Uriel did little these days, now that a tense truce had arisen between the creature who had murdered over two hundred Myrken citizens and the lands interim government. Living off in the countryside in a small and rundown smithy, he could do little but watch, wait, and serve. Always he had been the Ashfiend's eyes and ears. Now he would deliver his words as well.
A message left for Ariane left with the bartender written in a hand given to formal and outdated flowing of some script used for another language - but adopted for the current parlance.
Ariane,
Many intruders forbade going into greater detail last evening. We both know what the urn contains. Know also that I gave it to you because your nature is not to manipulate, because of our common enemy, and because I will not see her in his hands.
The urn is unremarkable save for one thing - that it and I share a bond. Should the urn or its contents be in need of protection you need merely speak my name and, should your shadow prove long enough, I will manifest. You are the urn's temporary custodian. Therefore my aegis shall, for this brief time, encompass your safety as well.
At the bottom, where one might normally sign such a letter, there were a few faint droplets of ink and little else. A blank space for one unsure how to commit himself to paper. Yet, given the message's content, there could be little doubt as to the author.