This Is the Truth about Orcs in D&D (because you've been lied to)

By the way, if you’re a busy GM without enough to time to prep like you know you should, Lairs & Legends can help. Grab an adventure, read it in about 15 minutes, and you’re ready to run your game! With over 700 pages of 5e resources, there’s no reason to feel stressed out and overwhelmed before your next D&D game.

Watch or listen to this article by clicking the video below.

Orcs made their Dungeons & Dragons debut all the way back in Original D&D—that’s 1974 for the historians out there—and they’ve been a staple ever since. But they didn’t exactly spring from the mind of Gygax fully formed. Most people agree that D&D’s orcs were heavily inspired—or let’s be honest, stolen—from the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. You know, the snarling, brutish enemies from The Lord of the Rings who march in endless hordes and scream about meat.

Back then, borrowing from Tolkien was practically a hobby in the game design world. Elves, dwarves, halflings—they were all part of the stew that became early fantasy gaming. But orcs? They were special. They weren’t just monsters. They were a people, a race, a recurring threat—and that made them one of the first “villain species” baked into D&D from the very beginning.

Over the decades, that simple origin—"they’re bad because they’re orcs"—would lead to–well, let’s just call them complications. But before we get into that mess, let’s look at how orcs were actually presented in those early editions.

For a long time, orcs didn’t really change much. From OD&D through Basic, AD&D, and even 2nd Edition, they were basically copy-pasted across books with a fresh coat of paint each time—sometimes literally.

Mechanically, they were aggressive, mammalian carnivores—the most common “monstrous humanoids” you’d run into while dungeon delving. They looked like primitive humans with gray-green skin and coarse body hair, and in the early editions, they were often illustrated with pig snouts or dog-like faces. That whole “green orc” thing we all recognize today? That really came from the Dungeons & Dragons cartoon, which swapped out the gray for green and burned the look into the minds of an entire generation.

Culturally, orcs were brutal. They believed that only the strong should survive—so naturally, the biggest, meanest orc led the tribe. They were considered part of the goblinoid family tree—hanging out with goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears—and they all reported up the same cosmic chain of command: Gruumsh, the god of slaughter, who was first detailed in Dragon Magazine #62. Orc raids were savage and violent, and to be blunt, early sourcebooks didn’t shy away from implying that half-orcs were often the result of truly horrific acts done to human women during raids.

And yet… they were Lawful. Yep. Depending on the edition, orcs were either “Lawful” or “Lawful Evil,” which meant they followed structure, hierarchy, and—yes—even codes. It’s kind of fascinating when you think about it: D&D portrayed orcs as mindless savages, but also gave them order and divine structure. You can almost feel the game trying to decide what orcs really were.

And then 2nd Edition did something wild. It gave us good orcs.

Deep in the Forgotten Realms, tucked away in the far reaches of the Tortured Lands, lived the ondonti. These weren’t your average axe-wielding raiders. These were peaceful, Lawful Good orcs who followed the goddess Eldath—patron of peace and quiet places. They were farmers. Pacifists. They could cast divine spells like sanctuary and basically just wanted to be left alone.

The ondonti were clearly written as a kind of cosmic counterweight to everything orcs had been up to that point. They didn’t spread or redefine orc culture across the game world… but they cracked open the door. They showed that orcs didn’t have to be evil. They could be more.

And eventually, that idea would grow into something much bigger.

Then came the year 2000. Y2K didn’t break the world—but 3rd Edition sure tried to update it.

When Wizards of the Coast took over D&D and published 3e, they gave orcs a bit of a facelift. Gone were the pig snouts and cartoonish features—now orcs had gray skin (at least officially), black hair, and wolf-like ears. Though, let’s be honest, the art department didn’t quite get the memo because orcs were still green in most of the illustrations. Classic D&D: lore says one thing, art does another.

Mechanically, they also added a new drawback: orcs now had light sensitivity. Sunlight and bright light gave them penalties, reinforcing the idea that they were creatures of the dark—literally and metaphorically.

But the biggest shift was cultural. In earlier editions, conquest was just something orcs did. In 3rd Edition, conquest became what orcs believed in. The Monster Manual flat-out said they thought survival required conquest. They had to conquer or be conquered. That belief system made them even more firmly entrenched as enemies—not just aggressive, but ideological.

And… then came the real problem. Female orcs were described as “prized possessions at best, and chattel at worst.” Yeah. That’s a direct quote. Orc society wasn’t just brutal—it was explicitly misogynistic. Not only was this deeply uncomfortable for some, it reinforced a whole bunch of stereotypes that had already been lurking under the surface for years.

However, it must be pointed out that orcs were portrayed as EVIL creatures. So, shouldn’t we expect that they should be engaging in EVIL practices and have EVIL belief systems? And yet, for some reason, the fact that evil creatures did and believed evil things was still somehow unacceptable. Go figure.

Oh, and orcs were no longer goblinoids. Starting with 3e, orcs became their own distinct creature type. And their alignment? Switched from Lawful Evil to full-on Chaotic Evil. Which basically cemented them as unpredictable, irredeemable monsters.

So yeah… 3rd Edition gave orcs a makeover. But instead of softening them or adding nuance, it doubled down on making them monsters. Meaner, darker, and even harder to redeem.

When 4th Edition rolled around, it kept the momentum from 3e—but instead of diving deeper into orc lore, it kind of… stepped back.

Like most monsters in 4e, orcs got less lore in the actual Monster Manual. Instead of a big write-up about their culture or history, you got a handful of stat blocks, a quick flavor paragraph, and a section explaining what your character might know about them with a decent skill check. The focus was clearly on combat first, lore second.

And what little lore they did include? Yeah… it didn’t do orcs any favors.

According to 4e, orcs didn’t really have a society—at least not one that counted. The book literally says they have “what passes for a society,” and describes them as savages with “no particular sense of honor.” It also goes out of its way to say orcs don’t build their own homes. Instead, they just squat in natural caves or take over the ruins of “more skillful races,” then slap up some crude defenses and call it a day.

Visually, 4e also locked in the all-gray skin tone for orcs. The Monster Manual illustration showed them looking more brutal and animalistic than ever—snarling, hunched, covered in bone armor and rage. If you were looking for nuance, you weren’t going to find it in this edition.

To be fair, 4e did introduce more mechanical variations—orc reavers, bloodragers, berserkers, warpriests. But as for cultural development or moral complexity? Nope. Orcs stayed squarely in the “barbaric enemy” box. Just more violent. More savage. More gray.

When 5th Edition launched, orcs didn’t change much. In fact, they looked a lot like their 3rd Edition versions—still gray-skinned, still brutal, still Chaotic Evil, and still positioned squarely as enemies. The “pure savagery” of 4e got dialed down a bit, but not by much. Orcs were still monstrous humanoids, still raiders, still antagonists for your heroic adventuring party to clobber on the way to the boss fight.

But then… the internet happened.

As the TTRPG scene exploded online—on Reddit, Twitter, and all the usual suspects—people started asking harder questions. Posters began digging into the origins of orcs and resurfaced old academic critiques of Tolkien’s writing. Some claimed that Tolkien’s orcs were modeled after Mongol stereotypes. Others, like Australian scholar Helen Young, argued that orcs often “resonate with anti-Black racist stereotypes.” The result? The internet did what it always does—it melted all those ideas together, and soon people were saying Tolkien was a racist and orcs were a stand-in for real-world marginalized groups.

Whether you agreed or not, orcs became a lightning rod. A battleground. Suddenly, people weren’t just debating hit points and stat blocks—they were fighting to reclaim or redefine what orcs meant in the game.

And then D&D’s designers started to respond. Volo’s Guide to Monsters was the first attempt to give orc culture some depth—though let’s be honest, it still leaned heavily into the “Gruumsh says conquer” angle. Then came Eberron: Rising from the Last War and The Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount, which removed the Intelligence penalty from orcs and dropped the “menacing” trait, reimagining them more like strong, tribal humans rather than innately violent monsters.

By the time we hit the 2024 edition, orcs had officially gone mainstream. They became a core race with a more varied, less aggressive culture. Some players loved it. Others said the new orcs felt watered down—“vanilla,” even. But one thing was certain: orcs were no longer just monsters. In fact, they don’t even appear as monsters in the 2024 Monster Manual.

But even that came with controversy. Some critics pointed out that the new orc art seemed to draw from Mexican stereotypes, keeping orcs visually coded as “the Other” even as their lore softened. So while the intent may have been progress, the execution... well, the discourse is still very much alive.

How to Use Orcs in Your Campaigns

Okay, so we’ve talked a lot about orc lore—but what about actually using orcs at the table? Because let’s be real: even with all the nuance and controversy, orcs are still one of the best “pop ‘em into a game and go” monsters in D&D.

There’s even a phrase for it: “Orcs attack!” Matt Colville coined it, and it’s basically shorthand for “The DM needs something exciting to happen, so bam—combat encounter.” And you know what? It works. Because orcs are exciting. They’re aggressive, loud, and chaotic. They bring energy to a session instantly.

Now, sure, you can use orcs like any old monster, but they really shine in a few specific scenarios. Ambushes? Perfect. “You insulted our god, now we fight” moments? Even better. And if you want a big skirmish or a low-level war? Orcs are your go-to troops. They’re ideal for siege warfare, raids, and any campaign where a larger force is pushing against civilization.

They also slot beautifully into the “train the villagers” trope—like in every great samurai movie ever made. Or that Mandalorian episode where the heroes prep a tiny town to survive a massive assault? That, but with orcs on wargs instead of stormtroopers.

In combat, orcs are generally straightforward. They rush, they swing, they scream. It’s actually a nice break from overly tactical battles. You don’t have to overthink it—just let the chaos fly. But if you do want to get fancy, I can’t recommend Keith Ammann’s The Monsters Know What They’re Doing enough. He’s got a whole breakdown of orc tactics that turns them from cannon fodder into a real strategic threat.

So, whether you want them as disorganized brawlers or disciplined shock troops under a warlord’s banner, orcs can fit the role. It’s all about how you present them—and how much nuance you want to give them.

Look, I grew up playing D&D in the ‘80s and watching the old cartoon, so for me, orcs will always be those classic TSR-era monsters—brutish, gray-green, and ready to raid your village at a moment’s notice.

So, for me? Orcs will always be monsters first. But they’re monsters with options. And how you use them—well, that’s what makes your campaign yours.