Elric LaCorbeau

User: Trey
Gender: Male
Role: Other
BACKGROUND (Family Can Be A Bitch)

I was brought up in a family of Hunters. Maybe family is too nice of a term. Cult might be better, except this cult was related. Brothers, sisters, third-cousins twice removed, all that shit. Needless to say I didn't really have the most "normal" of childhood. Friends, ya right. If it wasn't family, it wasn't allowed, other people just wouldn't get it.

As far back as I can remember I was trained in hunting the things that go bump in the night. I woke up, went to school, which in this case meant learning all about vampires, werewolves, witches, warlocks, ghosts, ghasts, and all other types of creatures that like to prey on us normal god-fearing citizens. After class, mostly weapons familiarization, and what for us kids passed for recess. Which was more "hide and seek" but with beatings. I found out quick that I was real good about being damn sneaky and damn vicious. Hell, it got me out of "play time". Fine by me.

The one thing that I looked forward to was my dad. He was the one thing that kept my childhood fun and somewhat sane. Ya ya, I know 20/20 hindsight and all that, but I do know that when we were together, it made the rest of the day worth it. We started going out on Hunts together by the time I was 10. The family liked to start us early. Figured it would make us better soldiers. Get 'em in early and they won't question anything, parents or children. Normally that works. Hell, ninety-nine out of a hundred times, it does. Guess who got that Golden Ticket? Yep, yours truly.

Before we get to that Golden Ticket, a quick look back at my early teens. Snapshots from my personal family album: Hot dogs and root beer in the back yard. Sleeping in the back seat of dad's car, a beaut of a '70 Chevy Chevelle SS, heh, still have it. Tracking a vampire to it's lair. Handing my dad clips of ammo in a fight. S'more's over the campfire. Playing "bait" for a beserker, so my dad and my uncle could jump him. Ice cream and cotton-candy at the local fair. Running through the same fair that night after something that smelled like cotton-candy when it's come back up.

That was my childhood. A mix of typical suburbanite family time shenagians, mixed with sphincter-tightening, pants-wetting fun. A prequel to the rest of my life, I was told. Be the sheep-dog for humanity, I was told. We'll always be there for you, I was told. Sounds pretty good, fighting the good fight, winning the shadow war normal humans don't know about. It probably would have been. If not for that Golden Ticket that almost got me killed, and still might some day. That is if my family ever finds out I'm still alive.

Puberty's a funny thing. It causes all sorts of changes in a growing boy's body. Hair starts appearing in all kinds of places you weren't used to. Weird growths start appearing on your face. Your voice sounds like Barry White with helium hiccups. Oh yea, and sometimes, you're dealt a Golden Ticket. For some people it's athletic ability that makes them the next Michael Jordan, or the command of music that leads to the next Mozart. Or if Clotho was having a bad LSD trip while spinning your particular thread, you got the Golden Ticket of magical ability while being brought up in a family that Hunts "things" that sling around magical ability.

Guess which one I got.

Guess what manifested during a camping trip with my uncle and cousin? If you're guessing a half-court slam dunk, or me pulling a piano out of my ass, you'd be dead wrong. Just about as wrong as my cousin who decided it would be a great time to revisit the whole Alpha-male-beat-down that's so common among teenagers the world over. Except this one ended in me crippling my cousin by causing the air to harden around his arms enough to cause multiple compound fractures. If his screams weren't enough, him flying through the tents about twenty feet away was enough to get his dad off his seat, fist to my face, then on the phone to the family. Which is when my dad walks back into the campsite from getting firewood.

Do you know what a KOS is? It stands for Kill On Sight. I didn't know, I had to find out when my dad killed my uncle to protect me, it's what the family does when one if its "own" goes Monster, and to the father that wanted to protect his son. Snapshots of being on the run: Siphoning gas from the strip-mall parking lot. Dad with a shotgun in a chair by the door. Hotel rooms that smell of mothballs, vomit, and dried blood. Stealing food from the 7-11.

Irony. That's what happens when you get turned into a "Monster" and have to make allies of enemies to survive. Dad was great, he knew how to kill anything, but he had no clue how to teach his son to control his ability. So, we had to find solace and tutelage amongst those we strived to kill. Like I said, irony. That damn irony sure loves the practical joke.

That was my life for three years. Staying ahead of my fanatically murderous family, getting tutored in the arcane from hedge wizards, mages, sorcerers, changelings, and whomever else we could find. Turns out, it was a lot. My family wasn't exactly loved among the supernatural world. It was among those I was trained to hunt that I found friendship and comfort. Granted there were those that sought to use us against, or as leverage, but we dealt with them ruthlessly and definitively. It was among them that I found out I wasn't just a minor talent.

I will say this about my family. They are tenacious. After three years, they didn't give up the hunt. Too many secrets, or just professional pride? I'm not sure, and I don't care. It came to a head two months after my seventeenth birthday. Twelve of my family found us. Twelve of my family cornered us. Twelve of my family killed my father.

Did you know that up to 75% of the human body is composed of water? Did you know that water can be sped up through the body? Or frozen as it travels through the veins and arteries? I didn't until rage and grief broke whatever barriers were in place. Twelve of my family members didn't know that either.

Now, it's five years after that night. I'm still dealing with the daemons of that night, I guess I always will, but I've made my peace with my past... mostly. I've moved on, changed my name, took pains to ensure that my family thought we all had died during that particular fiasco. I'm still hunting monsters though, my family did teach me well after all. Only something new happened. I learned that not all monsters are monstrous, not all humans are humane, and I'm still acting as the sheep-dog to eliminate the monstrous and inhumane threats, but I harbor a particular grudge for my "family" and those that put on similar blinders.

Here in Montreal, there enough of that to keep me busy for a long, long, time.
Name: Elirc la Corbeau

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High Concept:
Spell-casting monster hunter with a grudge.
Rules, what rules?
Other Aspects:
Family Soldier In Training
Monsters Can Be Human Too
Bit Off More Than I Could Chew
Let's Even The Odds Shall We
Everybody Has Secrets

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Great (+4):
Conviction, Discipline
Good (+3)
Lore, Endurance
Fair (+2)
Athletics, Stealth, Weapons
Average (+1)
Investigation, Fists, Contacts, Guns, Alertness


Physical: 5
Mental: 6
Social: 2


Wizard's Constitution