Kila Everyn Sagaris

Name 	Kila Everyn Sagaris
Race 	Wood Elf
Age 	204
Class	Warlock (Pact of the Archfey)
Born in Andalus to a family of artisans, Kila showed an aptitude for leatherworking at an early age, deftly stitching armor, luggage, and clothing with little effort. She worked closely with her older sister Adrie Sagaris, a blacksmith who was tragically killed in a fire when her forge ruptured. Kila put more effort into her work to honor her sister's memory, as Adrie was known as a perfectionist to her craft.
While seeking out quality hides for her leatherworking, Kila joined a hunting party that delved deep into the woods, knowing that if she could get hides as soon as possible, she could quickly begin the tanning process and have higher quality leather. The party's hunters had been tracking a large, magnificent bull elk for 3 days when they located it in a clearing. The lead hunter let fly an arrow, quickly felling the creature. Kila set upon the carcass, quickly and deftly removing the hide when the woods went quiet around them. A figure strode from the woods into the clearing, tall and imposing, his head adorned with large antlers. The Archfey Stag King seized the party, freezing them in place as they had been caught hunting in his lands. Though this was unknown to the party, the Stag King took it as no excuse for the grievous sin of killing the elk. 
The tracker's punishment came first. His faithful hounds were turned on him. The Stag King gave him 30 seconds to flee before the hounds would be released. As the man fled into the woods, the Stag King changed the hunting dogs into hell hounds, and sent them off in pursuit. The party heard the ragged scream not far off shortly after the hounds had disappeared.
The hunter who had shot the creature was quickly polymorphed into a white tail deer. The Stag King quickly seized the mind of the hunter's apprentice, who raised a bow and quickly shot the deer through the heart. As the apprentice had not slain the elk, his mind was blanked and he was released with his prize. The young man walked off into the woods with the deer's corpse slung over his shoulders. He would get no more than a few miles before the polymorph spell dropped and he realized his terrible error.
Kila had not slain the elk, but it had not fully died before she set about her work. It last moments of life punctuated by Kila's razor sharp knives. The Stag King telekinetically raised Kila's flaying knives and began performing on her what she had done to the elk before she had been halted. With the precision of her own skill, the knives quickly began slicing and removing her skin. She felt her arm and leg bones snap before they were removed from her body. She pleaded with the Stag King to kill her as quickly as he had the others. The archfey chastised the elf, stating that her intent to use the hide long after for clothing and adornments meant he would do her that same courtesy. She had butchered creatures many times before to obtain their hides. She knew every step of the process, and felt each step in grisly detail as the few inflicted it on her while the fey kept her alive. 
The process would slowly begin to reverse itself, piecing Kila's writhing and ruined body cleanly back together. She drew a trembling breath and raised her head, greeted with the sight of her knives hovering a hair's breadth from her skin. Her scream shattered the silence of the forest as the process began again. Kila lost track of how many times the fey lord flayed her alive, shattering her mind and leaving the artisan physically scarred and a shadow of herself. She was allowed to black out after an indeterminate amount of time, but awoke still in the presence of the Stag King. She trembled as she looked up at him, her knives guided back into their sheaths with a wave of his hand. He had a use for her after all, one where she would need to be kept intact. The Maelstrom around the lands that would become New Avalon had been breached. The powerful magic there had kept out even the Archfey, and the Stag King was curious. Kila was given a choice. Endure her torture further until the fey tired of her and cast her into the 9 Hells, or sign a pact, pledging to serve the Archfey as an emissary to the new lands. She would serve their will there and in exchange, be freed from her torment. She did not hesitate. 
Though freed, her body bore the heavy scars of her flaying knives, cutting maps into her skin. Raised scars at each joint, outlines on her flesh indicating where she had been repeatedly taken apart, each time burned into her memory as if with a hot iron. Her damaged psyche showed her hallucinations over and over of her body coming apart at these seams. Her once flowing auburn hair was a stark white, stained green with the moss of the wood, some missing patches either shaved clean by blade, or torn out in mad fear. Her olive skin now a pale and almost rotten gray. Fitting, as she felt what should have killed her one thousand times over. Her skin remained warm to the touch, quite misleading as a pervasive chill embedded itself in her bones. 
She was commanded back to her workshop. Upon entry, she was greeted with the site of carved animal skins, drying and tanning. Drapes of formerly living flesh tormenting her, as she saw herself in each prepared skin that adorned the workshop. In a deranged panic, she began to tear apart and shred her previous work. Clothing that had been artfully stitched was torn to shreds. Saddlebags, armor, and decorations were reduced to a loose collection of ragged scraps and loose steel rivets. She took these scraps and frantically stitched, buckled, and nailed them together, crafting a patchwork suit of leather and steel. She stitched the suit closed over her body, leaving no flesh exposed up to her neck and no simple method of removal. A steel and leather mask covered the lower half of her face. She looked at herself in a small mirror. None of her scars were visible. She was sealed in. Her formerly soft green eyes told the tale of her ordeal. One so bloodshot, her iris looked like an emerald held in a crimson network of spiderwebs. The other a deep, lightless black, consuming her iris and pupil. A silently screaming void that would always look back at her, a reminder of the shrieking pain inside her very soul. She shut that eye with a shudder and examined her handywork. The suit was sturdy, though no longer the triumph of form and function for which she was known. The patches were held tightly together with heavy straps and buckles, placed haphazardly in her manic state, for surely if the suit were removed, her body would fall to pieces, peeling apart at the scars. She was sure of this; the mere thought made her frantic. She felt herself compelled and returned to the woods, where the Stag King greeted his new emissary. He did not speak, but opened a portal beneath her feet. The former artisan now a Warlock, bound to the fey in exchange for her very life.
She found herself quickly transported through a vast network of plant life, tumbling out on a beach she knew nothing of. The topography was unfamiliar, though that became unimportant when she turned and found herself inches from the eyes of a great sapphire dragon. The beast spoke softly and with purpose. She would be of use to them. She was taken into the service of the gem dragons, but the fey reached into her mind and issued her the instruction to serve, explore, and understand this new realm. All she had was her suit of panic and fear ridden armor, and a pair of steel flaying knives, with an inscription on the blades.
"May the fruits of my labor aid you in yours. Love, Adrie." The loving familial words now bore the stain of Kila's own blood. The shimmering steel would never again wipe clean.
=== EPILOGUE ===
Kila stood on the deck of the steel vessel as the waves lapped softly at the hull. The crystalline corruption of the moxtyledon still lingered sporadically, though much of it had crumbled. A looming threat to the material plane reduced to Her compatriots were celebrating their victory, and while she had traveled far with them, the gnawing thought that she was out of place still kept her quietly preoccupied. She smiled at the party one final time, before she vanished into the ether, her spell of Misty Step leaving naught but a whisper and a memory. While she had been attempting to return to the woods of New Avalon to find a place to rest and collect her thoughts, she found herself back in a familiar clearing, standing before the Stag King.
Her breath seized in her throat. She had followed his instructions. Now that her task had completed in the lands of new Avalon, she shut her eyes in fear, waiting for the searing pierce of blade, or the scorching flames of the Hells to come to her skin.
But nothing came. All that she felt was the gentle caress of the breeze through her hair. She looked around, and was greeted only with the sight of a calm wood. The air around her was silent, until it carried the sound of the single snap of a thread. Then came another, then several more. Kila watched in horror as her patchwork suit came apart at its seams, falling loose into the undergrowth. She frantically grabbed for the scars on her body, ready to hold herself together, but her scars had gone. No more ragged and raised cuts adorned her skin. The chill began to leave her bones finally, her body relaxing into shaking sobs. She felt the slow, lingering breeze on her skin, the blowing leaves playing in her scruffed hair. The pain had gone, but so had that bracing for it. Her knives lay in their sheaths, harmlessly atop the heap of remains that had once been her suit. However, a piece remained. A small cuff on her left wrist, sealed without a stitch, bore one word. "USEFUL"
That she was. She stood shakily to her feet and began to get her bearings. She felt the sudden weight of a cloak of leaves draped around her shoulders, once again hiding her body. She knew that while there were no more scars in her flesh beneath the cloak, she would forever carry the mental scars with her. She took a deep breath, let it out, and stepped silently into the woods, leaving the torn leather behind, but two shimmering knives remained clutched in her hand.