The Honeyed Wilds sits on the very edge of the Faelands, a place anchored against the chaos of the south by the love, and hate, of the god of hunters: Hunder. It is said, long ago, before the ancestors of the Orcs had come to seek and learn rather than steal from the other races, a group of them headed south and pillaged their way across the lands. They devoured the crops, they devoured the livestock, they drained the best meads and the finest wines like they were water from a well. Their hunger for fine foods of the rich lands south of the maiden's spine, overwhelmed them.
This tribe eventually found itself in a rich wilderness sitting between many pristine lakes, and in it they met a great bear. This bear ruled the forest, and was beloved of Hunder, who doted on it, and supplied it with great hives of bees to keep it sated and happy. It's brown fur was always covered in sticky golden ooze, it's belly fat, it's nature gentle, only rousing to anger when something threatened it's forest.
The Greenskins knew naught of this beast, until they intruded on it's lands, and it attacked them, driving them back from the forest they sought to pillage. During the fight though they wounded it a great many times, and tasted it's blood, which was as sweet as the honey it has supped on daily for thousands of years. The Greenskins were addicted in an instant, and knew they must devour this great beast's flesh, for if it's blood was so good, how must it's flesh taste? And so they regrouped their numbers, and gave chase to the great bear of Hunder. They tried to hunt it properly, but it was too strong, too canny. So they waited until the middle of deepest winter, when it hibernated, and crawled into it's den to kill it while it was fat and dreaming.
Hunder might have forgiven the greenskins if they had bested his great bear in an honorable hunt, mind against mind and spear against claw, or if they had sought the beast out in the early winter, catching it out weak and sleepy during the first snows, when it was most vulnerable. But his rage in losing his favored beast, and the dishonor with which it had died, caused him to take leave of his senses. Since the Greenskin tribe had shown all of the honor of lowly bugs, they would bear the name of bugs forever more, as well as the skin of the creature whose life they had stolen. They would never know surcease from the hunger in their guts, nor would their children, or their children's children, nor even them unto the hundredth generation and beyond.