I tried, enjoy. Please say what ever you want, even if its harsh, it may help me improve.
When I was young my parents gave me a birth name 'Sulit' a name that means 'killing ones home' in my country, and in my plane. I was named after my father's 'speech name' or colate, the first word he spoke clearly. My own colate being 'Makin', a word meaning 'to eat hearts', a violent name, and a name considered proper in my family. My world is a violent and blood thirsty place, the only honor a family could have is in battle, any boy or girl is expected to have killed by ten, an adult is expected to have at least killed one person for every year they have been alive.
You confused me with the name 
I need a little explanation.
I hate my plane for this and regret that I was eager as any other child of my plane for thinking this kind of life was right. As a child I could not wait for nothing more than my tenth birthday when I would get my license to kill, and finally be allowed to kill the original tribe leader of my band. Shortly after I had taken over he had threatened me, and took half my bands with him, he seemed perfect for my first kill earning back my band and the followers he had been gaining since then. I think I used a photo I had stolen from his house for training, taping the image of his face to a metal dummy, coating the metal frame in dents and almost breaking my sword twice on it.
You haven't explained how a ten year old boy has his band (I can't imagine that)
Then there was my mother, a cool and blood thirsty killer, at the time I considered this proper, and perhaps a personality I wish I had. "Makin." My mother said, dressed in decorated iron, "You must clean your armor daily if you
wish it not to rust." I don't even think she ever cared to clean the blood off it that day.
I think it should be like this: if you don't want it to rust (that sounds better for me) - this is only a proposal.
"Yes, mother, the dirt will be cleaned later, I wish to train more." I said, waving a small hand-in-a-half blade at her, the sword coated in cracks.
"My son has already bested Navric." My mother said, naming my rival. His colate name meaning 'to lay still.' "Why must my son fight him again? It would be a dishonor to have your first kill be a boy you already beat." Such heartless words, she was even friends with the mother of Navric, but at our age, it is expected that at least half of us would die. The worst thing a mother and father could have is a weak child.
"After losing his tribe he quickly
collected another, with his head my honor would rise because of his
rise, the power of my tribe would double, mother." I said imagining the swarm of followers that would be in my tribe,
the death of Navric only a minor thought in my bloody joy.
1-you should put formed 2-you should chose another word 3-you are using many definite articles in this case you should write: "Navric's death was".
"Makin, my son, you may be thinking to highly of numbers. Your almost too old to be in a tribe. You should look for a prey that is higher, an enemy worthy of your first kill." My mother was perhaps kind now that I think about it. Her words did not reach me at the time though, and I was as I said a barbaric child. I had waited for this birthday for
three years, since I started to realize that killing ended fights faster than letting them live.
you should put "long" between those two some adjectives would not hurt.
"Shall I hunt for an adult?" I asked, almost laughing. "I would be honored throughout the town for that mother."
"I am afraid you may not be ready for that my Makin." My mother rested her iron gauntlet on my head, a proper show of affection for a child, and pushed me on the ground. "If you can't even take on a monster on your own, I fear for your attempt at a proper adult who has killed hundreds of them."
"I am strong mother." I said slashing my sword to hold off her hand, my sword
todull and brittle
to even knock the dried blood off her armored hand.
1-so 2-that it could not another proposition
"You will need a proper sword before you face anything." She said holding onto the blade that I had waved at her. My sword was a 'holisk' a “left over” that had become too weak from too many kills. It was a gift from my father to help me train.
"I would like more than one." I said, throwing the sword to the side after she let go, the sword almost breaking as it bounced off a wall. Just like people the gifts given were rarely treated well unless they were strong.
"Numbers my son, are not what matters when a choice is made." She said.
"I have an idea mother."
I said ignoring what she said once again. "I will fight a monster."
Ignoring her words
"I...my son..."
My mother was unsure how to reply, maybe she did not have confidence in it, that was probably well placed. "It is...truly a high honor for your first kill to be a monster." My mother a powerful woman, she actually captured a monster for my first kill not a day after, a Baci. I think the plane of Cycles calls it an Ogre. A strong but stupid monster that can easily be tricked by the smell of a child's blood into the most basic traps. The monster was twelve feet tall, with a rotten tree for a club that is carried around like a baby when not fighting. I still remember the smell of rotten flesh and urine on the monster, I am not sure if it swam in it, or its bladder was full of holes.
It was almost funny when I think about it, how I thought I was capable enough to take on an Ogre. I even requested that specific type of monster, choosing something large and powerful, more interested in how much honor I would win, then my actual chances of living through the fight. If I had to pick a more powerful monster I would only be able to think of two others, and not even I was stupid enough to pick either of them. Yet this monster was perhaps harder to hate when you looked at him. He was almost pitiful, his skin looked like it might fall off even. Each twitch in its cage made me think the creature was shaking.
she; you are using too much personal pronouns
I remember spending at least 2 hours before I went to sleep each night
starting at the monster behind the bars, its colorfully mushy skin looked like it was going to slid off at every twitch. "So are you prepared to fight me?" I commonly said to it when the day I was to fight it to the death was getting closer. Sometimes I would almost whisper "I'm not." But I was a barbaric boy, I wanted to kill. But every time I saw the monster, as I visited his cage I wondered if murdering the creature would really be fun like my father had been telling me. As I said the Baci from head to toe was a massive pile of rot. His flesh looked like it was about to peel off by how much it bounced about. His club was almost as bad, and his eyes, his eyes were almost gone. They were nothing more than blackened orbs with small bits of twig sticking out of them as if he had head butted a few trees. It’s a ugly monster that I almost feared and almost felt sorry for.
staring; always read few times your chapter for errors
As for the test itself when the day had finally come "Mother, I am fine." I said annoyed as she adjusted my helmet, the sound of loud screeching coming from the chainmail hood I was wearing under it.
"Makin my son, I have confidence that you will get your license, yet I am just thinking about your challenge after." My mother said. She, I am guessing had doubted I would live from the start against the Ogre. Yet to ever announce it clearly would sound like disowning in my plane, it felt horrible to me at the time when she had come so close to saying she doubted.
"I will kill the monster and bring honor to myself and family." I said raising my hands, a hand-and-a-half sword in both. The fresh steel looked almost hungry for blood. By the customs of my plane, laws were rare, and if they did exist they existed for more than just the land someone was in. The law of the 'license to kill' has existed for a long time, some say it was inspired when our race of humans were close to extinction from sending four year olds off to war. As I said, my planes people are barbarians, so hungry with war and honor that my ancestors actually killed the man who thought up guns simply because it would mean shorter and less bloody fights. I sometimes fear what would have happened if they would have accepted the idea of bombs.
The license is earned through a fight against an instructor to prove your able to fight competently and live. A 'Gizen' or 'death healer', a warrior who developed means of healing bodies that are 'beyond death' as legend says, they can even bring themselves back if legend is true. The Gizen I was to face was almost in his sixties, an oddity in my plane, and to meet a warrior that has lived so long is considered a high honor. His left eye was missing and the flesh on his exposed arms seemed almost as loose as the Ogre's might have been, I think during his lecture I spend more time staring at the waving flesh of his arm as he pointed and waved his hands at me.
"Our ‘family’, this town lives on honor as you have been told." The Gizen said. "You are finally reaching an age where our ‘family’ will recognize your goals and power. As to if you bring honor to us, will start with your first kill. I understand your mom captured an Ogre. It will be an honorable attempt whether you live or die. A bit more interesting then the choices most kids make."
"What is my test?" I asked pointing one of my swords at him, a challenge to start in my plane.
"Your test? To wound me, before I knock you out." The Gizen said smiling. "Your father requested that the license for you be a challenge. He said you were a true man, and killing an Ogre would be nothing to you, so I must test you well.” Despite what I said before, our plane may be barbaric but our technology is in some ways more efficient then the plane of Cycles,
which is your own is. So the fact that he pulled a broad sword off his back that unfolded itself out of a small cube really is not a surprise.
??? Confused XD
"Then I will give him thanks in battle." I said, charging
the Gizen.
One of my swords clashed with the broad sword as I swung both at him, the second blade
tapping the side of his sword before hitting the ground with a rude clang. The Gizen and I stood in place, trading feints, thrusts and parries with lightning speed, almost impossible to follow as it went faster and faster. I am still amazed at the man as he reacted to each swing with that massive blade as if he was fighting with a dagger.
1- at him; The Gizen,The Gizen, The Gizen (my head hurts)
2-
One sword of mine clashed with his 3-
I think it you should put tapped, it sounds very better.
"Good, good you have been practicing."
The Gizen said, pivoting forward with the blade against my two crossed blades, the weight shoving me back. "Treat the swords as if they are complementing each other." He said, as I pulled out of the of the guard and rolled over the attack, the sword in my left hand flying into a wall far left of me when the Gizen elbowed me in the face on my role.
Again >: (
"I know." I said, throwing a feint at his gut only to roll under him as he attempted to impale me. I has to duck as he threw his own sword at me, the blade cutting
the metal floor in front of me like butter, forcing me to move to the side as another sword flew by, cutting my cheek, my jaw almost knocked out of place as the heavy handle bashed me in the back of the head then almost hooked on my jaw.
I think this isn't necessary (maybe I'm wrong).
"Do not worry about losing a weapon unless you have no more left."
The Gizen said pulling anther cube, another broad sword out of his pocket. Again we went into the movements, a thrust thrown at his side, parries and countered with an overhead swipe, the movements of our blades leaving the air around us howling, my own blood flying around the fight as the heart started pumping harder. Then something happened I did not expect, he kicked me back. I went flying back into the wall, my sword stuck a few feet above my head
on the wall I had been trying to reach a few moments before. "You were trained well by your mom and dad, but it seems you're a bit surprised."
1-I'll forgive you this one. 2-in
"Cheap move." I muttered pulling myself up wondering if I had enough time to yank my other sword out of the wall.
"Nothing is cheap in battle, honor is only to those who live. Remember that boy."
The Gizen said throwing his broad sword at me, the blade cleaving through the wall that I had been resting on a second ago. I rolled into him as he was unarmed, I thrust at his gut, he parried by my attack only by an inch, his foot slamming into my face. Another cube was pulled out of his pocket quickly unfolding into a sword before I could reach him, the broad sword simply swung down on me.
ahdshkahdhshfgdldjflsjfljijrijnvnvbjbzjbd >: (
"Crap." I threw my sword at him while rolling out of the way not expecting a hit. The sword, my sword, past his guard and slipping cleanly into his bicep, the muscle splashing blood out over his shirt and the sword.
"Ow..." He muttered, letting go of his weapon to look at my own which had stuck itself cleanly in his bicep, the tip just poking out of the other side. "You win
and I need a hospital." That kind of wound was nothing to our people. A flesh wound that can be healed with our technology in a hour, and fully recovered in three days. With this I planned to fight a monster, something that in the past I could only beat with a entire tribe helping me, and even then we could never kill them, a adult appearing just in time to kill it before one of us died to the monsters. I was eager, I was hungry after my first real fight with a sword, I was so scared.
", I need medical care." (how Rockon haven't seen this o.O )
Travelers of the Twelve Planes
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Originally Posted by Rockonman
