TL;DR - In which it turns out Skolvor is Dr Who?!
Skolvor slithered into the Cradle of Undoing deep within his tower in the Kyr mountains. He had removed the simple illusion that had hidden the damage to his tail from Silmariel some days ago. He knew that she could have seen through the magic with a small amount of effort, but had bet on her being distracted by the exchange of swords. He had also made sure to keep his tail behind him from her perspective.
Truth be told, he had only just made it back to his tower alive. The wound in his tail was deeper and more dangerous than he had initially thought, and the powerful limb was starting to rot away. He felt a mix of anger and resignation about this. He was fond of his Naga form - indeed had inhabited it for almost a thousand years - but he was not particularly precious about his physical body. Vain, certainly. But beauty could come in so many varied forms and this was but one of those he had worn. Even so, that cursed Guardian bitch would have to be made to pay.
Brooding on these thoughts, he strapped himself into the leather harness that was rigged within the great crystal chamber of the Cradle, the last third of his tail hanging limp and lifeless. The blackness was spreading up and down the limb from the point of the wound and the pain was growing in intensity. He could already feel the poison of rot coursing through his blood, and even his powerful Naga stamina was going to be insufficient to see him through. He had thought about seeking out the healers of the Kadvan-Da’Nok, or even the cursed nymphs, but he had realised, somewhat reluctantly, that he would not trust himself to the care of anyone else.
Thus it was that the Cradle of Undoing was his only recourse. A device so powerful and infused with so much Faerzress energy that even among the Än'vakori it was taboo. But he had not lived so many lifetimes without submitting himself to the hand of fate once in a while. One thousand years, he had to admit, was probably some kind of record. But one had to adapt if one was to survive. That the outcome of the process was entirely unpredictable was a trifling concern against the rage he felt at having to use it and the thirst for vengeance against the Blood elf, Lyrena Auberan. "Ssssssshe will pay," he hissed angrily to himself. "If I have to live a thousssssand yearsssss assssss a toad to do it, sssssshe will pay."
With some effort, he cleared his thoughts and emotions to be ready for the task at hand, and he was aware of the faint song of Ke'ntor in his mind. The sword's tone was more cruel and less sharp than before, almost as though the spirit had suffered some injury. He would have to investigate that at some point. But for now it pleased him to have the blade back where it belonged within his collection. He smiled to himself at the thought and closed his yellow eyes.
"Ash'kan. Avar-Al-Aran. Evash On'vel. Akash."
As he began the chant, the two halves of the crystal began to knit themselves together, forming a solid cocoon around him, causing the torchlight from the room to be split into myriad colours. Soon this dancing light was replaced by the sickly purple glow of Faerzress as it flooded like a gas into the chamber that held him. He could feel it swirling around his body, licking at his flesh, pushing into his mouth and nostrils and flooding his lungs. He became dizzy and was aware of a low thrumming sound surrounding and penetrating him.
Then the pain began. It felt as though someone were dissolving the flesh from his bones. An agony of unimaginable proportions that caused even the stoic Naga to scream in despair. "Sssssssssstop!" he screamed in a terrified moment of weakness, but the device had begun its work of undoing him and once the flesh was gone, the bones followed. He lost consciousness after a few moments of the agony and so did not feel the Cradle rending the rest of his sinews, muscles, brain and body to jelly. The viscous liquid that had been Skolvor hung in the centre of the Cradle rotating slowly, sparks of purple magic crossing its surface like small lightening storms. At length, the throbbing of the machine died down and a new sound began. This one was like the rushing of water passing quickly through a deep cavern. It grew in intensity, and as it did so, the smoke surrounding the mass that had been Skolvor began to writhe and move. It sketched out the shape of a skeleton and Skolvor's flesh flowed with it. Two arms, a head, two legs. As the flesh and bone coalesced along the tendrils of Faerzress, a new body began to take form. As it solidified, it became clear that the skin was an iridescent green layered over lithe muscles. Pure white hair grew from the freshly knitted scalp and two vibrant, purple eyes opened to look out on the world.
The green woman stepped out of the Cradle of Undoing and smiled to herself. She looked into the mirror in the chamber - for the Mage had ever been vain - and appraised her new body. "Magnificent," she said in a smooth, pleasing voice. "Truly magnificent." She turned, watching the curve of her thigh as she did so and smiling approvingly. "This will do nicely," she said, taking up her staff. The wooden pole was now far too big for her hands, and so with a motion of her slim green fingers, the staff shrunk smaller and smaller and smaller until it was a small, wand-like dowel, which she twirled in the air as it hovered above and around her fingers, sparks of energy flashing along its short length. She smiled. "That's fun," she said.
A new body always brought with it a new demeanour and new thoughts. But the thirst for vengeance remained strong. Still, first things first. She looked in the mirror again and announced to the world: "I choose to call myself Suvi-Ké." The name had belonged to a serving girl of whom Skolvor had been fond about a century ago. The Naga had had to kill her in the end, for she had seen too much and he had grown too tolerant of her. But he had always remembered her, and now her name seemed fitting for the woman he had become. The decision made, Suvi-Ké walked - such a strange feeling after so long slithering - out of the Cradle room, heading for her chambers to find clothes that would fit her. She had amassed a collection of garments over many years of naive visitors seeking out the Great Skolvor Vikaris, Mage of Än'vakor. May he rest in vengeance.