A person's story doesn't start with their birth, but with their parentage and the circumstances of their birth. The story always begins with the parents, as they shape the first paths in any child's life. Two Rivers Clouded Mountains exemplified the nature of every Tabaxi—with her thrill for adventure, thirst for knowledge, and intense curiosity. It wasn't just that she'd try anything once, but more often two or even three times—for empirical evidence. That spirit got Two Rivers into a lot of trouble during her travels, but her cleverness and charm got her out of most of it. Just as she was adventurous in life, so too was Two Rivers in love. After all, what was the risk when her partners weren’t Tabaxi? Perhaps she should have been more cautious. It was alarming when she found herself pregnant—her last romantic conquest had been a human. How could that be? She had never heard of such a crossbreed. As she travelled, she sought information, all while her baby grew rapidly within her. The pain and strain were immense; her child was far larger than any Tabaxi female had ever carried.

While making her way back to the Stormpoint Mountains, Two Rivers encountered a travelling wizard who had heard of similar cases. Perhaps too bluntly, he revealed how dire her situation was. The birth of a half-breed—a Neko, as they were being classified—was dangerous. No human woman had survived such a birth, and very few Tabaxi had let alone the child. Now, Two Rivers Clouded Mountains was alone, racing against time to get home before facing what might be her death sentence.

She didn’t make it. Alone in a field, she panted and pushed, sobbing with fear and praying to whatever God would listen to let her and her baby survive.

Only half her prayers were answered. She pulled her child from her with a cry—but that was the only sound. A wet, limp, too blue baby with white ears and a matching tail lay still. Two Rivers sobbed. She sang the songs of her clan—songs of life and songs of loss—as she rocked her unmoving child. She memorized every detail of what should not have been, sitting there in her afterbirth. Time slipped away before she began the practical tasks. Numb, she started to dig a grave beside the tree she had used for support. All the while, she sang, calling on the Wild Mother to accept her son back into the land and begin anew. The bundle lay wrapped and waiting.

Then the weather turned. What had been cloudless and calm shifted—winds whipped and clouds churned dark and fast. A deep rumble rolled over the fields, raising the fur along her spine. A warning. Before instinct could even guide her, lightning struck—hard and sudden—right next to her, hitting the bundle that was her child. Two Rivers screamed, stumbling away, her fur singed and her heart breaking all over again. As suddenly as it came, the storm vanished with a final crack of thunder… and then came a cry. Sharp. High. Alive. The bundle moved.

Two Rivers scrambled forward, tearing open the wrappings to find her son—pink, breathing, alive—with a lightning scar healing before her eyes. She cried out with elation, blessed with a second chance by the Gods. What else could it be?

She named her son Thunder Struck. She had planned to return to her clan in the South, but dreams began to plague her—dreams that faded upon waking, yet still guided her feet northward. Two Rivers knew, deep down, Thunder Struck was not hers to keep. They had to go to Emon.

This is the story Earthbreaker Groon would tell whenever Thunder Struck asked about his mother, as he grew up in the hard—but not heartless—monastery of Godsbrawl in Emon. At first, Thunder Struck listened for comfort. As he grew older, he listened for changes, trying to pick at the details.

Life at the temple wasn’t easy, but Thunder Struck was well cared for within the rules of Kord, The Storm Lord—rules of strength and inner resolve. Little was given freely, for earthly possessions were seen as distractions from true enlightenment and strength. That pursuit of that enlightenment called to Thunder like nothing else. He developed a ravenous appetite for knowledge, especially about how magic flowed through all living things. He wanted to understand how he could sense storms, predict lightning strikes, and what that connection truly meant.

As he matured, signs emerged—he could harness the storm’s elements by channelling his Ki during training. Earthbreaker Groon took notice and began to focus more intensely on Thunder Struck’s development. Yet, like many adolescent boys, Thunder grew restless. He began to feel like he'd learned all he could from the Godsbrawl and longed to explore beyond Emon’s walls.

There was resistance. The priests believed his place had always been among them—his mother's story was meant to explain his presence, not justify his leaving. Eventually, Earthbreaker Groon allowed the fifteen-year-old to go forth, trusting that Thunder would find his path.

He travelled Tal'Dorei for a year, moving from monastery to monastery, devouring knowledge and mastering new skills. Eventually, Thunder Struck arrived at the doors of the Cobalt Soul. Their mission—the pursuit of knowledge, and the preservation of history resonated with him deeply. Within seven or eight years, he rose to the rank of Expositor and was given an assignment... It had mixed results, but enough success that he was given another: to infiltrate the Kryn Dynasty. Learn what he could of their society, their technology, and their threat level—especially now that tensions with the Dwendalian Empire had gone… underground. Any information on the Luxons would be a bonus.

Maybe he’d screwed up so badly this was a suicide mission. Maybe it was legit. Or maybe something darker was pulling the strings from within the Cobalt Soul.

All Thunder Struck knows is that he took the assignment. And now he lives in Xhorhas, doing blood sport for coin… and loving every fucking minute of it.