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Scarker stands up and goes through the motions of looking over his new challenger with his blind eyes.

"Alright, then you get a couple of choices, sir. First, if you don't want me usin' magic, say so now. Second, which weapons do you wanna fight against, the staff, one blade, or two? Third, what's your wager? Two gets you five, max bid of 20 copper. Last, you get to choose the win conditions, K/O, submision, first blood, whatever you want. I only have one stipultion: No guns. There are a lot of people around here, and it'd be a shame if you missed and accidentally killed one of these innocent bystanders."

He walks over to the table, handing a copper to each of the kids - who smile widely and give him a thumbs up before going back to their guard duty - and runs a hand over each of his weapons.

"Name your terms and ready yourself. By the way, my name's Scarker, can I have the honor of knowing yours?"

His tone on the word 'honor' implies that it really isn't an honor, and he's just trying to make his last fight of the day more interesting.

(No worries)

"Not a paying contestant? Well, I'll have to apologize to Mr. Riley when I see him. Still, there's time for one more fight before the sun goes down, so if you insist, let's get your beating over with as quickly as possible. Feel free to cede defeat if you have to, I wont think any less of you or your little stick."

There's a clear ringing as Scarker's blades are dragged across the table. It may be then that the thug gets his first idea about them. There's nothing fancy, other than the well maintained black paint which does nothing but magnify the sharp, unpainted steel edges of the blades. Likewise, they could hardly be called elegant, except for the simplistic curve of their cutting edge. The grips didn't even look comfortable in the mage's hands, but the deadly simplistic purpose of those steel slabs was mimicked clearly by the man's loose stance. Of course, this may be John Dunn's only good look at them from a distance.

Scarker explodes into motion, rushing forward at the man with his blades in front of him, laying on top of one another. He tilts them as he rapidly approaches, sliding them apart to perform a scissor slash from John's left hip to his right shoulder.

Admittedly, it wasn't the most fatal strike Scarker had ever tried to do. Granted, the keen edges of the blades would certainly spill a lot of blood if they connected, but he wasn't leaning in to the strike enough for the blades to do serious damage, and it's a rather easy matter to stop such a slash, as there would be a prefect place to put the club when the blades slid apart to an angle and started pulling away. In fact, he looked almost bored as he lunged.

(( If you wanna try to schedule something, send me a PM. Other than that, just expect that I can post once a day, and will. If that means it's only a turn a week, so be it. I've unfortunately experienced slower, and have enough patience. ))

While certainly, the loss of his two-weapon advantage was annoying, but that had never been his true advantage in the first place. The true advantage was having a self-designed weapon that could mold to situations as fast as you can.

Scarker quickly reversed his grip on the weapon in his right hand, and adjusting his stance so that his back was facing John. He swung the blade around, edge down, to stab behind him. His accuracy would be uncanny, although seeing as his mage sight didn't blind spots, it was only to be expected. This time, there's a lot more force behind the blow, even though it's aimed toward a non-lethal spot on his opponent's right side.

He didn't bother trying to move his left blade, knowing that his strength was less than phenomenal and the act would only distract him from his stab. So his left arm stays right where it is.

Scarker's elbow did kick out, making his opponent feint back to the right, but his elbow didn't stop. He continued into a counter-clockwise spin to face his opponent, dropping as he spun to give him more time before the club came down. His left blade was brought above his head to parry the club, while his right blade was brought around to show off the last special function of the blade.

Rather than try to slash or stab while the sword was backward, and thus awkward for those functions, he punched. There was almost no force on the edge that was directly in front of his knuckles, and if John didn't back off, then the blade would only press in on his stomach, threatening a little, slicing some of his shirt at the most. If he did back away, the edge wouldn't follow, and he would hold his stance, almost tauntingly.

(( Stop apologizing. I told you, I can wait for a long time. Besides, the quality is well worth it, been a long time since I got the chance to think this much about a fight. ))

Scarker takes the foot straight to his chin, being neither exceptionally large, nor particularly buff. He's sent back on his heels, being held up by the sword that's thoroughly entrenched in John's bat and the surprisingly resilient tip of the sword in his right hand ripping through the pavement beside him. His jaw works its way back into place as he stops to catch his breath, realizing that he'll need a little help. He starts charging energy for a spell and strikes up a conversation to stall for the last second he needs.

"Seems I get my interesting fight. Sorry for underestimating you, someone stupid enough to fight someone carrying two unknown weapons while only using a baseball bat... I shoulda guessed you had somethin' going for you. But you know, I got something goin' for me too."

His head was down as he yanks his right blade out of the ground, reversing his grip on it yet again, but he doesn't make any other visible move. Although, if the guy was paying attention, he may notice a very slight breeze going in the direction that Scarker's in. In fact, everyone in the square would be able to notice a slight breeze going towards Scarker, regardless of what direction from him they're in.

"Mystical? Secrets of the universe? I don't think so."

Scarker reached out with the energy and grabbed hold of the bat, right above and below the grip. He forces the energy to move in separate directions, attempting to split the business end of the bat off. Since he's using enough energy to lift him and throw himself around at good speed, unless there's something special about the bat, it wont last.

"I just don't like loosing. I also don't think that two beers is going to be enough of a painkiller if you keep going on. You have two choices. One, you can keep trying to attack me and I'll slice ribbons of flesh from your unarmed a** until you get the idea that you've lost. Two, you can cede defeat now and escort me to this Mr. Riley, where I give you enough money to buy a new bat and get yourself hammered at the shady establishment of your choice."

The mage stands, looking straight into John's eyes with his own blind ones, although now they're gaining a tint of gold. He raises the sword in his right hand onto his shoulder and the sword in his left hand is lowered in front of his legs.

"It's your call."

Scarker straps the blades to his back and reaches out his left hand to the table. With the last of his gathered energy, he causes his staff to fly to it, then twirls it impressively around himself before thudding the end into the pavement with it in his right hand.

"I'll come quietly, I was pretty certain that I just made that clear. Just keep on believing that you're better than me, maybe it'll help us get along."

His eyes start fading back to silver as he puts on a pair of sunglasses. With the fading light of sunset, he's almost looking like a normal human. All that would really set him apart from the people around him would be his undamaged, well tailored clothing. Seriously, even his leather trenchcoat looks like it's never even heard of dirt, and what little is visible of its silk lining is flawlessly groomed. He massages a kink out of his right shoulder before going.

"Too much fighting today anyway. You'd think after the first dozen I would have gotten a more skilled turnout, but nope, it took fifty people for someone like you to show up, maybe I'll have better luck tomorrow. Anyway, lead on, Johnny-boy."

Scarker's face remains emotionless, no friendly smile or vindictive grin, not even a dissatisfied scowl as he talks. It's almost like whatever tone his speech had was completely by habit, or what people expected to hear, and he was just going through the motions. He'll follow the goon and his lackies as soon as they start off in any direction. He doesn't care whether he's in front of the lackies or behind them, really. He's not going to take his attention off of them one way or another.