Orcs

Every battlefield has its flies and maggots, swarming among the corpses - and the orcs are the flies and maggots of Faerun. Cunning, they are, and dwell among humans because humans mean coin and ready food and lots of confusion and coming and going. Some even breed with the fierce humans of the North and upland hills, and from them we get "one-tusks" or half-orcs.

Orcs see the need for rules, but hold that the stronger make the rules for the weaker, and that no rule or law need to be followed if no one stronger is around to see, or punish. The wise man trusts no orc.

Orcs dwell in the mountain caverns - the same houses the dwarves love, which is why the Stout Folk are so few and grim. They dwell in the cave-warrens, snarling and fighting often but seldom to the death, rutting and brawling and delighting in cruelties of trap and pratfall and demeaning tricks, telling tales of great plunder and abundant food in the South.

Orcs are not subtle folk. Orc hordes seldom pass by any target or foe who waves a sword against them, and crash on into battle after battle, a great wave seeking to batter and inundate all before it, rather than sneaking or avoiding or biding in hiding.