Darker thoughts lingered on the edge of her mind. These she kept carefully under control. Azeron had asked to accompany her on this task. She had denied him. "You may speak with him when I am done," Meravyel had promised him instead. Azeron had assumed she meant in the same manner she'd been able to communicate with Emily Conner. It was not unknown to many in Tao that Meravyel communed with the spirits of the dead. In fact, she had the ability to trap some spirits. But that is not what Meravyel Anardai intended this night. If Lindel were going to live the rest of her life with scars and fear, so would Garreth.

Perched upon a low branch, Meravyel had a clear view of the gate, and each person that might pass out from it. Each traveler was disoriented for a moment as they passed these gates, and if Garreth was as dangerous as had been implied, she would need to take advantage of this. As if on cue, the portal shimmered, and a form on horseback came into view. The tingle of magic told her this was her target. Without a hesitation, she sprung from the tree, and toppled the mounted figure to the ground.

They tumbled through the dirt until they came to a pause, Meravyel rolling away and to her feet. The man - Garreth, she could see now - found his feet and drew his rapier to fend off whatever petty thief this might be trying to mug him at the moongate. Meravyel took quick measure of the man's blade and his stance. His sword was one of a gentleman. By the way he held it, she could see that he knew how to use it, at the least.

"You." His tone was accusatory, but she was almost certain she heard it tremble with fear. His eyes darted to either side, seeking an escape.

"Yes," was all she said before leaping forward again. As she moved, her scimitar came free of its sheath. The bone-blade glowed a ghastly shade in the slight illumination of the moongate, runes glinted like fresh liquid, their true color lost in the same wash of light.

Garreth stood in a defensive position as the elf approached. Her pale skin shone eerily in the light, perhaps more unsettling than her blade. "I have no quarrel with you!"

Meravyel was deaf to his words, completely ignoring him. Her body moved, each step part of dance she'd long ago ceased to focus upon. Her muscles remembered better than her mind, and she surrendered herself to the steps of both half learned bladesinger techniques, and drow fighting styles.

Garreth got the distinct impression of a snake, coiling to strike, as he watched the woman. He moved to flee toward the City of Yew, toward the protection of the guards. Meravyel exclaimed words of power, "Uus Corp!" Her free hand shot out in the direction he had bolted. Skeletal remains of a dozen forest creatures erupted from the ground and formed a twisted wreckage of bones. The construct made no move toward him when he backpedaled away.

"You have earned this Justice. Reap what you've sown." In an instant, she was upon him, her blade weaving in and out of his defenses. At first, he was able to parry her blows, if only barely. They came quicker. He dared for a lunge. Though he could have sworn he'd aimed perfectly, his strike missed by inches. A feral grin split Meravyel's face then, like a predator toying with its prey.

Again they made passes - Meravyel weaving her scimitar in an almost hypnotic pattern, Garreth parrying them each in turn. Then he saw it, an opening. Some magic about her armor had caused him to miss the few blows he was certain should have landed, but this time he would compensate. He adjusted his aim and lunged again.

Steel pierced leather, and then flesh. Meravyel cried out, then gritted her teeth. Garreth's victory was short-lived as she thrust her scimitar forward, into his gut. Cold crept into his veins, pulled at his body, sucking all of the warmth from him, and into that sinister bone-blade it seemed. Meravyel jerked the sword from him, and darkness consumed Garreth's mind as he felt the earth move up to catch him.

The man was not light by any means. At least he would not awaken and struggle, she reassured herself. The powder she'd used would keep him in a comatose state until she administered the antidote. It was one of the few 'gifts' she'd brought with her from her travels.

Meravyel struggled toward the Abbey doorway. Shouldering her way through the doors with a grimace, she called to the attending monks of the Abbey. "Please! Help!" She put as much distress into her voice as she could, and it was only a moment before acolyte and monk alike came to her aid.

"There... was an ambush at the gate. A necromancer. Red-haired woman..." Meravyel gave into the pain in her shoulder, letting it add to her lie. She was losing blood from her shoulder wound, but she'd used what healing was available to her to keep Garreth from dying.

A monk spoke in quiet tones to an acolyte, who ran out the door, no doubt to alert the guard. Let them go search. They would find the decaying remains of undead, and little else.

The monks assisted Meravyel with her burden. In no time, Garreth was properly bandaged and lying in the bed she'd rented. He was in no danger of dying, the monks assured her. Making arrangements for a cart, she convinced the healers to allow her to take the wounded man - her cousin, by marriage - to her people for care. By the time the sun rose that morning, Meravyel was on her way back toward the village of Tel'Ruid.

She left her name with the monks, should the guards wish to find and question her later. She did not leave Garreth's name, but the name of her one human uncle, long since dead. Reaching the crypts, she carefully pulled the cart inside, obscuring it, making it seem part of the broken remains. With Garreth over her shoulders, she went deep into the recesses of the tomb, where she knew she would not be disturbed. Where she could 'tend' to Garreth until it was time to fulfill her promise to Azeron...