by Absolon Sorick They lair in holes. They breed in huge numbers, and smell of rotted meat. I speak not of skeevers, gentle reader, but of Orcs. The threat on the horizon, the unrelenting horde. "But Sorick," I hear you saying, "are they not our allies now?" It's good that you want to believe in the leadership of King Emeric. It's good that you want to believe in this Covenant that now binds us to the beastmen of Orsinium.