Granit is a name that suits someone who does not move unless they mean to.
A dwarf cleric of the Life Domain — healer, anchor, the kind of steadiness a party leans on before they realize they’re leaning. There is an economy to how Granit operates: no wasted gestures, no unnecessary words, no faith expressed through volume or theater. The sacred power moving through them is not flashy, but it is deep, and it shows up when it is needed. When Granit remarked, somewhere between Shards, that their gods sanction whatever course they choose — it landed with the lightness of a joke and the weight of something actually believed.
Through two Shards, Granit has been the margin. Shard A’s wild hostility and Shard B’s escalating corruption both demanded the same thing: someone who could keep the others standing long enough to matter. The Life Domain amplifies healing in ways that are hard to quantify until the moment the math would have failed without them. Granit knows this and does not mention it.
The Sea of Governance announced itself plainly on the first night ashore: a poisoned dagger in a dark street, and then the numbers moving in the wrong direction fast. Granit went down before the healing could come back around. The death saves were real. The party survived, and so did Granit — but arrived at the other side of the encounter low on resources, poisoned, and diminished in ways that a night’s rest will partially answer. Shard C does not test patience and endurance the way the first two did. It tests the margin differently.