Approved Seanchan bio for Lijah (CC'd by WT)

[Kaylan]

Character Name: Lijah Opeth

Age: 26

Division: Seanchan

Subdivision: Civilian: Voice to the Lady

Height: 5'6

Hair: Gold, grown long

Eyes: Grey

Character history:

You know how funny it is when you pretend to understand something…

He was more than a Voice.

 

…while belittling other people's problems, not caring, and they'd hate you for showing it?

 

He worked on the move with grace and remained elusive, as the hunter pursued his prey with the absolute relentless confidence of his own abilities.

 

Once you cared so desperately to now cut yourself off to wallow in the pity as the world turns apathetically.

 

With every fibre of his body he stared at the ground as if his very existence depended on it.

 

You feel bored with the people you're with, getting drunker and drunker by inches as you crawled toward your bed, pouring out the intoxicated world.

 

He was listening half-heartedly, yet close enough with a mind to memorize and recite the whole song in high chant if need be. Two characteristics, when separated proved to be virtuous, when together, hideous. Righteousness, and Efficiency… he was not asked to interpret the law, or take pity when he was becoming the listener, but to be a Listener, he must find the truth. The truth was paramount, the truth his friend. He takes no sweetheart, for his Truth is his devotee. If he erred, he would have placed himself on the rack.

 

O Anita, my child, why'd you go? Now the sun has ducked away in fear of my desolation, as the clouds rush in taking advantage, growing to fill my mind with a fog, Haze in my eyes once clear with desire is stormy with lust as I struggle to live, living myself to die, killing myself to live, and ultimately loving myself to death.

 

Forget about your daughter, they said to him. He willed himself away to Court, and even as he became a lesser man, length of his belt stretched greater as he indulged in the pains of others, people who come to him with preconceived notions come to him doubting and left behind a condemned wreck. They had rushed into his cynicism, and even as they splintered against the wall, their barbs dug in. They hurt.

 

Alqam was where it all began. Wearily he moved through crowds with this leaden smile, until one day he saw beauty in a cup. The sight of these half moons under his was startlingly intimate. I have sensitive eyes, he insisted, and they laughed into ripples.

 

The loneliness seeps in, the constant beast as words came, unbidden, forbidden. He spent his life pursuing dangerous ideas and practices, to protect the children from the monsters within.

 

Some could never fight the silence. Lijah Opeth made ready in the quiet. The pale dress gown was exchanged for a simple robe of grey, matching the washed out look of his face. He swiftly but surely fastened his mass of golden hair into an elegant tail with seven decorative beads strung through the braid. The wood of his jewelry was rich and warm, and it pleased him that he had carved the middle one, of a raven, himself. The craftsman in Alqam who had produced the others was highly skilled and his work reflected that excellence of quality.

 

Flecked eyes, hooded with kohl and speculation, surveyed the world outside, where the Return would take place. The image of the map remained in his mind. He studied thoroughly the first time, but repetition was never a waste because once could be better prepared. Checking his vials of poisons he procured that were secured into the folds in the voluptuous robe, he smiled into the looking glass at the impression. The blush delineated the protruding angle of his cheekbones, and he appeared the very projection of a well-groomed woman with shining hair. He glided from stillness to motion.

 

Nobody kneeled in the busy Market Square when he walked in the gate. The last thing he looked like was a dreaded Listener. His average height and youth did not wake suspicions that he was not what he seemed, which was a mix of contrasts. For the time being, he was a lass in her twenties known by the name of Kisha. Kisha's golden hair was loose about her narrow shoulders. Her curls dazzled in the sunlight and her grey eyes sparkled, naturally filled with excitement. Her face was composed and slightly drawn, as if she was worried about the possible dangers for a young woman to go unescorted. She was not wearing her customary leather boots but she glided silently and smoothly in the silver inlaid slippers. Her feet were small enough to fit comfortably in the soft slippers of a girl's. Her chin was lifted haughtily, but her gaze trained on the ground as if she had been conditioned to a demur upbringing. Why should the Hawkers crying to sell their amazing wares and baubles be intimidated by this vision before them, the lovely but thin peasant girl?

 

The long shabby skirts swished and a heavily patched cloak covered the woman, suggesting she was so poor that she could not bear to part with her possession even when she had to endure the heat of the summers. Poverty was all too common a sight in these hard days of preparing for war. Her slender hands were kept protectively on her sturdy pouch, which hung on a snug belt that hugged her slim waist. Her back was ramrod straight but she swayed irritably as the wind blew strands of her hair ribbons to tatters and ran past the Roseland tavern she always frequented as if on an errand, kicking up the dust and spreading her feet awkwardly. Suddenly she stopped in front of an Apothecary and bowed her head, permitting the earliest patrol of evening's guards to run past her, their feet drummed a furious tattoo on the drought-toughened ground.

 

She lifted her layered petticoats prudently to stride after the Apothecary servant, making sure to pant a little at the quick pace he set. The owner - an old man - was chuckling lewdly as he leered, "There was a woman here this morning, I remembered her particularly because she was bundled in a cloak much like yours. Her voice was considerably deeper though, almost as if she was a man. But she was really pretty like you. Just between you and me, it's always the beautiful vixens a man should be on his guard about." With a wink, the man rambled on. "Though she bought a vial more lethal than that stomach ailment you selected." Kisha widened her already large eyes, blinking lengthy lashes at the mirthful speaker. Her full lips trembled as if struck with terror.

 

"Ah yes?" Her drawl was in a high giggly pitch. Her long slender fingers, with the fingernails clipped short though, clutched the colourful hand-woven basket tighter until her knuckles were white. Kisha's feigned nonchalance evoked another self-satisfied chuckle from the storeowner.

 

"Ah yes." The man brought out a transparent liquid and smirked as he repeated. "Whoever the woman gave this costly tonic to would not be suffering from a merely tummy ache, he'd be past these … mortal concerns."

 

The frightened expression, perfected many hours in front of the looking glass, that Kisha promptly sported would not have led the owner to expect her to be armed to the teeth with tiny razor sharp blades that could instantaneously kill, or worse, paralyse a man if placed in the right segment of the spine. At this range of closeness, Kisha could hardly miss. She did not need the vials of night-bane that was secreted about her person. Kisha had already pilfered from the palace stores what it had to offer in forms of quick acting poisons, and had covered up the gradual theft so that even a daily inventory would miss the lethal amounts she secreted about her. But she did not kill the man. He did not need to die. Kisha always remained contemptuous of how co-workers wasted their resources by ending the lives of the informers. It was true that a dead informer will not tell another soul, but an ignorant one was blessed with the possibility of gaining more knowledge and giving the precious morsels away freely, if the Listener knew how to sift through the plethora of information to the truth. Besides, the very aim was in being unobtrusive.

 

Kisha, or so Lijah let himself to be, was prepared and armed to her teeth, with a sword and throwing knives. The lass had thick pettyskirts on, which was no uncommon for pretty girls to dress up prudent and avoid attention, and so attract more, which was what the Listener hoped for, he who stays more in sight is less noticed. Or she, he thought with an innate chuckle as he walked through the streets, still one large step ahead of the rest. Most Listeners were a rabble-some bunch when no instructions came from the top. He understood how to wait in the silence and listen to the unspoken in order to gather his evidence.

 

As a woman the Listener did not raise any questions and significantly lowered other peoples' guard, as they perceived the Seekers being a predominantly male society, which it was. Also dressing up as a woman meant that the Listener did not have to resort to torturing for information like the Seekers do. He did not approve of torture. Not that the man had any moral objections to subjecting the person to hot irons or starred nails. If the prisoners are placed in the Tower of Ravens, then most often it is apparent that they deserved the incarceration. The reason of enforcing stability justified any methods of extracting the truth. Yet prisoners often would make up lies if they were under the duress of pain. No, torture just was not effective enough. He was capable to create such a network of information alone because he made the people want to please him, and it was usually his wanderings around the locals, the lower more common rabble which gave insight into his truths. Part of his training had been causing and enduring pain both as a torturer and victim, but he usually avoided the extremes unless it was absolutely necessary. Often it was better to utilise more productive methods.

 

In his work he was allowed to conceal his Voice identity and today he foiled and twarted the suspicions set on him, the notorious tattle, tricking them by ingenious creativity and great deal of audacity. His golden lush hair had been pulled into a tail and his sparkling eyes complimented by the lovely robes of a female. Lijah looked all of a few summers and a lass at that, though if the men in the crowd busy admiring his enhanced figure had studied his grey eyes more carefully, he would have chilled their heated blood. But none had expected the improbable, so no one looked.

She paid for the concoction, throwing a penny on the table and rushing out in her eagerness to vacate the unpleasant and scandalised remarks, which caused such a horrifying effect in her countenance that she staggered out into the daylight, unsteady as if thoroughly drunk.

 

Lijah assessed the situation he gained as he climbed a garden wall to gain entry to his private cupboard through the Lady's chambers.

 

As a Voice himself he was indignant that a fellow Voice had been the assassin. It felt like a slap in the face. Yet what would be a political reason for this Voice's betrayal of the family? Whoever hired the Voice to kill this member had chosen either an amateur or an idiot for a pawn. It was not even cleverly executed, this poisoning. If Lijah was assassinating a personage of the Blood, he would at least attempted to cover his tracks, perhaps find an alibi or at least a decoy. Light! The Voice did not even bother to disguise her voice very well. But he supposed that in his time, he had been acquainted with and unfortunately had to work with people who are the intellectual inferiors of grolms. He was a Listener, and though he operated alone, in the name of Justice he must collaborate with the Seekers. However, he would not have his identity known even to them. There would be no question of his loyalty to the Lady. He dressed opulently to distract, though anybody who saw him would have thought him a mouthpiece. As he changed to leather boots and a handsome green velvet jacket with lacy sleeves, he reminded himself that he should cast away his woman guise soon for another disguise, since sooner or later the others would catch on to what he was doing, though she was useful to him in many ways and one of the many reasons why he was the most capable at what he did, which was to root out the truth for others to carry out justice.

 

As for himself he would never betray the Lady. Ah, but will you? The Voice wondered.

 

He learned to love the Lady even as he feared himself. That he aimed to please was terrifying.

 

"I do not want to be absorbed by you."

 

"I won't let you be." Came the reply.

 

He startled from the waking dream. The sun lit the tops of the trees, and as he fell into the prevalent embrace of the ones he loved to hate he could see though the entire world was finally afire, he was still cold.

[Lavinya]

Wow great bio! CC'd!

[Taei]

*bumps back in order*