Being born to a small yet proud House in the town of Chi-Gung, located in the eastern most region of Seanchan, Phathom's life was an assured seat of comfort and wealth... an endless montage of parties and dinners, nobles and lords at her call.
  But at a mere three weeks old, the guilded strings which bound her to such a future were slashed beyond mend. An army of Trollocs lead by three Myrddraal invaded her quiet community, and ravaged their land. Seeking something of great importance, these fiends slew all that stood in their way, capturing all the women and girls then loading them onto dark ships destined for the west. The men, lazy lords and poor farmers, provided no match for the swinging Trolloc blade, or Fear of the Myrddraal. All fell like grains of wheat to a great dark scythe.

  The news of Chi-Gung's decimation rocked the land of Seanchan, and the Imperial Family sent out a private army to hunt down the Trollocs and retrieve any survivors of the massacre.
  Crossing the Aryth Ocean, the soldiers, proud as they were, were troubled to have been informed that the Trollocs and their cargo were not headed into the Dead Sea... but rather were en route towards the Black Hills in the West. At least they had that much information, gained from the Imperial High A'dam.

  After arriving in the West, the Seanchan guard made short work of finding their Trolloc adversaries. However, fighting in their home land, Myrddraals melted from the shadows, and quickly dispatched of the pertified soldiers. The battle, not unlike a slaughter of spring sheep, lasted just under twenty minutes. However, it was more than enough time for one gentle and desperate mother to stash her tiny babe in a fallen log. Placing her hair pin in the bundled clothes which further shelted her daughter, the weary and loving woman wept and said a silent prayer; that whatever powers exist in this strange land, would care for the child. When the slaughter was finished, the women and girls were herded towards the Black Hills... and from there, to the Mountains of Dhoom- never to be heard from again.

  Perhaps it was fate, or luck, or both which brought a Hunter down that ravine trail the following day. Surely it was some sort of intervention that he chose to rest on a fallen log, and only then hear the muffled cries of an infant wrapped in strangely colored clothes.
  He was a Hunter for the Horne, and many miles from his homeland of Illian. Yet being a man of honour, he knew that the only thing to do with this strange find was bring her to the Illian Citys Council.

  Soon the babe was resting before the Citys Council, her fate in their hands. With no family, and seemingly abandoned, this child from a land far away would need a home... a ward... an elder. The Citys Wisdom seemed to sense something about this girl, not just the usual glow of youth and trust which permeated every childs soul, but something deeper... almost...destined.
  The only mar on the childs otherwise perfect complexion was a small crescent moon birth mark on her left shoulder. Yet the edges were far to crisp, much too neat to be a random occurrence of nature. It was then that the Wisdom thought... hoped; could this young girl be...Ta'Veren?
  The girl was adopted and raised by the old Wisdom, and quickly proved to have a keen sense for knowledge and acts of love. She was greatly saddened by violence, and sought only to heal, to bring peace and learning. Her love of books soon earned her a life name, something that focussed all the talents which seemed to define her; Phathom per'Kismet.
  'A fitting thing' thought the old Wisdom as she spoke it to the council, 'that this name be of the new tongue... ensures a fresh start all around, it dose.'

  Seasons passed and the Wheel turned. Winter and Summer came then went, and before long, the babe was a young woman. Phathom was always a source of gossip wherever she went. With her soft slender features, and long flowing hair- a deeper black then any ravens wing- it was no wonder. Her eyes shimmered with a light that paled the morning sky, yet it was their colour which was truly captivated those onlookers... a softer green then the deepest forest, yet with an everchanging hue. The colour could never be called the same, yet... it was. Still, they seemed to simply *belong* with her, a pleasant contrast to her native Oriental features.

  At the age of fifteen, Phathom lost her second mother. News of the old Wisdoms murder burned through the City of Illian like a horrid fire, marking a day which would be a pivotal turn in Phathom's life.
  Rage. It coursed through her- right down to the very core. In the woods where she and the old Wisdom used to collect honey and flowers, the kindly old sage was found Stabbed in the Back. The wound was black around the edges, meaning only one thing- A Dark Blade had been used. But why would a Myrddraal, or one in the Dark One's favor, wish to harm a Wisdom? The city guards searched, of course, but the killer was never found.
  The old Wisdom always used to say that the weather mirrored Phathoms mood.  When light hearted, the sun would seem just a bit warmer, when sad, the room just a touch cooler.  On that day...the day the only mother she had ever known was torn from her ... it snowed.  Illian had never seen snow before that day, and has not since, yet its all that emanated from Phathoms heart on that horrid autumn eve; a bitter cold, inside and out... a rage so hot it was freezing. The death left a gaping wound in the young girls very soul.

  Knowledge consumed her every waking hour. Cures for disease and remedies for the mundane aliments flew from the old Wisdoms books and burned themselves to her memory. Yet a single source can offer only so much knowledge, a single Wisdoms tools so much learning... and the new Wisdom would need to study them as well.

  The Citys Council knew that their young charge was withering in Illian. The memory of her mother-figure weighed heavily on her soul, and every learning outlet was exhausted. Understanding what must be done, they contacted the White Tower and told them of Phathom and her seemingly innate wisdom... the way she could calm the most fierce debate or argument and bring everyone to an agreement... of the way her song or voice seemed to lift the heart and instill joy... how the music she played on the old Wisdoms flute could charm man and beast and of course about how she could predict the weather like no other. It was no suprise that The Tower sent word they were expecting her to be en route to Tar Valon within the week.
  Summoning Phathom before the council, they explained that she needed the teaching and care that only the Aes Sedai could provide... about how staying in Illian would only further wound her soul.

  Reluctantly, she packed her things, and left on her pilgrimage from Illian to Tar Valon- taking only some clothes, the old Wisdoms flute... and the Gold and Silver Wheel hair pin she seemed to have owned since forever.

Who is Phathom?

  Standing only 5'2", her slight build gives a deceptive gage of her abilities to would-be attackers. Although she strives to bring peace and healing to those in need, she is fully capable of defending her self.

  Phathom is like day and night on most issues- sometimes a spunky teenager, other times a Crone.
  She is excellent at playing the Flute, passed on to her by the kind old Wisdom who raised her. Its music seems to call to the heart of all around, bringing peace, joy and love coursing like waves; the strongest event of which can be experienced when she playes her "Soul Song"

  Phathom per'Kismet's name literally means;  Perfect understanding born of Fate

  Happy to lend help wherever it is needed, and open to all who seek- providing their needs are just and/or pure of action- Phathom can be found all over the country when not busy studying. She despises lies, the needless harming of any animal/plant, those who would use others, and (of course) the Dark One!