Now I can't take credit for the next story as my brother is the one with the writers gene.
This is a short story he wrote when he was working for Wizards of the West Coast. It wasn't published in Dragon, but I understand it got close.
Its not BoB, but may tide JR2 over until Z2 gets back.
----------------------- The Price of Honor.
The young elf leaned heavily against the trunk of a cypress and struggled for breath against the throbbing pain in his ribs. The crisp morning air bit into his lungs as a deep cold settled into his body. The battle had exhausted his muscles and drew a layer of perspiration into clothes. He drew the mud splattered cloak tighter around his curled up legs. It was forest green and patterned like the grass. His thin, blond hair laid tangled with dirt and moss as his forehead soaked up the cool moisture from the tree bark. The spear he clutched in his left hand now served more as a crutch. Slowly he forced himself to take a long sigh. Maybe that would stop his heart from pounding so much.
Anwynn had collapsed earlier in the fight after the beast whipped its mace-like tail into his chest. He had dragged himself along the ground, unable to breathe until he found solace at the base of the tree. He fought to rouse himself to lend his aid to the others in the group, but by the time he turned back around the beast had crawled back down its subterranean lair. Warrior Thaldune instantly shouted orders to the surprised elven war group, organizing them into a hasty perimeter as to not get caught unprepared again.
He walked by Anwynn and quietly asked, “Will you be alright?” Anwynn nodded wordlessly at the Warrior. For a brief moment the hard edge stare in Thaldune’s emerald green eyes softened, yielding sympathy, or sadness perhaps. The young elf remembered such a look from days past, when he was granted training as a Hunter and watched the Warriors of the community returned from battle. Scarred, bandaged in blood, with each having that look of despair and fatigue. Thaldune left quietly to check on the others, and Anwynn’s eyes glanced over to his friend Ritic. Anwynn guessed the look of surprise and terror on his friend’s face only mirrored his own.
Ritic’s shoulders slumped low with his back against a large, rain soaked boulder, his hands feebly wrapped around his spear. Water ran off the brim of his hood, making his dark hair cling to his pale, elven skin like leeches. Very few elves had dark hair. Ritic was always special that way. He looked back at his friend and smiled slightly. “They couldn’t have picked a dryer day?”
Anwynn smiled briefly despite his fears, grateful for someone breaking the tension. The sky overhead held grey, overcast clouds, completing what turned out to be quite a miserable day. The young elf shook his head slightly at nothing in particular, and breathed in a sigh of the mountain air which now felt so good. The day didn’t start out like this. Nothing was supposed to be like this. When the two Hunters woke this morning their minds held only thoughts of heroism and glory. Never in the long history of the community had Hunters been chosen to fight along side the Warriors, but a shortage of Warriors, drawn away for a distant war that barely involved the elves, left a need for the Elders to select two from all the Hunters in training.
All night the two elven youths talked and dreamt of their impending glory. Warrior Anwynn has a beautiful sound to it, he thought. From this day on both Ritic and he would never be thought of again as young Hunters. Sure they would have to finish their training, but Warrior Thaldune said it would be accelerated. Both would graduate to become Warriors before the rest of the Hunters their age. They would be seen with respect, with dignity. But most importantly, they would be allowed into the House of Fallen Lords, the most coveted of places by young Hunters.
For years Ritic and Anwynn tried to catch a glimpse inside the mysterious building on the edge of their community. Red curtained windows were always lit with a backdrop of constant orange glow, and only Warriors were seen passing through its doorway. None in town spoke of it, and the Hunters knew better than to ask. It was a secret society for Warriors alone, and soon they would be associated.
