Pathfinder: Shattered Star
Lucky cat, ruin digger by profession.
He was not born called something extravagant as Nine Lives, he earned that.
Lot of typical and pathetic beginnings. Sometimes you are just born poor into the cold streets of the slums. Street children are nothing special, they are like lice among the strands of the city. He rarely speaks of this period in his life, for both the reason that nothing really special happened during it and because it was just pretty miserable existence.
You grow old enough and you finally get the chance to aim the road of life towards something else, something more than just barely staying alive. Enter that stage in your life when it starts to feel you can actually do something big, the energy of youth! While many of his eventually forgotten friends slide to either different kinds of slavery or crime, he had vowed to himself to not reduce himself to that.
The rumours and murmurs always spoke of a new chasm, a new chisel in the body of this ancient beast of a city. Somewhere, sometime, a new hole gets opened up by either the corrosion of time or lucky strike of a pick. He had learned that getting there first was pointless, the most powerful of the city would always beat him to that. What actually matters is persistence. There will always be something overlooked, some corner not dug carefully enough.
But his ambitions were too great for this to last too long, this was merely scratching the surface. The greater treasure was not picking through the bones of other carrions, you needed to go into the untouched shadow which many avoided for good reasons. But fear and self-preservation were either for the forever poor or forever rich, he had no time for such. With rope and some light, he ventured deep enough until he always escaped with bruises and scratches from the beasts of the caves.
He did try to get help sometimes. Too bad the poor were quickly frightened and were poor at doing anything but carrying things. He tried buying help from the crime world once, it was the last time too as he was the only one who survived that venture. He does not speak of that one to anyone. Third option, expensive help. Good, sturdy and able to fight, but cost so much that hardly any trip with them ended up as profitable.
When you do something long enough, you start getting reputation. For him, it was merely being still alive. That is why he is Nine Lives actually. As the old folk lore says, people believe cats have some supernatural connection to mysterious powers of beyond and can ignore death multiple times due to pacts with wicked spirits. From surviving monster infested caves, ambushes by jealous thieves, angry nobles and other hazards, people were convinced he was cursed, blessed or otherwise special to still be alive, not to mention the latest whispers of magic being at play, arcane spells sprouting from his pawns with a snap of a finger. And considering this nickname outlived his actual native name, he stuck to it. Might as well accept it.
Then he heard of the Pathfinders. Sure, they had all kinds of rules and codes and honor, but get this! Sure, you lose your total freedom, selling your hand to certain mysterious masters, but but! Not only do you get free help, these guys always seem to know the best claims and want you to go there! No need to pay for help, they all seem like very capable people and only thing you need to do is mark the damn hole on a map and they do not even care if you collect most of the valuables along the way!
Of course, it was not so simple in the end.