There’s something comfortingly simple about Ogres in a D&D game.

They’re not very smart, they’ve got loads of hit points, and they usually want nothing more than to kill and eat your party. They’re uncomplicated monsters for an uncomplicated game, and sometimes that’s what the table needs. No ancient prophecies or political intrigue. Just big guys with clubs, looking to ruin everything in their path.

That said, is there more we can do with Ogres to make them more interesting? Of course there is! Let’s work it out together, shall we?

Let’s start by giving Ogres a place in the world. They may have an intelligence of 5, but they’re not animals. You can give your Ogres culture, something to set them apart from the other monsters your party comes across. Maybe the bones they hang around their neck form a story of their history, the things they have killed and the battles they have survived. The tattoos that are crudely etched into their leathery skin are communication, indications of the land and the clan they belong to – even personal tattoos between Ogres. “Do not eat this one, she is mine” could be as close as an Ogre comes to a declaration of love.

With this in mind, your players might see a band of Ogres not as something to be killed for XP, but as something to be engaged with. They’re hunters and nomads, and they see the world in a simple, uncomplicated way. It may be better to understand them and deal with them if your party wants to move forward in their quest. And who knows? Ogre allies may be a very useful resource in the future.

Their lack of intelligence, though, does limit a lot of what they can do on their own. This is why Ogres are so often used as guards or as front-line fighters in a larger army. They’re not meant to survive, but rather to soften up the forces that are trying to stop the ancient necromancer from summoning an undead god for their nefarious means. These giant thugs are often motivated by food, or by trinkets, but — what if they’re just smart enough to know they’re being manipulated? They love to fight, sure. Killing and devouring man-flesh is the highlight of their day. But they couldn’t care less about vile summoning rituals, and the thought just bounces around in their heads that maybe they’re being used by smarter and crueler creatures than they.

This becomes a tiny bit of leverage that your party can use to peel them away, to perhaps set against their cruel masters. Tables turn, the battle shifts, and the terrible force from beyond the grave will have to wait for a cleverer wizard to bring it back someday.

You could also really lean into what happens when you combine immense strength, an implacable will, and the brains of an angry toddler. Imagine, if you will, an Ogre that has seen humans wield great magics, burning and freezing their comrades. That’s true power, right there, and this Ogre may want access to that power. Normally, a creature with an Ogre’s intelligence (or wisdom or charisma) doesn’t have access to magic.

But – and stay with me here – what if they did?

An Ogre that wants to be a spellcaster would be an amazing NPC, however you go about it. Perhaps they’ve etched incredibly rudimentary spells into the hides of the giant elks they killed. Maybe a fervent belief in an ancient, savage god grants them a certain divine strength, smiting their enemies with brutal power. Maybe one of the great forces of the universe thought it would be hilarious if they bestowed power on a rampaging tank? An Ogre with Eldritch Blast would surprise any player, no matter how many adventures they’ve played.

An ogre with that kind of power, but none of the judgment to use it well, would be a one-of-a-kind threat. And it would no doubt hold a place of honor and power in its clan, commanding the loyalty of all the other ogres in the land. A great Ogre Army, sweeping through town and village, led by a mad Ogre King with powers they cannot control.

It is inevitable, perhaps, that an encounter with Ogres will descend into combat. Their stat block gives them about what you’d expect – a javelin for distance, a greatclub for melee. The Ogrillon Ogre – a humanoid cursed into Ogredom, like an arcane Incredible Hulk – is given a Battleaxe. You can be clever and creative, though, even with these.

The greatclub has a hornet’s nest lashed to it, with swarms of stinging insects erupting from it to join the fray every time it connects with an enemy. The javelins and the axe are coated with a horrifying poison, passed from Ogre Shaman to Shaman down the generations. Particularly gifted fighters wear bone knuckles with sharp, volcanic glass embedded in them, slashing as they punch.

Let your Ogres use the terrain – as creatures of the wilderness, nomads wandering from one corner of the world to the other, they should know the advantage of high ground, barriers, and blind curves, ready to ambush unsuspecting adventurers if they come too close.

Ogres may be simple — but they don’t have to be simplistic. With a little creative planning, these simple creatures can become pillars of your adventures, an essential part of a world that will live in your players’ minds long after the campaign has ended.