Guardian Naga

Despite being mostly benevolent lawful good creatures, guardian nagas are actually quite likely to come into conflict with adventurers.  After all, even the most good-hearted PCs tend to have a casual attitude toward things like grave goods, the preservation of relics, and not despoiling natural beauty.  So the aberrations can be forgiven for slinging a lightning bolt first, and asking questions later.  Win a guardian naga over, and it can be a valuable ally.  But when it says, “Don’t touch anything,” it means it.

Golden Hood is the latest in an unbroken 400-year line of guardian nagas to bear that name.  However, he chafes under the weight of the mantle.  No one can accuse him of being derelict in his duties—if anything, he covers his reluctance with too-forceful shows of zeal—but there is likely some subconscious self-sabotage in his spell choices (particularly fireball).  The sacred scrolls he guards would be a lot less sacred if someone inadvertently reduced them to ash.

For almost two centuries, Fire of Sunlight has protected the holy city of Antar, now abandoned to the desert.  He also eagerly sponsors young sorcerers, fostering their talents and training them in spell use.  But he demands they and all visitors follow the dictates of Antar’s lost caste of dervishes.  Those who stray into what he deems heterodoxy must flee or be cleansed of sin with his poison spit.

The Malkins are an extended family of cat burglars (naturally) and thieves.  Last night, three of them ran afoul of a guardian naga during a temple heist, and one of their number fell in the combat.  The Malkin sisters say they will do anything to get the body of their brother back, and have emptied their pockets to buy aid.  Actually, he is still alive—being blessed with a natural resistance to acid and a ring of regeneration—but he is also currently a lump in the stomach of the naga, who sees no reason to let him out.

—Pathfinder Bestiary 212

One of my dirty secrets is that despite Pathfinder/D&D 3.5 owning my heart and most of my wallet, my most concentrated role-playing experience lies with a phenomenal three-year, four-story-arc, same-character Vampire: The Masquerade campaign, the likes of which I may never see again.  This may explain why I like monsters who would plausibly say things like, “Well, this has been a lovely chat.  I’m almost sorry I have to kill you now.”