Buram closed his eyes. He tightly gripped the steel sword that he held before him, afraid that his sweat would cause him to lose grip of the blade. He could not make any mistakes now. He would die if he did. His young, toned body was poised, ready to attack or defend, if neccessary. His long, braided, black hair fell over his eyes. Sweat dripped from his every pore. His opponent, a young man by the name of Micelles. He was larger than Buram, and had more experince. Micelles was a true warrior. They both stared each other down, each one ready to deal the death blow. Micelle had a large gash on his shoulder, a blow that Buram had dealt him-which was bleeding heavily, blood cascading down to his torso.
The beat of the drum begain.
The two men came at each other with ferocious speed, and erupted into a frenzy of blood and sparks as their blades met and as steel met skin. Buram was weaker, but faster than Micelle, his nible body able to escape most of Micelles' blows. Micelles struck downward, hoping to deal a death blow to Buram's head. He saw the attack coming, and jumped backward, Micelles blade hitting the stone floor. Buram then lunged forward, his blade pointed at Micelles neck. Micelle let go of his blade, and swiftly moved his body to the side slightly, so that Buram ended up running past him. He then called the blade to his outstretched hand.
It was time to end this.
He focused all his willpower into the blade, all his anger, his fury, his power. As he did this, a dark mist begain to ebb around the egde of the blade. Buram sighed.
Warren powers. Buram had known Micelle was a Warren, but he challenged him anyway. Was it wrong to challenge this skilled warrior?
Micelles sword suddenly erupted into flame, and with an air of impetiousness, he charged.
Buram was suprised by the speed at which Micelles approached him. He then realized that the speed was also a part of Micelles Warren powers. Buram held out his sword, standing his ground. This was his last chance. Micelles charge, while powerful, was foolhardy. He ran at Buram, his flaming blade held up above his head. Buram stood, his sword pointed at Micelles.
Micelles did not realize the error of his charge before it was too late. He had ran himself right through Buram's blade. Buram pulled his sword out of Micelles chest, and sung the sword in an complete arc-beheading Miccelle before his body had even hit the ground. Micelles still bore the smile of the victor as his head landed a few feet away from his body.
Buram looked up. His audenice, the various nobles, merchants, and diplomats of Magez, and even more important, the twelve sword bearers. He spoke, his soft voice echoing across the room.
"I have proven my worth. Lady Marieose now belongs to me, she has no other suitor," He declared. His voice was delicate, but not weak. There was an unseen strength embedded in every word he spoke. Sword-Bearer Dastian, rose, his red robes overflowing about him.
"The child has won Lady Marieose's hand in marriage! he is the victcor!" Dastian's voice boomed. Slowly, clapping spread about the room. He had won. Buram walked to where Micelles body was lying. He ripped Micelles sword from his cold grasp. The sword was of fine design, a silver notched blade, slightly curved, with a gold hilt. It was heavy in Burams arms, but he held the sword high.
"For the one god Onum!" He cried, and pointed the sword to the sky. The audience cheered,
and Buram smiled. Though he noticed one of the Sword-Bearers exuse himself. He recongnized him-Sword Bearer Juiles. Micelles father.
are your mistakes and what I place in green 
are just other random words 
