“When the food runs out, the family reunion is over. It’s cool that out of all my

relatives, I’m the only cannibal.”

– Jarod Kintz, This Book Has No Title

Waiting For That Day

A True Telling

There was once a time when the children of Caine bit at each other’s throats and sucked the blood so deep that they drained personalities, smiles, and dreams. Some yearned for such power and others wished it away, but everyone who came to the curse were born of another’s selfishness and desire. Each sire wanted a companion, a slave, or even just food, but it was their Blood who drove them and nothing else.

We of the Nagaraja have what no Bloodline has: a higher purpose. To rule the night like some Prince isn’t what we strive for. Running around with our friends in blood-crazed parties to devour anyone in our way has never been a thing with us. Not even a little bit. No, our kind are looking beyond this world and into the next. We have gifts no other Kindred possess, and certain trials in our existences we alone must bear.

Let me introduce you to what the Nagaraja really are, beyond what you’ve heard from conceited harpies or wayward pack priests. Ours is a sacred birthright, though few are truly worthy of what we possess. I could spout stories of little girls and snakes and churches, but I’ll keep it simple for you.

Our Birth

Our kind were once death mages in the ancient days of Enoch, necromancers of the highest caliber who delved into the mysteries of the barriers between life and death. They were pioneers in their field, many of whom lived among Cainites in the first Necropolis. When the fall of that great place came and the Kindred fractured, our people knew

it was only a matter of time before chaos would destroy everything. A war had started, and the necromancers knew they had to play their part if there was to be order in the world which was to follow.

They obtained a sample of Cainite blood from the strongest they could find among the residents of Enoch, and enacted blood rites to make themselves into beings who were possessed of both life and death, the only type of creature who could live within Enoch. Within this ritual, they also crafted protections that kept them safe within the city. We could walk on ground known to swallow the wicked whole. Air that was cool to our skin burned anyone else, erupting from their lungs to their skin. Even the ghosts who resided there beside the Cainites became cordial and would bend over backwards to aid us.

Let me stop you before you ask, since it’s the first question most pose when hearing how we came to be. Is it really important which Clan’s blood was used to create the Nagaraja? I know of a few it couldn’t have been from, but the staggering number of Clans they had access to in those times tells us — or me at least — that there really isn’t any way of knowing. Of course, just ask any other Kindred and they’ll gladly tell you that we are Brujah bastards or the corrupt by-product of a Cappadocian or whatever. Some even say that some Nagaraja went on to create the Samedi in our image. Like I said — everyone’s got an opinion.

One thing I do know, however, is that even though some Kindred speculate the Tremere were the first mages to play with mixing magic and vitae, that is far from the truth. We were the first, but we don’t pretend like it’s a big secret and then let everyone know about it. To be honest, we’re much happier without all the attention. We have other business to attend to.

Keepers of Enoch

Which brings me back to Enoch. The Nagaraja submitted themselves to the rulers of Enoch, wanting only to serve and preserve what had been built there. We became the tenders of the gardens of the dead and the librarians of the underworld relics, as the secrets held within would only go on to strengthen us. Most of all, our kind became the warriors who defended the Necropolis from the likes of those who would bring it ruin. This included a collection of powerful spectres, necromantic mages who hoped to break in and steal the city’s secrets and, most of all, the Followers of Set.

One would think that a city of the dead found only in the lost corners of the maze in the land of death which slowly kills anyone who enters its borders wouldn’t be in need of protection. And yet, the wars that came after the loss of so many antediluvians brought immeasurable ruin to all realms of reality. To allow anyone to take the city from the Nagaraja would mean we no longer had a hand in what the apocalypse will look like. That is Enoch’s true purpose, you know: to bring about the end of all things one day.

In order to keep control, more of our bloodline were required. Our strongest necromancers stayed behind to

hold down the fort, while the more adventurous of us traveled the world in search of those who also sought true purpose. Most of us arrived in what became the Middle East and Asia, and altered our forms to blend in with the populace. New childer were sent back to Enoch after they completed the proper training to bolster the city’s defenses.

Not all of our new creations were deemed worthy to enter the great Necropolis, however, so some Nagaraja were simply set upon the world. Not without recitations over their tongues to keep them from sharing our secrets with those outside the bloodline, mind you. We can’t let our lessons be sold to the highest bidder. We’re not Giovanni, after all.

It wasn’t too long before the Nagaraja outnumbered all other Kindred and we were able to take charge of Enoch. We held the keys to the city and the other Kindred knew it, so we used that to our advantage.

Hunter Turned Prey

The power we held over the dead and the entrance to Enoch did nothing to make the other Kindred like us. While the Camarilla made alliances and created the Masquerade in hopes of hiding from the pitchforks and torches, they also sought to snuff out those vampires they deemed

undesirable. It didn’t help that we have an appetite for flesh instead of blood. This has always made our kind easier to spot. The Camarilla couldn’t tolerate this, and it hired assassins of all kinds, including many Assamites, to kill the Nagaraja.

Our wisest did their best to hide amongst societies where eating human flesh was already an accepted behavior: obscure tribes or fringe religions where eating the organs of one’s enemies was believed to grant strength. Those caught in more civilized environments without a meticulous mind were often captured and killed simply for existing. The assassins, with help from conscripted necromancers, turned the ghosts we once controlled on us or tainted our meat supply to weaken us and making us easier to slaughter. While the latter breaks the Masquerade on many levels, some went to great lengths to kill us.

Assamite became one of our most feared Clans, as they got better as killing us every time. There is a measure of respect extended to their Clan, however, as they killed us for a higher purpose. You have to admire that kind of zeal, right? Followers of Set also jumped on the bandwagon, seeing this as their chance to break our numbers in hopes of prying the secrets of Enoch from our tongues. We took our rituals to the grave, however, and not one secret passed our lips. Followers of Set stand for nothing except obtaining power. They care for nothing, seek not to help anyone else, and even turn on their own Clan when it suits them.

For those of us that survived, we had few options. Enoch was a sanctuary for those lucky enough to be invited, but the rest had to learn how to exist with humans and just about every other Kindred out to destroy us. Of course, the ones who hunted us did a good job with propaganda to give us the reputation we hold very dear today: demons who pretend to be Kindred, and can be spotted by the sharpness of our teeth and the craving for flesh. The idea that we eat Kindred flesh in addition to human meat spread, though the idea makes me nauseous.

As time passed on, we found ways to hide the deaths we left in our wake. The most popular was to get involved with the wars going on around the globe during any given century. Few question when pieces of their enemies turn up missing. I myself served in both the First Crusade and World War II, though it doesn’t matter which side I was on. It would only serve to distract from the greater point: If you view us as pests, we’ll survive as only pests can. We will follow in the wake of mortal wrongdoing, where our actions are veiled behind humanity’s atrocities.

Fall of Enoch

It was around 1600 CE that a terrible maelstrom struck the underworld. It annihilated the various ghosts who existed

there, and shook the pillars of Enoch to its core. Even with the special protections built into our blood, we lost almost all of our kind, and our bodies were ripped to pieces.

This meant we were decimated, reduced to a fraction of what our original numbers were. Worse yet, many of the oldest and most powerful rituals were lost in the ancient libraries of Enoch. Our bloodline became a herd of beasts simply trying to survive, and very few of us had any real knowledge of Enoch left. Even if there was an Enoch to return to, only a few Nagaraja knew its real location. I say real location, because our enemies created false Necropoli to lure us and butcher those who came in search of our birthright.

Having lost our true purpose, too many of us fell to our basest desires for flesh and became the monsters other Kindred believed us to be. The destruction of our home drove us to embrace the beast in many cases, and to become purely nihilistic in others. We came to be known as Flesh-Eaters; an overly simplistic phrase to describe a complex ritual of consuming part of one’s soul through the physical shell holding it within. It became something we couldn’t stop doing, to the point that without the flesh we would wither away and die.

Could you blame us? Everything the Nagaraja built to sustain ourselves and help usher in the next phase of Gehenna on our terms was gone. Survival took a primary position, and we started to repopulate our bloodline. The Nagaraja left the dreams of Gehenna and Enoch behind, becoming hardened and deadlier in the process.

Modern Nagaraja

As I mentioned before, centuries were spent hiding among the living monsters that humanity has nurtured into our camouflage. Some Nagaraja think of Embracing these talented folks and making them like us, but I think that can be a mistake. I remember a young knight I fought beside during the Crusades who brought his favorite shield to every battle. He survived for years because of it. Then he got the brilliant idea to make his shield part of him converting the metal into a fine breastplate. The next battle we waged — I believe it was during the march to Jerusalem — he went into the fray with a different, less refined shield and soon discovered the error in his choice. When his shield was damaged beyond use, he took a sword through his breastplate. The moral of the story? If you have a sturdy and useful shield, don’t bother trying to make it into something else.

Which brings us to the present, where you have the pleasure of my company for a short while. What was once

a collection of necromancers defending a holy city against overwhelming odds has become a bloodline of Kindred who have adapted to be the perfect killers. It was a necessity for us. Nagaraja who second guess their position in this world as a monster, even to other Kindred, will find themselves meeting a Final Death.

Blood vs. Flesh

The main difference between us and other Kindred is that they drink only blood from their victims, while the Nagaraja must consume flesh as well. Hence our nickname, the aptly termed Flesh-Eaters. It’s like the other Kindred asked their 4-year-old niece to give us a name, but I digress. There are upsides and downsides to our unique condition.

To other vampires, the blood is the only thing on their minds. They are parasites and pests. A true predator hunts their prey and devours them inside and out, ripping flash from bone and bathing in the remains as it suits us. That is what a kill is like for a Nagaraja. Not a sip of blood in a back room of a night club with no one knowing the wiser, like other cowards out there that fancy themselves killers.

Look at my teeth. These are nothing less than the tools of a predator, as if we are specifically designed for this kind of unlife. Each tooth is a razor to rip viscera from bone and rend the flesh for our palates. I’ve even heard of some Nagaraja who eat blood, flesh, and bone together.

Oh, we refer to the flesh we consume as Viscus. Most vampires see devouring flesh as something that makes us lesser, which is certainly not the case. The flesh is a supernatural element created by the transubstantiation of our hunger, in the same way that the blood other vampires drink is more than just A positive. Likewise, it should give you the idea that the Nagaraja respect our prey and the sustenance they provide. It’s not just meat, it’s Viscus, the most precious flesh and organs in existence, because it keeps us alive for another day.

Living as a Serial Killer

Now take a moment to picture what it’s like to be a Nagaraja. You are a monster living on the outskirts of humanity’s established world. You are an outcast from other Kindred, so you always have to cover your tracks and watch your back. Your fangs are overgrown and obvious, so you rarely speak unless necessary. You’ve learned how to blend into your environment and avoid detection above all else.

Outcast, demonized, quiet, and invisible. A perfect recipe for breeding killers who are really good at what they do. It takes ingenuity to become as good as we have. Today we

number in the hundreds, far below what other Clans tout as their badge of superiority, but with smaller numbers we can make moves with much less focus put on us. Seeing as we began with only a handful and have had to contend with being hunted, I think those are commendable numbers.

Some of us have come to terms with their monstrous sides and hide on the outskirts of cities, feasting on the occasional traveler but otherwise staying away from people. Most necessities can be ordered via the internet now, so interaction with mortals is really unnecessary except for when it’s time to eat. One or two missing persons can go by without a blink. Depending on the city, several hundred is dismissible by the authorities who don’t need the extra paperwork.

Wise Nagaraja have created dungeons, places to eat in silence. These are preferably soundproof and easy to clean, with plastic sheet wrap or built-in drainage for the blood that spills. To the laymen, dungeons resemble slaughter houses, but the human animal often requires special tools. Always having duct tape and plastic zip ties on hand can keep a Nagaraja alive. No matter where Kindred end up on the food pyramid, humans fight back with alarming regularity. With no Kiss to lull our prey, tranquilizers work as a suitable replacement.

Murderer Conventions

Our existence is, by necessity, a solitary one. There’s just no way to incorporate any kind of normal life of friends and family when you’re a monster. A few of us have tried to rope in ghosts as companions, but even they grow scarce when our hunger overtakes us and we rip into their ectoplasm just as easily as a human’s flesh. We eat everything and anything we can get out hands on, after all.

Living in such a way can be damaging to the mental state of even the most stable Nagaraja, however, which is why we cling to others within our bloodline. About every decade or so, as many Nagaraja as we can contact gather in a strange… well, I call them murderer conventions. Others call them silent conclaves, but it never seemed to capture what it was like to attend one of these surreal events. The strongest among our bloodline keep the younger Nagaraja up to date on our biggest threats. Young Nagaraja catch our elders up on the latest technological advancements that can help us survive. I’ve been to six of these conventions, and each one grows larger and larger. Of course, by “large” I mean it started off with around ten Nagaraja and today it’s closer to seventy-five. Each of us is encouraged to bring an offering to share and help stave off the amount of hunting necessary to sustain such a large group. This combined with the fact that we always pick a different city for each

of these larger gatherings, allows us to avoid the police (or other Kindred) from picking up any kind of scent.

The logistics behind silent conclaves with more than a handful Nagaraja isn’t as simple as one might think, and usually involves a collective effort of all attendees. Ghouls with connections in real estate find homes for rent large enough to hold the event, and the Nagaraja who live in the hosting town painstakingly prepare the neighborhood for others’ arrival. This includes feasting on nosy neighbors and making ghouls of the local security agencies. It can take months to prepare for this sort of event, and missing one detail can be devastating.

We had an incident like this occur at the last gathering in Detroit, where a random coterie of Brujah decided to enter the convention in some sort of macho display. Seeing how many of us there were, the Brujah quickly turned to run, but it was over for them the moment they stepped across the doorway. We make sure to avoid that city now, as I’m sure word of Nagaraja has spread. No need to go looking for trouble.

The Followers of Set

Make no mistake… there is no Clan more an enemy to the Nagaraja than the Followers of Set. Regardless of whether a sire sticks around to teach that to their childer, it is a deep-rooted urge that each of us has to rid the world of any Setite. They are liars, cheats, and swindlers, and are extremely proud of it. A Nagaraja’s blood boils in their presence, though the truly gifted can hold themselves back from annihilating their enemy on sight. As the elders tell it, the entire purpose our bloodline was created was to rid the world (the current one or the afterlife, whichever you prefer) of these wretched creatures and everything they stand for.

Seems during the modern nights, the Followers of Set have burned almost as many bridges as we have. They’re allowed more freedom of movement, but a wise Kindred won’t believe a word they say, regardless of how well they sell their snake oil.

The True Black Hand

The silent conclaves are good for a number of things, but none more than the ability to speak with our elders who apparently still serve the True Black Hand. They say there is a way back to Enoch and some of them have left their depressing, solitary existence to go serve that great purpose I was speaking of before.

I know what you’re thinking… why am I here talking to you instead of following my betters into the void? That’s an easy

answer: I like freedom too much. Those who venture to Enoch don’t often come back, and when they do, they are never the same as they were before. I’m pretty sure they do an indoctrination of each Nagaraja as they enter Enoch to make them more complacent to the orders they receive. That is certainly not the kind of thing I’m looking for in my life. Here, I have all the blood and flesh I could hope for, as well as the constant thrill of the chase — even if sometimes I’m the prey.

Whenever we sire another Nagaraja, we give them the choice. It is said that the True Black Hand and our ancestors mixed in a homing sense with our curse. That means, any Nagaraja, even one who’s never visited Enoch, need only enter the land of the dead and walk for three days to find the ancient city. Any Nagaraja who keeps this fact from their childer is quickly tracked down and brought to Final Death.

You see, our kind was only released into the world to create more and send them home. Going against such an intrinsic mandate is paramount to treason, and few can be forgiven for such a deed. No Nagaraja is penalized if they choose not to return to Enoch, but robbing someone of their choice is downright evil.

Character and Traits

Concepts

Prince’s Pet

There’s nothing to look at in your dirty, desolate room except the scatterings of your last victim. The walls are of the strongest stone and you don’t need to breathe so there’s only the most stagnant of air. Every so often, though, the ceiling opens up and a man or woman the Prince and his brood need rid of is dropped down. Once there was even a child, and you held your hunger back as long as you could before making the most revolting of choices. In every way, the Prince looks at you as a convenient garbage disposal. He has lots of enemies and you have an insatiable yearning.

You were captured months or even years ago, and now your existence is lonely. Friendly ghosts of those you devoured have been helping you, however, to find ways out of your prison. Soon, they’ll be able to help you escape and out the Prince for harboring a Nagaraja. Taking the Prince’s reputation down a peg and getting out in one fail swoop would be a wonderful moment. You must plan.

Recruiter

You’re a people person. You can spot someone who would make a perfect Nagaraja, choose the best time to Embrace them, and then send them to Enoch for “processing” like no other. In fact, you’re one of the best. Sometimes all it requires is a cup of coffee and a passionate plea of what it means to be in control of the end of all existence. Others, you need to embrace first and then espouse the virtues of serving the True Black Hand.

Even to you, the True Black Hand is a mystery, but they told you to recruit others and you’ve seen their reach clearly enough that you know refusal is not an option. After you’ve recruited enough soldiers, they’ll even let you come to Enoch. They haven’t exactly given a quota, but you’ll know you’ve reached it when one of them comes for you and says it’s time to come home.

The Snitch

Surviving has a lot to do with the tools at one’s disposal. Nagaraja are supposed to meet Final Death on sight, killed for the monsters they are, but you’ve figured out a way to stay alive… information. Whether its data straight from the lips of victims hoping to distract you from your hunger or whispers from your ghostly servants who follow leads, you’re the one that other Kindred go to when they need to know what’s going on. Killing you would be like destroying a precious database with no backup.

You still don’t have the luxury of operating in the complete open. You have a little den in the seediest part of the town, far from the prying eyes of those who might not look kindly on a Nagaraja. When someone needs you, they know how to get ahold of you by leaving a message with the desk clerk of a nearby, by-the-hour motel. They know you’re the one in control; they come to you, you don’t go to them. Things stay copacetic that way.

Combo Disciplines

Soul Separation Effects