Troika! Background: Godmiller

You operate the giant temple machines that feed the thousand gods of Dorpal. Back then, it was congegrations chanting and shouting their adoration under the iridiscent domes of the godstills, the essence of their worship drip-dripping through the central shaft and down into the Adyton cellars. The invention of the godmill changed that: Theologists scribbled down and analyzed the rites of worship and translated them into codes for punchcards. Now, most temples are filled with the creaking of giant clockwork mechanisms, the lowing and bleating of the beasts powering them and the stench of their manure.

Houseruling Troika!

So here's the Troika! houserules I plan to implement next session:

1. Roll-high all the way. I'm actually still a little on the fence about this, because I tend to finde roll-under slightly more intuitive, and more importantly, you have to do less math for it. However, my players keep asking me whether they need to roll high or roll low every single time; and since it's pretty much impossible to go all roll-under in combat, I'll go for always rolling high, including on Luck rolls. The standard target number to beat for unopposed tests is 14 - that way, you end up with exactly the same chances for success. I'll make everyone chant "High - is - Good! High - is - Good!" before the start of our next session, so they'll remember!

My Deceptive Memories of Star Frontiers

Back in my school days, when we were playing pretty much every rpg game we could get our hands on - one of them being TSRs Star Frontiers. My memories of this rpg are vivid: I remember the illustration of the amorphous Dralasite with its eyes that looked like textbook renditions of cancer cells (I immediately called dibs on that one); I remember the characters on the cover, expecially that kind-of-cool, but also kind of revulsive ape-bat creature that turned out to be a Yazirian (my best friend called dibs on that one, which figured, since his favourite childhood plush toy had been a little smiling monkey in a striped tee); I remember the big city map with its ugly, squarish design, that, I think, was supposed to show a spaceport city; and I remember that, when you held the boxes lid against the light, that it was actually from a D&D red box and they had only pasted the Star Frontiers cover on it! (What had happened there? Had they produced too many D&D boxes and saw no choice but to publish another rpg to make use of them? I guess that's not how it went, but it would make a good anecdote. Also, I'm writing about the German edition of Star Frontiers here, which was called Sternengarde, so don't be surprised if you find nothing of that kind when you hold up the lid of your original Star Frontiers box).
Anyway, my memories are so vivid and create such a deep sense of familiarity, I naturally assumed that we must have played the hell out of Star Frontiers and loved it. (I even claimed just that recently on social media).
However, thinking about it a little harder, I actually can't remember playing it.

New Troika! Background: The Swanosaurologist

You come from a noble house (or or from some upstart merchant family) that can afford paying to provide you with a reputable education that could not possibly be of any use. You have studied the biology, thaumology and the habits of the Swanosaurus, a fierce and beautiful swamp creature that has been extinct for decades. Others may sneer at you for learning fighting techniques you'll never have to put to use; but you know that one day, you'll find that last remaining Swanosaurus and slay it.

The Moss-Eyed Acephalus for Troika!

Back here, I introduced the moss-eyed acephalus, a kind of sfnal take on my favourite mythological creature. I figured that it would feel right at home among the million spheres of the hump-backed sky, so here we go:

Moss-Eyed Acephalus
Your brain - situated firmly in your chest cavity and not, like with many other species, in some bony upper protuberance - is being fed impressions of light and dark, movement and stillness, by the symbiotic lichen that grow around your nipples. Your double-tongued belly-mouth leads directly into the complexities of a digestive system that recognizes and transforms all kinds of substances. You're three-fingered hands are crafty, and your extended family will always help you out, until it won't. Everyone else, they think you're just not from here, and, while useful, never to be trusted. They're not quite wrong, at least about the first part, as proven by the garden chest you have to carry with you wherever you go to inhale the spore-laden scent of your ancestor's home from it. Even though you might have spent your life among humans, you still have trouble figuring out concepts like "male" and "female". Procreation, to your kind is a festive social act, and the whole neighbourhood is invited when a family feels that it is time to sire a litter.

Alchemists make you of you as a cheap and universal analyzer, and dukes, kings and even emperors value you as a re-usable food taster. They just tend to forget that what you can neutralize, you can also create.