Leagues above the ground, the Sentinel holds vigil, midnight-hued robes alive with the rushing wind that whips all around. With piercing eyes the Sentinel scans the ground below, acute gaze missing nothing. Held ready at his side, the renowned staff of Lore, the orb atop it flickering with a subtle, but ever-present light.
Here is the Sentinel's domain - the skies above all else - ready to traverse the entirety of Avalon with a single thought. The potent elixirs kept close at hand augment everything about this guardian: strengthening limbs, cloaking his form and sharpening his vision.
The silver he manipulates serves a similar purpose, but no less effective in his goals. Runes to sap the mind of his enemies cling to his blade, with others ready to afflict the body, ensnare the conscience, and send even the most alert of opponenents into the darkest of slumbers.
Their blades are the finest to be found in all the land, their hands boasting a unique affinity to the forge. No other profession stands their peer in such regard, and nobles from across the land greedily seek after arms and armour blessed by the Sentinel's hands.
Silverfalls houses the Sentinels Guild of Avalon, and Silverfalls is where their loyalty lies. Rejected are the outdated and paltry ideals of Light or Shadow, for the Sentinels hold but one thing dear - home, and there are no limits to how far a Sentinel will go to defend just that...
