Breathing heavily, Merla returned her pistols to their holsters. She'd fought - and defeated - all of the foes that the wheel had thrown at her, with a combination of skill, expertise and, in her mind, mostly luck. However, her victory had not come without cost; a balverine had left a particularly deep and painful gash in her left arm, although she hadn't noticed it until after the fight. As she relaxed, the pain finally hit her, burning through her arm. Catching her left arm with her right hand, she squeezed tightly to try and wash away the pain; she focused her mind on Eddie and why she'd come here in the first place, telling herself that her injury was only minor compared to what he was going through.

Merla turned her head to look up at Reaver, who was observing her with a quizzical and impressed expression. It took only a few seconds for his eyes to light up and his smirk to reappear as he leant casually on his cane, as if he were simply standing outside enjoying the nice weather, and as if he hadn't just witnessed a 17-year-old girl fight her way through hordes and hordes of aggressive beasts.

"I'm going to be honest with you, I never thought you'd make it through the first round. But here you are! An impressive performance indeed." he said, leaning forward over the railing, "What did you say your name was again?"

"Merla." she huffed, moodily rolling her eyes at the way Reaver would so readily dispose of life, without caring for their name, purpose or background, all solely for his entertainment. Yet even as Merla despised the man for this, and his tyranny, she sensed that much of his behaviour was from loneliness; no one knew but he exactly where he had come from, or about his life before meeting the Hero of Bowerstone all those years ago. All those years, yet he was still as young and charismatic as ever; those he knew - or had known - however, were almost certainly on their death-beds, if not dead already. It must be lonely for him, she thought, seeing all his friends die around him, not aging with them or ever having anyone that he could truly spend his life with.

"Hmm…. Merla…" Reaver pondered, searching his memory banks. They must be very large memory banks, Merla thought, wondering if he remembered everything. As she watched quietly, a spasm of nostalgia - and more shockingly, what seemed to be sadness - crossed his face. Only for a short moment, though; he was back to his usual cool and collected demeanor in less than a second.

"Yes, Merla, it does ring a bell. Maybe that one night when… oh no, no, can't have been then, she was called Michelle, I think. Yes, Michelle. She was rather good," he smirked, "hmm. Not sure where I've heard Merla before, it is a rather unusual name,"

Despite the fact he was acting a talking in the same way as always, Merla sensed that something was amiss, and he wasn't being wholly truthful. She quickly washed the thought from her mind, nursing her left arm tenderly as she replied.

"Well, my mum always said it was my father's choice. Not that I ever knew him. Must've been a bit of a weirdo with a name taste like that." From what she'd pieced together - that itself being from vague hints her mother had let drop and the bare few things that she'd told Merla outright - that summary of her father, to her ears, sounded accurate enough. 'Weirdo'. Not the most polite word, but Merla had never really liked the thought of her father. He'd abandoned her and her mother shortly after she'd been born and, ever since, she'd assumed that he was a bad man.

"It suits you," he observed, smiling; this time, however, it seemed more of an affectionate smile and less of a smirk. Merla grunted.

"Anyway, I've finished, and you promised me money. I don't want to stay any longer than I have to; I've pressing matter to attend to." she replied bluntly, not wishing to discuss her heritage any further. Also, the thought of Eddie and the reason she was here had resurfaced in her mind.

"Well, well, you are demanding! I do suppose that you're right, though we've barely even spoken and you're my first champion - are you sure you want to leave so soon?" Reaver smiled charmingly, again leaning over the rail, "You know, my mansion is rather intriguing - I'm sure you'd enjoy a... tour,"

"Really? That's nice." Merla commented half-heartedly, forgetting who she was speaking too. Then again, Reaver did seem to be oddly lenient with her; the feisty and somewhat rude comments she made didn't seem to bother him. Still, she diced to try and redeem herself - Reaver was still a powerful and cruel man. "But I'm ever so sorry, I must decline." She said in the most upper-class, polite voice possible.

"Oh, well, that's a shame," Reaver said after chuckling at her forced accent, "I'll have someone meet you at the gates with the money. Champion gets the choice, I suppose," he sighed.

"Thank you," she smiled, curtseying for his amusement. What am I doing?!, she thought suddenly, realising that, much to her surprise, there was something in Reaver that she actually liked. No, it's just because he's giving you all that money, she told herself whilst turning to leave, a slight flush on her cheeks.

"Wait, before you leave, may I inquire as to what you plan to do with the money?" Reaver asked from his perch above the arena.

Barely even turning to face him, Merla stopped for only a second to voice her reply.

"No." She answered shortly. She knew that, even though Reaver had seemed to take a liking to her, there was no way he'd let her walk away with the money if he knew her intentions. Someone as close a friend with the King as he would lock her up before letting her do anything remotely close to what she planned with her money. When she'd decided to go to Reaver's mansion, she'd also decided not to tell anyone of her plans.

"Thank you for your hospitality,"

With that, she exited the arena.

"The Lord of the Mansion send you his regards, along with your prize money," Reaver's short butler bowed as he handed over the drawstring bag containing Merla's well-earned prize. He then escorted her out of the Mansion, despite the fact that she had said he could find her own way out. Leaving her at the gates, Merla waited as one of the guards unlocked the extravagant entrance to Reaver's grounds that she'd been studying before; it seemed like days ago, but she guessed she'd been in the Mansion for a few hours as the sun was beginning to set. She knew that the only reason it felt like an age was because Eddie needed help, and fast.

Turning her attention to her injured left arm, Merla cursed under her breath as she saw how much blood had stained her shirt; the red liquid had seeped menacingly out of her fresh wound, spreading its fingers in a broad splodge across her upper arm. As she tenderly grasped the wound with her fingers, turning it towards her so that she could inspect it, the sharp pain resurfaced, causing her to wince and take a sharp breath. I should probably leave that to a doctor, she decided, letting go of the wound and wiping her bloodied fingers on her trousers.

"Madame," the guard called, catching Merla's attention. He held the gate open for her and bowed his head as she walked through.

"Not some practical joke after all," she whispered, smirking. The guard looked up at her with a mix of fear, respect and awe. If the rumours he'd heard were true - even if only parts of them - then he was truly stunned she'd made it out alive; it was even more impressive that the only visible wound was a gash on her left forearm.

"Well.. erm… I'm sure you can see why I thought it might be," Embarrassed, the guard bowed his head again and began to close the gate behind her, hurrying back to his post once she had gone.

"Who d'ya think she is?" The guard asked his companion who had been standing watch.

"I dunno, but she sure as hell has gotta be dangerous to come out in one piece," he replied, his eyes following her outline that was fading into the distance, "and brave, to have the guts to sign up in the first place." he added, noting the way she walked; proud and powerful, with her slender shoulders held up straight, her back slightly curved.

The other guard nodded in agreement. Whoever she was, they were probably better off keeping their distance.

Unlike when she had first walked through Millfields, heading for Reaver's mansion, Merla now hurried along the path towards Bowerstone, not looking around even slightly to observe and admire the grand gardens and properties that surrounded her. A sense of foreboding was beginning to fill her, as if it were already too late; her pace quickened, the coins in the drawstring bag jostling against one another loudly. In the growing darkness, they sounded like an eerie phantom coming to haunt the living, his chains clinking loudly.

Or, the more imaginative may say that they sounded like death's rattling bones.

Reviews greatly appreciated!:3