanks to the Titans, they are mostly concerned with Skellbrieg. Therefore, the Chaos Clan makes its home there in the Frigid South, atop the Throne of Brass, within a bleeding citadel.
Perhaps mankind will never know the true antipathy of the Dark Horde, for most of their gateways to Earth have been closed, some forever, others temporarily.
But the Worldscar remains their most viable option for invasion.
And it is only a matter of time before it quivers back online, the demon legions behind it all too eager to enter through it.
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