Salome

Salome

MysAd Face/Mage
"Wouldn't you like to feel this way...forever?"
Player	TempusRimeblood
Metatype	Dryad
Street Cred	0
Notoriety	3
Public Awareness	0
Titles and Awards	0
D.O.B.	December 14th, 2051
Folder	[1]
Priority	Metatype - C (Dryad) Attributes - B Magic/Resonance - B (Mystic Adept) Skills - C Resources - E

Character Information

Biography

“Worthless slitch.” Those are the words she remembers most from her childhood. First, they were directed at her mother - there was no possible way, her father opined, that a human man and a human woman could have given birth to an elf at all, let alone an “aberration” like a dryad. Then, eventually, they were directed at her, when she was old enough to understand. She couldn’t read fast enough. She couldn’t throw a ball, or run particularly well, or do much of anything but captivate the attention of everyone around her. And her father hated her for it. She’d never be the son he wanted, and as far as he was concerned, his slitch of a wife had cheated on him anyway.

A loveless marriage turned into an abusive one, and abuse to the adult turned to abuse of the child. Beaten and crying, the girl didn’t know what to do, but something welled up in her. Something primal, something cruel and wicked and POWERFUL. That night, her father, in the throes of his drunken rage, killed her mother. As he entered her bedroom to finish what he’d started, he stopped. Put the gun in his own mouth, and blew his brains out.

She felt nothing, at first. She still doesn’t - he was a bad man, and one who deserved the death he got. But the foster system of Seattle was no kinder to her - the parents who weren’t just using her to collect a few hundred nuyen a month from the government or the corps were trying to use her for other, more sinister methods. They all ended up being transient, of course - a foster mother hanging herself here, a foster father’s commlink searching for horrible things on the ‘Trix and being transmitted to Knight-Errant there. It meant nothing, of course. Nothing at all. And so it continued. Marriages were destroyed, lives lost, and all of it just leaving this adorable blue-eyed dear to the mercy of the system.

As a teen, she found herself rebelling, as they are wont to do - she fell face-first into the neo-Goth scene. And as an Awakened, pretty, neo-Goth scene queen, she immediately attached herself to the biggest, baddest fragger she could find - or at least, the one that had the most value to her. A self-proclaimed “student of the Golden Dawn, from the pre-Crash days,” he claimed he could teach her all the secrets she’d ever want to know. Those secrets, more often than not, ended up in his bedroom, but who was she to judge? She was a user, just like him - until she heard the voice. The voice of the user to end all users - Seducer. She could have the power she was being told she’d get - all she needed to do was play the game. She’d move from a pawn, to a queen, to ruling whoever she wanted. And so she did - her talents with black magic grew, and the scene kids she left behind fell in on themselves. Accusations of cheating, drama, and eventually a ritual suicide pact were all that was left of the group. All except for Salome.

She’d taken the name from some Biblical apocrypha - a woman who danced for a king, and in return asked only for the head of an enemy. Her dancing enthralled the king so much, that she was gifted his head on a platter the next morning. She felt it a perfect fit, as she moved through the shadows of Seattle, from body to body, taking nuyen and hearts, and leaving hollow shells, broken minds, and suicide notes in her wake.

Eventually, her works led her to Club Confession - a burgeoning neo-Goth joint in Bellevue, one where all the who’s-who of the music scene could be found. She started to slink around its tables and bars, sometimes dancing in cages, sometimes whispering in ears. And eventually, she drew the attention of a king - Robbie Rotting, an up-and-coming musician whose band was on the rise. He gave his all to her - nuyen, a signed guitar, even dedicated a song to her. It’s in the liner notes of the “Number One, But It’s A Tragedy” single - look it up. She took it all, and wanted more, though - she wormed her way into his heart, and found nothing more to behold but boredom. Robbie Rotting had outlived his usefulness. So she planted the seeds of jealousy in his mind, convinced him that the drummer had been checking out her hoop the whole time. And he snapped - a meltdown, right in the middle of Club Confession’s VIP section...one that ended with him smashing a bottle and slitting his own throat.

Salome, of course, felt nothing. She’d played him like a fiddle, and the song had to end sometime. Unfortunately for her, though, she’d drawn attention. “In Nomine Virulentia,” the owner of Club Confession, had just had his club’s biggest patrons ruined. The destruction she’d left in her wake had finally caught up, and in the face of being turned in to K-E or worse, she spoke to In Nomine not as a tool, but as an equal. She’d found someone as good at playing the game as her, although by a different set of rules - his network of favors had gotten him quite a few places, and even earned him no small reputation among shadowrunners of a more macabre persuasion.

She cut a deal - not one for her life, not anymore, but one that would benefit them both. She would take up residence in the apartment above Club Confession, allowing her nature as a dryad to attune itself to the area. In addition, she would keep things moving harmoniously, placing words in ears and hands on shoulders to make sure Confession stayed calm and profitable. In return, In Nomine would feed her names, dates, jobs - places where her skills might prove the most useful.

Salome has danced for kings, and drawn the attention of would-be gods. Now, she turns her sights to the shadows.

Summary

Salome is a Black Magic-using, Seducer-following, Mystic Adept face. She's especially adept at worming her way into people's hearts and minds, making them become devoted or addicted to her every action, and then leaving them helpless and/or suicidal. Her spells help with this, for obvious reasons, but she's no slouch at socializing without them.

Goals

• Live comfortably (see: Creature of Comfort).
• Keep playing the game, without getting played.

Narrative Significant Qualities

Bad Rep (Mind mage)
Symbiosis (Club Confession)
Poor Self Control: Vindictive
Mentor Spirit: Seducer
Creature of Comfort (Middle)
Lifestyle: Local Bar Patron (Confession)
Lifestyle: Patron of the Arts - Exclusive Club Membership (Confession)

Affiliations

Contacts

• Julian Cross - Connection 3, Loyalty 1 - Drug Dealer/Clothing Merchant
• Socialite - Connection 6, Loyalty 1 - Infobroker
• In Nomine - Connection 5, Loyalty 2 - Fixer (to be made a Haven Contact)
• Charon - Connection 3, Loyalty 4 - Driver (to be made a Haven Contact)

In Character Information

Dryad Symbiosis: Club Confession

Club Confession is a neo-Goth club located in Bellevue. Built to resemble an old church (since an actual old church couldn't be acquired), its red-lit haze and pounding music echo into the night, as the lines outside grow ever-longer. Men and women of all metatypes dance in cages and on dance floors, and real fires burn brightly inside from fireplaces. The basement level hosts macabre parties, involving excesses of flesh, blood, and drugs (although the owner, In Nomine Virulentia, claims to know nothing about the latter), and above the club, a single-floor loft sits. Within it, one can often find Salome, resting between marks, or preparing to go out on the prowl.

SINs

Morgan St. Croix, UCAS Citizen

Appearance

Androgynously beautiful, with blood-red hair standing out vividly against alabaster skin. Her blue eyes glisten with a thousand promises unsaid, and the caress of her thin fingers is nearly electric.

Clothing

Vashon Island Ace of Coins
Urban Explorer Jumpsuit

Matrix Persona

• An intricately detailed succubus model, made for her by a security spider she charmed into leaving his husband. She later charmed him into walking in front of a bus.

ShadowGrid Profile Comments

• "Word on the street is this one's a damn fine face, plays the club scene and lonely hearts like a neo-Goth fiddle. Backstage rumor, of course, is that she's not just a face but a pretty ruthless mind mage. Don't catch feelings with this one, you're likely to join her trail of broken hearts and bodies." - SysOp