Warhammer 40K Orks explained: a beginner's guide to the greenskins

Orks are the greenskins of Games Workshop's Warhammer 40,000. To me they're "the true working-class heroes of the grimdark future": violent, daft and close to indestructible. Their lore is so deep it could fill an entire movie, so this is a beginner's introduction to what Orks are, how they live, who they worship and why they're so fun to play on the tabletop.

Warhammer 40K Orks are green, fungal and live for a fight

If you've somehow missed them, imagine "a bunch of Millwall supporters on an intergalactic away day," only they're green, built like industrial fridges and technically made of fungus. That's your average Ork. They live for fighting, shouting and anything that goes boom. If something explodes, they're over the moon. If it doesn't, they'll belt it with a wrench until it does.

Orks don't do subtlety or diplomacy, and strategy only counts if hitting it harder counts. Their battle plan boils down to finding something that moves, hitting it until it stops, then hitting it a bit more for luck. It shouldn't work, but it somehow does, probably because there are millions of them and they're having far too much fun to care about dying.

In the lore they're called greenskins, which sounds polite until you realize it means massive angry mushroom men. Because they're part fungus, even if you nuke them they grow back later from spores, like mold on a galactic scale. You think you've wiped them out, and soon they're back, licking your vehicles and painting them red because it makes them go faster.

Originally they were called space orcs, which is exactly what they are. Someone at Games Workshop clearly wondered what would happen if fantasy orcs got guns and were told space was full of stuff to hit, and it stuck. They kept that classic orc energy: a love of fighting, terrible teeth and a deep spiritual belief that more noise equals more power. They aren't an army so much as "a galaxy-sized pub brawl that's just gotten wildly out of hand." You can't reason with them, you can't stop them, and you wouldn't want to. The galaxy would be a lot duller without them.

Ork origins may trace back to the Old Ones

For me, this is where it gets interesting. Nobody is quite sure where Orks came from, and their origins are a mystery. Most people think they were created ages ago by ancient, all powerful beings called the Old Ones, cosmic nerds who went around creating new species like it was a Sunday DIY project.

The theory goes that Orks were made as ultimate soldiers, built for war, impossible to kill off and able to survive almost anywhere. Think of them as the galaxy's answer to cockroaches, if cockroaches were seven feet tall, carried axes and shouted "Waaagh!" before punching tanks.

The Waaagh field makes Ork technology work because Orks believe it will

Waaagh energy is a psychic field that builds up when Orks get together and start having a laugh, or more accurately a fight. The more Orks believe something will work, the more likely it does. Take a Mek, an Ork engineer who thinks duct tape and shouting count as quality assurance. If he slaps some scrap together and calls it a gun, it'll probably shoot. Not because it's well made, because it isn't. It's held together by hope and rust, and it works because the Orks believe it will.

Their collective faith in more dakka, which in Ork speak means more guns, more bullets and preferably louder ones, is so strong it somehow bends reality into agreeing with them. To an Ork, the solution to every problem is more dakka. Gun jammed? More dakka. Enemy still standing? Definitely more dakka. Out of ammo? Shout louder and believe harder, and the universe might take the hint.

Everyone else in the galaxy thinks Orks are dumb, violent nutters, and they're not entirely wrong, but the Orks are winning. There are more of them than almost anyone else. They spread like mold in a student's fridge, and every time you think you've wiped them out, another mob turns up somewhere else shooting at the sky. Some reckon there are even more Orks than humans, which is saying something.

The scary bit is that this is Orks disorganized. They're probably too busy fighting each other to bother taking over the galaxy. If they ever stopped scrapping and united under one boss, that would probably be it: galaxy done, pack up your bolter and go home. Luckily, Orks being Orks, they'll never stop fighting each other long enough to manage it. It's built into their DNA.

Orks reproduce through spores, from snotlings to gretchin to full Orks

Picture a seven or even eight foot slab of muscle covered in scars and green as a traffic light. Orks are built like tanks and shrug off injuries that would turn most other species into red paste. Here's where I think it gets a bit strange: Orks don't have parents. They don't need them, because they reproduce by spores, little fungal cells that come off their bodies and grow into new life forms. When an Ork dies, its body releases millions of spores into the air and soil, and before long a new Ork ecosystem sprouts up like mold on bread forgotten at the bottom of the bread bin.

Those spores grow into all sorts of Orky creatures. The smallest are snotlings, tiny daft gremlins that scuttle about doing odd jobs. Then come gretchin, or grots, a bit bigger and a lot cheekier: goblin sized Orks used as servants, lackeys and general cannon fodder. When conditions are right, some spores grow into full sized Orks, big, loud and ready to punch something. That system makes Orks almost unkillable as a species. You can nuke them from orbit, burn the planet, come back a few months later, and there they'll be, waving their guns and starting another fight. It's the world's worst case of garden weeds, except they've all got chain axes.

A Waaagh is the closest thing Orks have to religion

The psychic field is an invisible energy Orks give off just by existing, as if belief itself were contagious. The more Orks in one place, the stronger it gets, which is what makes their mad technology work when it shouldn't. That shared power also fuels the Waaagh. If you've wondered how to pronounce it, imagine standing on Lego and stubbing your toe at the same time.

A Waaagh isn't just a war. It's a full blown galactic event: part invasion, part pilgrimage, part interstellar pub crawl with extra shouting. When a powerful leader called a Warboss bashes enough rivals' heads together to unite the tribes, their collective energy builds into a storm of violence and excitement. The result is billions of Orks charging in the same direction, and entire star systems get flattened. It's the closest thing Orks have to religion: fighting because it's fun, because it's holy, because it's another manic Monday.

Luckily for the rest of the galaxy, Orks spend most of their time fighting each other. Every now and then one gets big and mean enough to pull everyone together, but they usually fall out and start over. Still, whenever a proper Waaagh gets going, even the toughest armies start sweating, because Orks don't stop until everything is smashed, burning or joining in.

The biggest Ork is in charge: Warbosses, Nobz and Boyz

Ork society, if you can call it that, is one big noisy playground where the biggest lad automatically becomes head teacher. Orks live in tribes run on one rule: the biggest Ork is in charge. The Warboss is usually the nastiest, meanest, loudest lump of green muscle in the group. Leadership comes not from clever speeches or management skills but from punching harder than everyone else. Ork culture values strength, brutality and cunning above all. Being clever is fine, but ripping the arm off a Space Marine and using it as a club or a toothpick is what gets you noticed. Every other Ork fancies a go at being boss, so the result is a permanent pub brawl with a mild management structure.

Below the Warboss are the Boyz, spelled with a Z like a cool boy band. They're regular Orks, the backbone of every warband, doing most of the fighting, looting and shouting. Some carry guns called shootas and are known as Shoota Boyz, while others prefer crude blades called choppas and are Choppa Boyz. The difference comes down to whether they want to make things explode from a distance or up close. Their kultur, as they proudly call it, runs on might makes right. Orks instinctively obey anybody bigger and greener than themselves, and they'll never take orders from anyone who isn't an Ork.

The biggest of all, the Warbosses or Warlords, can stand 10 feet tall and are broader than a fully armored Space Marine. Some rise through sneaky tricks or good tactics, but most batter the competition until everyone agrees they're in charge. To avoid being interrupted mid fight, the Warboss relies on lieutenants called Nobz, larger and nastier than regular Orks and dripping with stolen trophies. They make sure everyone remembers who's boss, usually by punching them through a wall. Most of the horde, which can number in the thousands, is mobs of Boyz, especially from the Goff clan, who pride themselves on the biggest, loudest mobs and think fancy tactics are for cowards.

Gretchin do the jobs Orks find boring

Orks aren't productive citizens. If something doesn't involve fighting, shouting or building a bigger gun, they lose interest fast. That's where gretchin come in, handling the cooking, carrying ammo, running errands and being on hand when an Ork wants something to kick. The funny thing is they don't mind. To them, being bossed around by Orks is the natural order of things.

The clever ones make a decent life running black market businesses on the side: brewing fungus beer, roasting squigs, which are angry alien animals that taste surprisingly good, and organizing bets whenever a fight breaks out. When the fight's over, they're usually first to loot the bodies. Waste not, want not. Ork society looks like a mess, and it is, but somehow it works. They haven't got politics, art or education, but they have what matters to an Ork: a good scrap and plenty of lads to have it with.

The Ork clans: Goffs, Bad Moons, Evil Sunz, Deathskulls and Snakebites

The clans deserve a full piece of their own, so this is an overview. Each has its own vibe, symbols and favorite way of smashing things. Think of football clubs playing the same game with wildly different styles and just as much shouting. Goffs are your classic Orks: loud, angry and built for punching. They reckon guns are fine, but nothing beats introducing someone's face to a big metal axe. They paint everything black because black looks tough, and subtlety isn't in the Goff dictionary.

Bad Moons are the posh Orks, or as posh as fungus based hooligans get. Orks grow their teeth back, and teeth, or teef, are their currency. Bad Moons' teeth grow the fastest, which makes them rich, so they spend it on the biggest guns, the flashiest armor and anything shiny enough to blind an enemy. If Orks did Instagram, Bad Moons would be the influencers. Evil Sunz are obsessed with going fast. Anything with wheels, an engine or a vague chance of exploding gets painted red, because everyone knows red goes faster. Think Mad Max, with more shouting and fewer seat belts.

Deathskulls are the sneaky ones, or as sneaky as a seven foot green guy can be: scavengers and looters who will nick anything not nailed down, and a few things that are. Leave your tank unattended and don't be surprised if it comes back blue and covered in Ork glyphs. They paint themselves blue for luck, and since they're still alive, you can't argue with results. Snakebites are the old school, back in my day crowd, suspicious of fancy tech and keen on spears, axes, squigs and good, honest violence. They're the most superstitious, muttering about omens and the old ways, like the uncle who insists music was better before electricity. Each clan thinks its way is best and will fight the others to prove it, but when a proper Waaagh kicks off, they all pile in together.

Meks, more dakka and Ork vehicles

Orks aren't only good at fighting; they're born for it. If an Ork isn't fighting, he's thinking about fighting, building something to help him fight or arguing over who fights better. Their approach to technology is creative. They don't understand how things work, so they bash scrap together until it makes a noise, and if the noise sounds dangerous, that job's a good 'un. Meks build tanks, planes and death rays out of junk. None of it should work, but thanks to the psychic field and a healthy dose of optimism, it usually does.

Their guns follow one design philosophy: more dakka. If one gun's good, two is better, and if two isn't enough, strap on four and pull triggers until something explodes, preferably the target, though they're not fussy. Battlewagons are giant clanking tanks covered in spikes, armor plates and spare guns. Warbuggies are fast, ramshackle death traps driven by cackling Orks who treat health and safety as a myth, usually painted red. Ork strategy is to find the enemy, point everything at them and charge shouting "Waaagh!" until one side stops moving. It's messy and chaotic and shouldn't work, but somehow it does. While most civilizations cling to survival, Orks multiply like mushrooms after rain and take over planets almost by accident. Give them dirt, scrap metal and something to hit, and they'll thrive.

Gork and Mork, the Ork gods in the warp

Orks also have a presence in the warp, a psychic dimension that feeds off emotions and thoughts, full of gods, demons and bad decisions. Just as humans have their Chaos Gods and the Eldar, the space elves, have their own things going on, the Orks' collective feelings have birthed their own gods, Gork and Mork. In Ork theology, Gork is brutal and cunning, and Mork is cunning and brutal. Gork smashes you in the face and laughs about it; Mork waits until you're not looking and knees you in the groin. Both approaches are equally admired, and the pair have never been beaten. Other gods who challenge them get clubbed halfway across the cosmos.

Orks don't do organized worship: no church, no priesthood, no hymns. The closest thing is the Weirdboyz, Ork psykers who act as lightning rods for their mobs' psychic energy and sometimes claim to hear Gork and Mork, usually right before something explodes. There's occasional whisper of Yellers, meant to be Ork priests, but I think they're more of a rumor than anything else, so don't take that as certain. Then there's Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka, the legendary Goff Warlord, who insists both gods speak directly to him. Considering the destruction that follows him, he might be telling the truth. Old lore even talked of a third god, Bork, who was quietly dropped.

The average Ork doesn't care whether Gork is meaner or Mork sneakier; he wants whichever brings more luck in a fight. Some reckon the two might be sides of the same being, one god with a split personality. According to the Weirdboyz, their voices are getting louder, calling Orks to the great Waaagh, a final galaxy wide brawl. The Chaos Gods might have their schemes, but I think Gork and Mork have something simpler: a good laugh, a big stick and an infinite supply of Orks to swing it.

Gargants and Stompas are walking statues of Gork and Mork

Gargants are the biggest Ork war machines, towering monsters belching smoke and firing about 20 guns at once, the Orks' answer to the Imperium's skyscraper sized Titans, with more rivets, more noise and less regard for physics. Stompas are a Gargant's little brother: still enormous, easier to build and more common. Meks build both to resemble Gork and Mork, out of scrap, hope and the occasional unfortunate gretchin welded in by accident. Gorkanauts and Morkanauts are huge armored suits piloted by especially unhinged Orks, who often claim visions of the gods shouting encouragement mid battle.

When a Big Mek gets what he calls divine vision, he hammers plates together until it vaguely looks like a god with guns for arms. As soon as one starts, the others want to outdo him, and before long the planet is covered in half built war machines and a Waaagh is brewing. The family runs from Killa Kans, little stompy walkers piloted by single brave or stupid gretchin, up to mega Gargants big enough to flatten a city by tripping over. A Stompa needs a crew of Orks and grots reloading guns, kicking engines and bailing smoke with buckets. It bristles with big shootas, flamethrowers called scorchas, cannons and a machine gun the size of a bus, and some carry mobs of Boyz inside. Up close it swings a mega choppa, a giant spinning blade that can slice through tanks or even an Imperial Titan. To Orks, these machines are holy icons that crash, burn and explode with a beautiful racket.

Why Orks are so fun to play on the Warhammer 40K tabletop

Orks are one of the most beloved factions in Warhammer 40K, especially on the tabletop, and for good reason. Playing them means embracing chaos: mobs of Boyz led by a Warboss, backed by Gorkanauts and Morkanauts. Ork armies thrive on close combat, big numbers and randomness. Their guns aren't accurate, but they fire a ridiculous number of bullets. Precision is for Space Marines. Things explode, misfire and sometimes work properly by accident, and Ork players tend to have a laugh even as their army falls apart.

The Ork spelling with a K started as a running joke and became one of the most recognizable parts of the fandom. Most longtime hobbyists keep a bits box of leftover parts, inspired by the Meks' habit of cobbling things together, and Games Workshop encourages it through its Golden Demon awards, where scratch built Ork creations often steal the show. Red ones go faster in the game too, often enough that players paint vehicles red for the bonus as well as the meme value. At big events, Ork players shout "Waaagh!" across the room, and against the Imperium lot muttering "Purge the heretic" under their breath, it's no contest.

Orks have been in Warhammer 40K since first edition Rogue Trader, when they looked like grumpy green World War I soldiers with stick grenades and spiked helmets, and there's even a rumor that early Ork culture was loosely based on ancient Celtic warriors. Games Workshop has streamlined the rules since: gone are Madboyz randomly changing personality mid fight after a bad roll on the chart. Fun, yes. Efficient, no. Today they swarm the table in mobs players call the green tide. They're not subtle or elegant, but they're hilarious to play, and I think being an Ork player means embracing the chaos and loving every minute. I think maybe Games Workshop originally meant them as comic relief, but if you ask anyone who has unleashed a full Waaagh on the tabletop, the joke's on everyone else. Orks aren't the funniest army in the galaxy. They're secretly the happiest.