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David

Ashalyn, wearing a wife beater and jeans, makes his way down to the campsite from the Lodge.

He carries with him all the tools of his trade: tattooing. Needles, ink, cloth, and fiery heart provide him with all he needs, and the intent to help others remember as he often chooses to.

He finds the old cabin where the Fianna stayed before the Lodge was built, and he steps to the entry way. He looks around at all the Garou assembled or milling about.

"Fer d'ose of yeh 'ere now...it was but only a handful o' days ago dat we fought fer, an' defended d'is Caern. Several fought. Several died. Yet we must remember d'ose d'at mean deh most teh us. D'ose dat are dear an' we honor fer'ver more."

He pauses for a moment as he looks at each face who has given him an audience, "Come now, d'ose willing, an' let deh ink an' blood shed today make sigil an' remembrance fer you. I offer yeh deh best o' me talents, far better even den me drinkin', scrappin', fookin', er shite talkin'. Come get yer ink, me friends."

He then sits and pulls up a chair next to him, ready for those willing to take his offer. Ready, as the Father steps into the confessional booth to hear the lamentations of his flock and to offer them release. In art and blood on flesh mortal and eternal.

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