Deep in a forgotten jungle, nearly buried by centuries of towering trees and waves of fast-growing vines, there is a temple. Its stones were carved by people who were already ancient when the last empire was still a scattering of villages. The language etched into its walls is unknown, the secrets it protected are forgotten by all.

All but the Naga.

As its name implies, the Guardian Naga is a protector. They’re a celestial serpent whose entire purpose in this world is to guard knowledge. They gather history and stories and lore wherever they go, and they have memories that are perfect enough to hold on to all of it. And having done so, the Naga lingers in the ruins of the civilization they loved so much, which is where your Players are likely to encounter them.

Making use of a Guardian Naga asks a lot of you as a DM, though. They carry so much lore, but where does that lore come from? If you’re lucky, someone has written that into the campaign for you and provided a few bullet points. But even if they have, the presence of a Naga means that you’ll have to be ready to explain an entire world to your players – or be ready to explain why you can’t.

As a tool for the DM, the Naga exists as a narrative catalyst. It allows for the story to move into a new phase – from searching to knowing. By the time your players are finished with this encounter, they should be several steps closer to finding out what they need.

Through the Naga, there’s a lot you can do. Of course, you can reveal the lore of your world that you’ve been holding on to since Session Zero, but that’s not all they can do. You can use the Naga to reframe events in terms of ancient prophecies, letting your players know that they are part of a larger, more complex cosmic plan that was laid down eons ago.

Part of that reframing could also be the revelation of perspectives that were heretofore missing. You know: “What you call the Mindplague is but the ethereal tidal force that pulls between the two nascent divinities being birthed by Ethutar, the God of Great Absences.”

You could also reveal to your players that this is not the first time this has happened. What they’re going through has been endured before, perhaps many times, only to be dragged back into the world once more. And, of course, your Players are the ones who can finally stop this endless cycle.

The point is that for you – the DM – a Naga can act as a kind of reset button for your campaign lore. You can decide that the players’ knowledge is incomplete and superficial – through no fault of their own, of course. You can then add the layers of history and magic and meaning that you’ve been making notes about all this time.

The adventure they’re on isn’t just about a dungeon or a dragon – it’s about a universe.

Of course, the Naga shouldn’t just be a stand-in for the DM. It should have a history of its own, having watched civilizations grow and die, over and over again. Think about what that would do to a person, seeing the same things happen over and over again – the same mistakes and passions and tragedies.

That would be hard on anyone, and your Naga could be about at the end of their rope. Imagine if your all-knowing being has seen too much.

Even though it is a celestial being, its duty as an eternal witness may be in conflict with centuries of guilt, regret, or just plain weariness. It may not want to tell your Players what it knows, because what’s the point? It’s seen this before, told its tale before, only to watch it end in ruin – what should be different this time? It remembers the past perfectly, including the terrible pain of failure.

Your Players will then need to exert all their creativity to convince this poor, damaged creature that there might – might – be hope this time.

Which brings us to the last point: if this knowledge is so important to the campaign, you can’t just give it to the players. There’s no fun in that. This means you can build the encounter with the Naga as a tactical test. Not of combat, if you can help it. The Naga has a few nasty attacks, and can’t be easily killed, but that will make it pretty reluctant to share what it knows.

Instead, have your Naga put the Players through a test of memory and knowledge. Maybe they have to re-enact a lost ritual, or demonstrate uncommon wisdom in order to prove they will use what the Naga knows properly.

They may not be the only ones looking for the Naga. It might have guardians of its own, priests and attendants who seek to keep it safe, and to protect it from people like your Players. Slaying them will antagonize the Naga, of course, so your Players will need to negotiate somehow. Alternatively, perhaps there is another faction who is trying to silence the Naga before it can speak. The secrets that it knows might bring down nations and unseat those who buried history for their own gain. Your Players, perhaps inadvertently, represent a threat to a power structure they didn’t even know about.

However you use your Guardian Naga, use it carefully. Unlike other creatures in the Monster Manual, it doesn’t just exist to provide your Players with a challenge. It gives you a rare chance: to turn the improvisation into intention. To reframe the story you’ve been discovering into one that was waiting to be revealed all along.

The Naga is a boon to everyone at the table. Just not all in the same way. When the Naga is gone, or is silent once more, your Players won’t just know more. They’ll understand more.