I dream of a man who had no hands
But a tongue that cut like a knife
As I stare into the darkening night
I wonder where he went
Stepping from shadow to shadow
As solid as the mist
As tangible as thoughts
And as fleeting as memories
I dream of a man who hands told the lies
Sweet silver claws and arms
While his tongue held no secrets
Telling always telling the most bitter truths

======
Ashley is an honorary Scotsman--he broods. Snap out of it.

You know what was the first clue that my Ashley-muse was no longer the VS-canon-fanon Ashley? The sense of humor--or at least the facsimile thereof.

I do not need you telling me you want to meet Captain Jack Sparrow. Sure, you're telling me you just want to take Will Turner on as an apprentice in advance blacksmithing, says he has the talent. Right...

She's still snickering at me. Right, fine then, you can be a pirate... oh, right, not really a pirate. A privateer. Actually, hmm... that works. Sixth or seventh lifetime... pre-American Revolution... well, barely... running the embargoes...

However, I'm still laying down the law, Ashley. You are not dressing up as Captain Sparrow! No matter how good you would look that way. It's just wrong. So very very nice, but still very very wrong.

A reply from Ashley to an entry in Sydney's Book of Shadows by darthneko. This is a repost, the original is located in the comments.

Renegade. Recusant. A true maverick, for as you say, cultist, it shall always be me alone. And though I trust the weapons I build in steel and spell, I will never be able to say the same of the weapons I make of men. We both saw the lure the Dark brings to others, we saw the destruction it created in a group that should have trusted each other. Crimson Blades they were called, but the only crimson now is the blood that lay on my blades.

Vagrant. Turncoat. A thousand and one titles that all amount to one thing: they want my power under their control. I can control myself; I trust myself as I trust my blades, for as I shape my weapons, so too have I watched how you try to shape me. But I was a blade long before you found me, cultist, and you cannot temper me away from my purpose. My purpose seems to have been forgotten by you; Mullenkamp paved the way into the Dark, creating the balance we know. You hold the knowledge she had and create anew in the Dark. I am the one who will protect what is. No more and no less.

Apostate. For as you said, cultist, I shall stand alone in the churches, and never comprehend their words. For I deal not with empty words, but with the actions that are taken.