Makito, Captain of the Silver Winds

Written by Labyrinth on September 26, 2025.

Who You Were

You are Makito, born a noble, raised to serve. You spent your youth, relaxed as it was, basking in the far-reaching glow of the Silver Willow. Your home. Your country. You were taught that, so long as you could see the Willow’s light, you were in Elven country. Her roots dug into the ground, and spread throughout the Empire. Her branches and leaves stretched to the heavens, pierced the Overworld, and sheltered her people, sheltered the Court of Stars. This sacred land would be yours to protect, and yours to serve. You’d sit at the palace steps, and hum the song of her people. You’d wander along the creeks, and hum the song of her lands.

Still, your education started young, and it kept you busy. You were well taken care of, and displayed aptitude which the martial academy took notice of. As you aged, you advanced the ranks. First, a lowly page. Then, a squire. It wasn’t long until you were a knight of your own, given permit to own and use your blade. It stayed by your side, always. You were good at using it, though you never really liked to do so. To spill blood under the gaze of the Silver Willow was a shameful thing. A shame you had to endure, time and time again. You’d spar in the academy fields, and hum the rhythms of its matches. You’d train the generation after you, and hum the rhythm of their cadences.

Some hundred years of service saw you fit to join The Silver Winds. Your first trial was to ascend the Silver Willow, climb her branches to the kingdom of clouds draped over the world. You met the Elves who watched the skies, passed their selection. You were reborn again: simply a novice, surrounded by your betters. The Silver Winds haunt the skies, keeping them clear of the Empire’s drakeriders, who in this age have grown to forget the oaths of old. The Three, similarly, have never given your skies the respect they deserve.

Your training was a baptism by lightning. Only so much could prepare you for your first dive. You stood at the edge of a cloud, looking down upon the stormhead beneath. Roc-feather parachute strapped to your back, and miles ‘til you’d land. Your leader gave you a pat on the back, and a brisk shove forward.

The ‘chute didn’t deploy. You had been shown how to control your flight, but it all meant nothing now. The air rushed past your ears, deafening you. You couldn’t look away as you plummeted into the steely grey poised beneath you, plunged into the frozen stormhead. All that was left was the light of the Silver Willow, faint as it was. You hummed the song of her people, the songs of her land. The voice of the sky screamed back at you. You fell and you fell, for longer and longer still, grey beneath and grey above you. The choir of the storm sang for you, and you clutched to every note, sang its song as your final dirge.

Who You Are

You are Makito, Knight of the Silver Winds. You awoke some time later in the Court of Stars, the woods you called your home. You couldn’t move, but from where you lay the Silver Willow shone her light upon you nonetheless. Her glow looked different. Paler. You tried to stand but couldn’t – looking around, at the forest and at yourself, it looked like you barely survived, having crashed through the canopy of the forest. You’d wait for someone to come find you. You’d wait under the rain, and hum the song of storm.

Recover you did, and in time, you joined the Silver Winds as an equal. Your first dive was the worst, but perhaps the only one that mattered. You came to learn the skies, how to sail them, how to dive them. You’d always use a parachute, but you weren’t sure if you ever needed to. Your fears vanished, your skill sharpened, and your voice grew loud. In time, you’d become Captain. You would sit at the steps of the palace, and hum the song of her people. You’d sail the skies of her kingdom, and sing the song of her storms.

The Champion

You are a level 5 Elf Bard, Makito.

One Unique Thing

Ever since you heard the choir of the storm, the weather seems to know your fate. The skies grow stormy for you when you know you’ll be tested.

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