One down...

Courtesy of Charlie Ball. Meet Nogg!

The lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the courtyard before returning it to the feeble light of the torches sputtering in the rain.

Brother Sorren, an old monk of the Brotherhood of the Shining Light, knelt over the motionless form of a large and well-muscled man. The monk carefully examined the man, paying much attention to a horrendous head wound. After a moment, he stood up and spoke to the captain, frowning.

“I fear it is... too late. The wound is the most severe I have ever seen. That he made it even this far...”

The captain growled and the monk took an involuntary step back.

“We did not haul him all the way here for a funeral, monk. Your order is supposed to have the best healers in the land...”

“I understand your grief, Captain... but sometimes the Gods-”

“That man has saved the lives of every one of us more times than you have prayer beads, monk. It is NOT the will of the Gods that he should have sustained such a wound, nor is it the will of the Gods that brought him here! And I promise you it is not the will of the Gods that keeps me from burying an axe in your hide, Sorren. If it is beyond your skill to aid him, then bring someone here who can!”

The monk paled, noting the faces of the gathered soldiers. The rain seemed to punctuate the silence. He glanced once more in the direction of the dying man, then nodded. Speaking to an acolyte, he said in a quiet voice, “go awaken Brother Anselm.”

The Acolyte seemed about to speak, but thought the better of it and ran in to the monastery, not bothering to avoid the puddles.

“Begging your pardon, Captain,” said one of the soldiers, “but Lord Peiwitt is certain to have sent men after us by now... time is something we have little of. Can we not--?”

“Then the time we do have, we will use here. You know I did not exaggerate with Sorren. We owe him,” he replied firmly, though without anger, as he nodded toward the dying man. “We will do what can be done here, as well as it can be done... then we'll go.”

The Acolyte returned a few minutes later with another monk in tow. If the first monk was old, Brother Anselm was positively ancient. He glanced first at Brother Sorren, then at the Captain, then finally at the man lying on the ground.

Without speaking, he moved with a quickness that would have been remarkable in a much younger man. He began chanting, softly, in a tongue that seemed at once both familiar and alien. A glow seemed to envelop Brother Anselm as he reached forward to touch the dying man on the head.

The glow grew brighter, until even the flashes of lightning went unnoticed.

Finally the glow subsided and the ancient healer slumped, leaning on the shoulder of the acolyte.

“It is done,” he said quietly. “But there he will not be the same. Carry him inside where it is dry... he needs rest. You may speak to him when he awakes.”
With that, Brother Sorren and the anonymous acolyte helped the healer back inside. At his direction, four of the soldiers lifted the unconscious man and carried him inside.

They laid him down on a small bed which creaked mightily in protest at the added weight.

The monks brought them a simple meal which they ate in silence. The Captain bid his men get what rest they could and went to sit beside his fallen comrade.

In the dim light, he noticed that the head wound had indeed healed, but there was now a vicious scar--a permanent reminder of both the battle and Peiwitt's treachery.

After a while, just before the sunrise, the rain stopped and the enormous man stirred. The Captain looked into the man's face as he regained consciousness.

“You've finally taken a shot to that noggin of yours that you couldn't shrug off,” he said with with some relief. “But thanks to the monks here, you'll be up and around in no time.”

The man opened his eyes and the Captain's slightly crooked grin ran away from his lips.

Where once there was the light of a playful intelligence, there now resided nothing... or damned close to it. There was no quick retort... no expression of recognition... no realization of where they were nor what had happened.

The man on the bed raised a large, grimy hand to touch the medallion that hung around the Captain's neck. The first rays of the sun reflected off of it and he smiled slightly. Then he spoke a single, slightly slurred word.

“Pretty.”

His life had been saved, but his mind was gone.

The soldiers departed at first light. The Captain thanked the monks for their effort, though his heart clearly was not in it. He bade the monks watch over the fallen man until they could return to take him home.

Nogg

Male Human Fighter 1
NG Medium Humanoid
Init +0

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DEFENSE
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AC 14, Touch 12, Flat-footed 14
HP 12
Fort +4, Ref +0, Will +1;

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OFFENSE
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Speed 20 ft.
Melee: Greatclub (1d8/1d10)
Ranged: Rock (1d3)
Special Attacks: none

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STATISTICS
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Str 20, Dex 10, Con 14, Int 7, Wis 12, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB 6; CMD 16
Feats Endurance, Diehard, Weapon Focus: Greatclub
Skills: Survival +1
Languages Common
Gear: Chain shirt (slightly rusty), Greatclub, Backpack, Traveler’s Outfit

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HISTORY
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Nogg was once part of a mercenary company. The company he belonged to had been contracted by a local lord to help in some border skirmishes. During one of those skirmishes, the mercenaries were betrayed by the noble who'd hired them.

In a desperate attempt to escape, Nogg managed to put his prodigious strength to good use and he pushed part of a fortified wall down on the advancing enemy. In the process of making their escape, he was struck by a stray bolder that had been launched by a siege engine.

He was taken to a nearby monastery for healing. While his flesh was healed, his mind was diminished. The monks explained that the Gods must surely have had their reasons for not completely healing him, but they were not inclined to share those reasons.

Not being able to look after him (for they were still being pursued by their betrayer), the left Nogg in the care of the monks. Alas, they failed to inform the monks of his real name, so he goes simply by the name of Nogg.

In return for his room and board, he works for the monks, performing those tasks that the monks have the patience to teach him.

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PERSONALITY
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Nogg is simple minded, and his actions and speech reflect it. Even so, he does, on rare occasions, seem to remember bits of his former life. He is generally kind, even tempered and gentle but is still capable of anger and violence, particularly in defense of his friends.