((XD. World-building is my favorite part of DMing. So, yeah, you could say that. My problem is always coming up with plot-hooks; I may have made my character too vague in terms of goals, which will make it difficult for me to figure out why he's here. Particularly given the elves would drive him out at gunpoint, given his heritage...))
((I do think it's interesting what you chose for my abilities to be based on my backstory; the most recent stuff and such. As for the resolution, I like it, and it's basically what I was picturing; they were meant to be rather small, after all, Karrse being the largest and having perhaps the area of Portugal, most of it uninhabitable. Darrikslan is the smallest in terms of land area, but has the largest population within it's borders{a lot of them are humans in the foothills, on the plateaus, summits, etc.; I don't know many people would profess to enjoying living in a dwarven mountain-home}. Eilanos is in the middle, and they're basically Game of Thrones except even more assholish and manipulative, so no one likes about them.))
((To the purpose of preventing Patrick's possible protests pertaining to priesthood, let me say this: I have not seen anything so far that suggests pseudo-Christianity is the dominant religion, and there are pantheons in DnD, which is the other side of the combo here. And also, there's always heathens.))
Jaster wiped his brow as he trod towards the massive stone gates of the town, sweat both from worry and exertion. It was in the mountains, after all, and the reason it existed at all was because this side was so rough there were barely any other ways through. Worry came from the anticipation; in Karrse, no-one cared that he was troll-blooded; it even got him a few jobs he might not have otherwise, once they heard. But here...dwarves were fine with humans, he knew, but trolls...it was risky, traveling to Darrikslan. But he needed to pass through the kingdom to get to the sea, and then he'd have to find a way to get through Eilanos...all this just to get on a boat. He could almost forget, at times, the debt he owed to that bloody priestess. And of a bloody God of Balance, too...Gah! But he'd repay it, one way or another.
The half-troll laid one hand on Gerruce to comfort himself as he stared at the towers to either side. They, too, were made of stone, and while the town wasn't a true dwarven fortress, anything built by the stone-brethren was built to be impressive, lasting, marvelous...as well as terrifyingly functional and incredibly practical. Jaster wouldn't be surprised if there were bloody ballistae mounted in those towers. And then of course, how sympathetic the guards would be....
Though the man was older than most humans(non-mages, that is), he also felt, and in some cases acted like, a youth just grown enough to need shaving. He'd been educated over the years in matters of the body (mostly overheard bits and pieces, pamphlets, discussions with the town doctors, when they were willing(which they were, especially if he added some of his blood to the bargain)), and he figured that it was because his body regenerated, just like his grandfather's would have, more quickly than the aging process degenerated it. He wasn't even sure if he could die of old age. But all this meant, really, was that the hormones pumped into the body during early adulthood would just keep pumping until the day he died - or was killed. Jaster, when he pondered such things, thought that Gerruce would probably be the death of him. Once the poor thing turned senile, one wrong glance without the secondary eyelids, and even a troll would be so much ornamentation. Regeneration doesn't help if you're made of stone...and with no mages around to reverse it, he'd be shattered or eroded before anyone could fix it.
Shaking such dark thoughts from his mind, the wanderer steeled his nerve and joined the small line of folks waiting to get into the city for one reason or another, two pairs of guards(one pair entirely dwarven, the other had a human as well) passing them through after checking their business and, sometimes, their papers. He had to hope now that the ones he'd filled out were the right kind...