In the town of Mostropia, an haven for monsters, lived a mothman named Mothro. He resided on a tree house and, every morning, he would glide thru town to reach his post at the weather station. Mothro was never wrong in his predictions, for he, unlike everyone else, had the gift of foresight.

However, there was a time when the mothman used to be more than a meteorologist. At first, the townspeople had come to him for guidance. He would sit with them and tell them of things to come. Mothro could sense when someone would fall ill, when a fire would start, or when a loved one would meet their end.

The problem, however, was that people don’t enjoy being told that bad things are coming, especially when those things are beyond their control. Mothro's predictions, though always accurate, came to be seen as bad omens.

As a compromise, the mothman was made the weather forecaster. At least people could still rely on his gift in some way.