Godsbarrow: the Basement Game, Myzes, and Tuage orcs

Back in August my Seattle group started a new campaign we’ve dubbed the Basement Game, and its kickoff AD&D 1st Edition adventure is set in Godsbarrow — making it the third Godsbarrow campaign. The idea here is that this is a freewheeling, no-worries, 1970s/1980s, eating Cheetos in the basement style of game, so we’re planning on rotating GMs and changing settings and/or editions.

Until we finish this module (Citadel by the Sea from Dragon #78) and successfully pivot — be it switching GMs, teleporting to another setting, or whatever — I’m going to avoid messing with our mojo by posting about it too much here. Right now it’s just an AD&D 1e campaign; it’ll officially be a thing when we pull off the core conceit.

Most of my AD&D experience is with 2e. This is my first time GMing 1e. It’s been a hoot so far, particularly because learning to play it by the book involves unlearning the past twenty-five years of D&D assumptions that are baked into all our brains.

I’ve also enjoyed retrofitting Citadel by the Sea to Godsbarrow and designing new aspects of Godsbarrow to suit the module and the premise of the Basement Game.

Retrofitting Citadel by the Sea

Godsbarrow canonically doesn’t feature racism, slavery, or biological essentialism…and Citadel by the Sea features all three. Excising references to slavery was easy; I changed one room in the dungeon. But the solution to “orcs are evil monsters who hate elves” required some fun brainstorming and worldbuilding, and I’m happy with the outcome.

Orcs in Godsbarrow are just people, like other sapient species, and they don’t hate elves. But I wanted these orcs to function as antagonists in a way that required as little work as possible, so I created the Tuage orcs and a zealous faction of Tuage, the worshipers of Adestu, Who Sees All, a sinister god of conquest.

Like most of the Godsbarrow stuff I post here, this is fresh from the oven and still a bit raw.

Tuage orcs

The archipelago nation of Tavan Cuowm (ta-VAN KYU-aum) is home to the Tuage (too-OG-ay), primarily orcs and half-orcs. The linguistic touchstone for Tuageyar (too-OG-ay-ar) is Proto-Celtic. Tuage are not “tribal” or “savage,” nor are they other. They’re just people.

Tuage culture values passion, discipline, commitment, wanderlust, and curiosity. Tuage have a longstanding connection to riding beasts, including the berūr (BARE-oor), titanic turtles they partner with to employ as ships. Like-minded Tuage have been lighting out for the territories for centuries: explorers, raiders, historians, adventurers, mercenaries, etc. They form an expedition, sometimes thousands strong, and sail the world.

Unlike most sapient species I’ve described so far in Godsbarrow, Tuage orcs do not reproduce through intercourse and childbirth. They are grown, not born, from moss cultivated on the backs of berūr, tended and passed down for generations. Tuage pair up, perform the moss ritual, and sometimes it works. If they’re of different species, half-orcs sometimes emerge. Tuage orcs themselves are part-moss, with more than a little plant in them.

Tuage orcs have a tradition called Walking the Circle: Before momentous events, or big decisions, or one’s likely doom, you sketch out a circle on the ground and walk it. Peace, resignation, clarity, and/or a path forward will arise from Walking the Circle. Buildings and public spaces often feature circles of tile, pavers, cobbles, or planks for this purpose.

The Tuage orcs encountered in Citadel by the Sea are bloody-minded religious fanatics. They worship Adestu, Who Sees All (ah-DESS-too), and they hate absolutely everyone else.

Myzes

With the notion of characters from disparate settings adventuring together being baked into the Basement Game — including two PCs from Kara-Tur in our initial party — I also needed a way for that to happen in Godsbarrow. One of my favorite things about Ed Greenwood’s Forgotten Realms setting is the prevalence of portals to other worlds, which allows for all sorts of folks — and stuff — to wind up there. Ed came up with this notion as a kid, and the story is well worth reading.

The Realms are my favorite published setting, and I love a good homage. Enter Myzes (meez), which are regions of temporospatial drift in Godsbarrow.

The area within a Myze exists simultaneously in two worlds, Godsbarrow and another realm, and in two times, the present in Godsbarrow and a time in their original location (which needn’t be contemporary). So if, say, a chunk of Greyhawk is in a Myze in Brundir, it’s also still in Greyhawk. People from Oerth might brave the strange boundary and find themselves in Godsbarrow, or vice versa. And next week, that Myze might fade away, drift to contain another place and time, or change size.

Myze is a Tamosi word meaning “two uncertain places” itself derived from the Tamosi word śjmyze (SUJ-meez), which means “both danger and opportunity.” I like that it evokes the word “maze” despite just being a name in Carian, my reference language for Tamosi.

During the ancient era when gods warred openly with one another, the deity Panurfón (they/them, PAN-oor-fohn) was blown to pieces during a midair battle. A million fragments of Panurfón’s essence were scattered across Godsbarrow, and some of them eventually became Myzes.

Myzes are most often tucked into lost valleys and hidden places, ranging from a few feet wide to miles across. There’s always a boundary or barrier, something that could be naturally occurring but which behaves unnaturally, that acts as a deterrent to passage in either direction. For example, seasonally appropriate inclement weather turned up to eleven, or seasonally inappropriate weather, or a zone of searing, skin-peeling heat.

They’re rare and often difficult to find, but since they’re always two-way they do get found — and from both sides. Myths and stories about Myzes are common throughout Godsbarrow. The notion of true outsiders from far-off worlds isn’t commonplace, but nor is it unheard of. Where, as in Brundir’s Ockwood, a substantial Myze has existed for a long time, they become part of the cultural fabric of that place. The Ockwood is a haunted and dangerous place in part because of its Myze.

And while I might not take it this direction, just like Ed Greenwood’s portals in the Realms, Myzes are intended to facilitate cross-genre intrusions. Want a 1973 Chevrolet Monte Carlo to show up in your game? It came through a Myze. Science-fantasy, Burroughs-esque Mars stuff, Expedition to the Barrier Peaks robots — this is narrative territory that can be as gonzo as you want it to be.