Disclaimer: I do not own Guild Wars, I only own my characters…which can be taken away at any moment from higher ups o.o eep

She was a good solider. Ebony knew this, her colleagues knew this, the citizens of what used to be Ascalon knew this, and even the Charr she beat down upon with her hammer knew this.

Ebony Dove was a solider, a warrior, a tool, and she was the best. From the first day of the academy she was the brightest of all her peers, her sheer strength and speed unmatched. Of course she was not perfect, in the beginning. She had her own faults, which in time would be trained out of her. She had her quirks, which would be replaced with mottos what would be drilled into her head.

In the beginning she had emotion, a passion unmatched by any. If Ebony thought you where right she would fight anyone who opposed you until given solid textual evidence otherwise. If Ebony thought you where wrong she would beat you to within an inch of your life and then ask questions such as why you thought that way. She would beat you until you could barely think and then ask you, “What do you think now?” That was just the type of person she was.

Like every other child growing up she had her idol. In her case it was her cousin, Madilim Gabi, who turned out to be a necromancer. Back in her homeland of Cantha people of such…talents where ostracized, and because she was a child she pursued her idol with single-minded-determinedness that only an adolescent could have. Surely you remember those years too. Those times when if someone told you that the world would end within 24 hours you would believe them. When her idol was whisked away and would never to be seen again, for she had been killed. Ebony was crushed. Her dreams, her hopes, all of them had been placed in the cold hands of that one girl, who mind you wasn’t much older than Ebony. This may seem foolish to some of you, but a child does not see it that way, a child would see someone they find strong and aspires to be that way. Children do not see the faults and the stupidity of their choice. They only see perfection. In honor of her dead idol she gained her Warrior’s badge and then quickly gained her Necromancer’s bone, both she keeps tucked within her breastplate, just above her heart. A constant reminder of what happens if you aren’t a good soldier. The reason why Madilim died, or so she was told, was that she had not been a good soldier. She disobeyed her Mother by taking lessons in forbidden arts. One does not disobey their commanding officer, within house or work.

Like every other girl she had her dreams, dreams of romance and adventure and love. She dreamed of a brave Warrior coming to save her in times of distress, rugged Rangers whisking her away to secret gardens. Pomp Paragons leading her into sunny beaches, dashing Dervishes leading her to secret caves. Silent Assassins showing her views from the tops of buildings, solemn Ritualists dropping their masks for her and her alone, and even mild Monks coming to woo her. She had dreams of all this. These too where crushed. No one had saved Madilim, who would save her? A pale, skinny, tiny child who could not even compare to the overwhelmingly strong preteen like Madilim. Ebony knew she was not beautiful, her neck was long, her face too narrow, her crystal blue eyes too wide, her hair too dark and unruly, and her skin paper white. Growing up it got worse; she hit a growth spurt, and although her neck was now in proportions her limbs where too long. She was tall (6’4), she was skinny (150lb), and awkward. She knew she would not become the fair lady who would get rescued. She would become no witty Mesmer, flighty Elementalist, broody Necromancer, or even a patient Monk. It was she would save herself. Ebony would fight for herself, she would not be rescued, and she was alone. So it was she who bashed in the skulls of Charr everyday, a warrior with a large copper crusher in hand. It was Ebony who protected the Monks and the Elementalists and the Mesmers, it was she who covered the Rangers and Paragons. She was the Warrior; she was the Hero of the fairy tales. She was not the damsel in distress or the prince, but the soldier who died for the cause.

Like every other trainee she did her drills. She followed every drill instruction to the letter. If she was told to hunt down 15 Charr she would kill 15 Charr, never mind that there are six more in that War band, she had her orders, she was done, let someone else take care of the rest. If she were told to save a child from a river she would save the child, never mind that there where two more there, she was told to rescue one and only one. If she was told to do 30 laps around the ruins of Ascalon she would. Ignore the fact that gargoyles are chasing her, her legs are wounded from scarabs, a boulder was just blown up by lighting, and that a firestorm is coming this way, she was only on her 25th lap, she’d deal with the annoyances later. She was a good trainee; she did as she was told no questions asked, she executed the task quickly and proficiently.

She was a good soldier everyone knows that. She protected her teammates, followed orders, kept in top shape, never undermined authority, and never broke the rules. Ebony was indifferent towards everything. She had no passion, no goals, and no friends. She once had a squad, she was not leader, she did not lead, and she followed. A Mesmer was the leader, they where sent on a recon mission, and as the others where running back she stopped and fought off monsters. The Mesmer barked hasty orders for the rest to run and let her deal with it. She had barely managed to get back to Ascalon alive and collapsed at the gates. Later the squadron had come up to her apologizing. Ebony halted their apologies with, “do not apologize, any good soldier would have done the same in that situation.” Ebony does not realize that not everyone is a soldier.

There was another squadron, this one lasted longer than most, and she grew close to a ranger. She does not remember his name now, if you where to ask she would not even recall this happening. He was part of a resistance group, against Adleburn and for Rurik. She was for neither, she was a soldier, and she did not think or have opinions or morals, her thoughts, opinions and morals where up for her superiors to decide. Slowly all the habits that where trained out of her returned, and she began to feel emotion once again. One day the ranger had asked her to run away with him, they would cross over the Shiverpeaks and into Kryta, a land of freedom. She knew of Aldeburn’s hatred towards Kryta, she had turned him in. And once again all emotion and habits drained out of her. She was a good soldier.

I am a soldier.

She had thought as she and a group of soldiers captured him and the rest of the civilians who where going to leave that faithful night. She thought this mantra over and over in her head as she brought her crusher down upon his spine, his head, his arms, his neck, repeatedly until he was dead. She was a good soldier. A good soldier does not feel, does not think, and does not have opinions. She was a good soldier, she did not feel guild, she did not think that she was such a monster, and she did not hate herself. She was a good soldier, why was she feeling that way?

A week later her sister, Nocturnal Mercury, a Monk and Mesmer, had come down from her post in the Shiverpeaks, with her a letter. A letter from her lost idol.

Ebony, your assistance is needed, I do not know if you will get this, but if you do, I need you. I wish I could’ve been there for you before, I wish I could have been the idol you deserved, but I am not. I realize that I am human, and I need help, so, would you please help me? My dear cousin, my sweet cousin, Ebony, I hope you are unchanged, because I very much so need someone like you. -Madilim Gabi

When she read this Ebony could not help but laugh. It was too late, she had become a solider, a good soldier. Good soldiers aren’t sweet, good soldiers do not have idols, and good soldiers don’t cry over the loss of their lives. But there she was, holding the scroll, her blue eyes crying as onlookers gaped at this open display of emotion. The soldier cried, the soldier was crying. The soldier who in cold blood betrayed her own person was crying, what could have caused this?

Was she wrong? Perhaps. Was she wrong to allow herself to become the cold inhumane statue of a person? Was she wrong to loose hope in her dreams? Was she wrong in being a good soldier?

Yes. No. Maybe. Ebony stared at the paper. Perhaps it was not too late…to be the sweet hopeful girl once again. No it was too late, once someone has seen the horrors someone like her has seen, a good soldier has seen, they cannot return to their previous lives. Those 15 years of training all for naught. If she could not return to her old life, then perhaps…she could make a new one.

She was a good soldier; she knew that, they knew that, everyone knew that. But before being a good soldier, this she knows now as she steps onto the snow of the Shiverpeaks in her new silver Drake armor that hides her face from the world, the face that everyone has come to know as “the good soldier”, she is a woman, she is a girl, she is a cousin, and she is Ebony Dove. She was a good soldier; whatever she is now is up to her and her alone. Ebony has an opinion now, this she knows. She knows that she was wrong in being a good soldier; she should have been an average soldier, or not a soldier at all. As her ever-faithful crusher descends upon her foes Ebony thinks that she is a good Warrior. As she murmurs a prayer to Grenth she thinks that she is a good Necromancer. As she dives in front of her sister to take a shot to the belly she thinks that she is a good Sister. Ebony Dove is Ebony Dove, no more and no less. She has her opinions, she has her ideals, she has her morals because she is a good person. She was a good soldier, but now she is a good person.