A strange scroll

You never had anything in your robe. Even the slightest brush of stray thread or hidden clasp against your scales could sour your mood for hours, setting your nerves on edge. For a fleeting moment, your thoughts turned to ****, a quiet blade slipped close in the night, but the notion rang hollow. None of your kin cared enough to see you dead now that your ascent to the Ruby Throne had been so neatly severed. Perhaps it is Mislexis finally growing big enough balls to take his ****? The idea drew a low, self-indulgent snort from your throat, your tongue flicking in faint amusement as your rival had a pathetic set of marbles.

A sneer curled across your scaled face, sharpening your already striking features with a hint of cruelty. You slid your hand into the folds of your robe, the fabric cool and smooth against your fingers, your erection having died down enough to have slipped back out of sight. Your touch found parchment and you drew it free with a slight narrowing of your eyes.

A small scroll rested in your inquisitive grasp.

The texture alone gave it away. Fine, tightly pressed fibers, smooth yet resilient beneath your claws. Akaviri make. The ruby seal pressed into its binding caught the light, deep red like a drop of frozen blood, unmistakably Imperial in its authority.

What?

You scoffed, the sound sharp in the stillness of your chamber. Your thumb claw slipped beneath the seal and flicked it apart with practiced ease. The scroll unfurled with a soft crackle, the ink within dark and precise, each line written with deliberate care.

You read.

The words arranged themselves into something that made no immediate sense, a litany of titles, numbers, and strange categorizations that felt more like a ledger than a proclamation. The longer your eyes traced the lines, the more your expression shifted, confusion tightening into something sharper.

Qaina Nisrixes-Shazyj
Level 4 Tsaesci Pureblood
[Tsaesci, Magister, Lesser Royalty, Explicit]
Experience to level up – 400
Attributes
Strength 20 (+0), Dexterity 27 (+1), Endurance 17 (-1), Intelligence 22 (+0), Wisdom 31 (+2), Charisma 39 (+4)
Skills
Arcana 13, Deception 27, History 20, Insight 18, Mercantile 29, Perception 25, Persuasion 32
Crafting Skills
Scribing 30
Languages
Akaviri, High Veyri, Low Veyri, Tsaescence
Feats
Cold Hypersensitivity: Due to your reptilian nature, you have disadvantage on all physical checks/saving throws while in a cold environment or 1d4 turns after taking cold damage.
Constriction: When you successfully grapple a target, you deal 1d8 + STR modifier bludgeoning damage and every subsequent turn the target is still grappled. Non-PC attacks against the target are taken at disadvantage.
Deep Lethargy: Your pureblooded nature requires that you must spend 1d4 days in hibernation every 2d10 days (12-hour warning). Every hour forcibly awake adds 1d10 stat debuff to all attributes and 1d10 hour recovery to hibernation period.
Heatsense: You can sense all warm-blooded creatures within 30ft of you.
Scaled Body: +4AC, cannot be debuffed.
Slithering Gait: Due to your snake-like lower half you can only wear clothing and certain types of light armour. All other armours impose disadvantage on physical checks/saving throws.
Snake Whisperer: Communicate simple ideas or commands to serpents at will.
Tsaescence: Once per year during a ritual ceremony you may forcibly consume an incapacitated targets soul. Add one year to your natural lifespan (by removing wear on your body), learn 1d6 non-mundane secrets known by the target, and within 10 minutes enter a 4d4 day hibernation.
Venomous Fangs: Add 1d6 poison damage to bite attacks. Each fang can be harvested once per day for a vial of poison. Drained fangs do not produce venom for bites until refreshed.

You blink.

“What…?”

The single word fell flat against the air.

You blink again, slower this time, as if the act alone might **** the text to rearrange itself into reason. Instead, it remained stubbornly the same, its meaning no clearer than before. A faint chill crept along your spine, subtle but unwelcome, as the contents settled uneasily in your thoughts.

Why would anyone write this down about me?

Your gaze flicked back over the scroll, more critical now. The numbers felt arbitrary, the labels insulting in their neatness, as though your very being had been reduced to a tally. Your lip curled, exposing the faint edge of a fang.

“What in the Hells is a 1d4?” you muttered, the words edged with irritation. Your eyes narrowed further as another line caught your attention. “I am more intelligent than a twenty-two! And what is this…” your voice rose, incredulity giving way to vexation, “…LESSER ROYALTY?!”

The words seemed to echo in the room, offensive in their simplicity. Lesser. The very notion coiled unpleasantly in your chest, tightening with each ing second. You did not know what scale this absurd document used, but it was clearly flawed. You were a superior specimen, that much was self-evident.

“I will have whoever played this hideous prank on me flogged,” you hissed, your voice low and venomous. “Whipped! Scourged!”

The scroll crackled faintly as your grip tightened before you **** yourself to relax. With a sharp, dismissive motion, you rolled it back up and tucked it into the inner fold of your robe, as though hiding it might lessen the insult.

It did not.

Your body shifted, coils gliding across the floor as you moved toward the door. The wood beneath you gave a faint groan, the only protest to your ing. Your expression had settled into something dangerous, eyes bright with restrained fury, your tongue flicking once as if tasting the air for someone to blame.

You slipped from your chamber with purpose, the quiet of the corridor ahead doing nothing to dull the edge now honed within you.