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Spera immediatly drops her staff and grabs his ankle, she jumps backwards, avoiding the blow and using his unstable posture reaches with her left arm at his knee and swings him away from her, swining her upper body back from the throw to grab her staff by the end, doing a colorguard golf swing to get it into her right hand.

((Golf swings involve swinging a staf in front of you, then having it double back behind you as you grip it with the other hand and then it swings back in front of you again pretty quickly))

((OOC: Just because I'm rather annoyed by it... please capitalize your "I"s, spell out the word "you", and abide by all other rules of grammar))

A bit interestedly, Mekryd leans on his staff and sheathes the bokuken as he watches the newcomers take swings at each other, glancing over at his challenger occasionally.

Spera blushed at the praise. I woudln't call myself formidable. I just am very intuned with the wind's swiftness.

"And I don't mind fighing a sharpened weapon while I use my staff. I am not afraid."

((Good timing for the match ending though. I had just gone to class myself.))

A small chuckle escapes from his lips as he unsheathes his bokuken. "I suppose it will be even harder to find out where you live, hrm?"

Mekryd tosses a rock high into the air. "Ready... set..." The rock clinks as it hits the ground.

Mekryd launches himself forward at Laiyre.

"...Not good," Mekryd breathes as he sees the sharp weapon flash upwards.

He stops quickly, and whirls around suddenly, using the full radius of his staff in an attempt to sweep his unnamed opponent out of range. She would either dodge and be out of her range of attack... or take the hit and proceed to swing. He would have to make a decision on what to do after that.

In instinct, Mekryd bent backwards, and moved his bokuken to block.

Once again, the words "Not good" escape from Mekryd's mouth as the tip of the wooden sword is taken off. Tightly squeezing the sword, he makes the tip grow back once more, and proceeds to do the most sensible thing. Run away.

After sheathing his sword, he digs into his pocket and draws an acorn from within. One cool looking deft motion later, and a tree quickly sprouted underneath him, putting him out of reach of most melee weapons.

Now the thing he had to worry about for the time being is being thrown bodily from the tree by the winds. Though obviously, he could not win this match from the top of a tree.

"Hrm!" says Mekryd. "Wasn't doubting that, but..."

As the tree sways to one side, Mekryd leans over and grabes a pinecone, before clasping the trunk of his tree tightly, causing the tree to shoot up.

"Yah!" Mekryd yells as he leaps down from the tree, the branches magically moving as to not hit him. As he comes within a few feet of the unnamed woman, he throws the pinecone, and grabs onto a branch, whirling himself back onto it. The pinecone, while seemingly ineffective as a weapon, suddenly bursts into a messy net of pine needles.

"...I need to work on that..." says Mekryd as he nurses a sore arm, and watches the lackluster net.

Well, the staff is hardly my favorite weapon. In the most ideal circumstances I weild a sword in my right arm and an axe in my left. My next favorite weapon is the glaive polearm, then staff.

I must admit that I am not indersted in battling magically, I ave learned that when using magic people have a tendency to become power-hungry, caring more for their own appearence than a reasonable fight. My adaption to the winds swiftness isn't something I conciously control.