Hello everybody,

I've finished my first draft of my 4th short story.
Mikumbi, the lovable half Mbuti pygmy half Nilotic wizard warrior travels the continent of Ikwubara (an alternative version of Africa) dealing with supernatural threats like demons, demigods, mythical creatures based on African cultures.

Here's a snippet of my short story. I hope you guys enjoy it:

Chained up around his wrists and ankles, Mikumbi sat in a fetal position in one of the dungeon cells. Nearly all sense of time was lost on him. Hours? Days? Small moons? Large moons? He couldn't be sure. His caramel–chocolate coloured skin was covered in dirt, grime and cuts. The patchwork of scabs all over his long arms, shortish legs, his wirey yet paunchy torso burned with pain that even the slightest movement caused him discomfort. He thanked Khonvoum, the Mbuti chief deity that his jailers didn't mark his face............much. His once beautiful red shuka, became grimy and tattered.
To say that the cell was bleak would be an understatement. Small and smelly from having to shit in a small bucket. The black and white striped stone walls, ceiling and floor made Mikumbi feel 'claustrophobic'. Mikumbi's nomad blood from his Mbuti Pygmy and Nilotic ancestry yearned to be outdoors, to roam, to hunt, to fight.
The only light source of the cell came from a small window. A constant stream of cloudy grey light filled the room. Never ending. No day or night. Just an eerie, unnatural light that disorientated Mikumbi's sense of time. In a place such as this, no life would dare to trespass, not even the typical bug and rats that would usually plague ordinary dungeons and cells. The only company Mikumbi had were from the jailers and torturers working him over. Physically. Psychologically, Magically.
He did have the company of another thing though. Screams. The near endless screams of the other inmates. They seemed to reverberate around the very dungeon itself. Was it a deliberate design of the dungeon itself? Perhaps magic enhancement to make the screams heard throughout the dungeon? No matter.

The unlocking of the large, heavy wooden cell door alerted Mikumbi. He looked at the door with sore, tired eyes wondering who or what could it be. Food? No, there was a little opening on the bottom of the door for that, The food was............. Edible. Mikumbi would rather have matoke.
A flaming black aura swirled his shackles. A low grunt like scream escaped his mouth as the Juyanwansi – twisted magic attacked his very being. Nothing on Irun'uwa felt like it. That flash of dark twisted energy meant one thing.

The cell door creaked open. Four figures entered the cell. Two ghouls entered first, walking disjointed and zombie like. The room filled with the smell of rotting corpse. Both of the zombie guards were tall and wielded simple spears. The spears were the only things that looked new on them. Their skin was rotting so bad that parts of it had decayed away exposing the bones and the rotting inner body. Such a horrible fate having the flesh reanimated by Juyanwansi. Both guards stood by the walls looking gormless as the other two figures entered.
One male and female. Both of whom he knew all too well.

The woman exuded grace and sultriness as she walked in swaying her hips. Every thing that Mikumbi found attractive in women, she had.
Five feet seven inches tall, a slim yet curvaceous frame, dark chocolate skin so smooth and shiny that it looked almost edible. Her long lilac dress seemed to cling to her curves, exposing her long legs and ample buxom. When it came to her head and face that was the most alluring to Mikumbi. A crown of thick, curly to kinky, black hair was place upon her ovally heart shaped head. Her facial features screamed Eastern Ikwubaran as all three linguo-genetic groups of the Nilotics, Cushitics and Northeastern Bantu blended harmoniously. A high rounded forehead, almond shaped dark brown eyes, full lips, small button nose, softened jawline and cheekbones.

The man walked into the cell brooding and calculating. His very demeanour radiated with twisted power.
He stood at over six feet tall wearing a long, flowing, black grand boubou with the pelts of a male lion and a leopard wrapped around him. A crown of buzzcut/cropped near peppercorn textured black-brown hair grew from his square shaped head. A small yet very wide nose, a small mouth with surprisingly thin lips was placed on small yet wide jaw, fleshy cheekbones and covered with reddish brown skin. His face belonged to the Mbuti Pygmies of the Central Ikwubaran rainforest. What was most unsettling about the man's face was his 'eyes'
His left eye was normal. Dark brown and deep set. His right eye... Could such an organ be called an eye? It was completely black. Both iris and sclera. No upper eyelid. Like one giant pupil with a large, hideous scar running through it from top to bottom.

“Stand and face me, nephew,” ordered the man.
Mikumbi sat still, pretending to not even acknowledge him.
“I said. STAND UP AND FACE ME!” The brooding man boomed in an unnatural voice. With a twist of his gnarled hand, dark twisted energy spiralled around it. The shackles on Mikumbi once again burned with juyanwansi and with it the chains dragged and lifted their captive towards their master. Mikumbi showed as little emotion as possible as the dark magic attacked his very being.
“Hello Uncle Matumwe. I never noticed you standing there,” said Mikumbi, hovering in the air with his arms stretched out.
A slight giggle escaped from the woman's mouth.
“Ever the defiant little whelp,” snarled Matumwe, “At least you learnt not to try to attack me like some wild animal.”
“So what do I owe the great pleasure of you and Msolumsi visiting me?” Asked the wizard warrior rhetorically,
“Silence, filth,” Msolumsi shouted as she slapped him across the face. The sting from the slap was more emotional than physical, “we'll ask the questions here.”
A small smirk crept on Matumwe's face.
“Isn't it obvious? I've come to gloat, nephew. And to look at our handiwork on your body.”
“I've had better days,” Mikumbi replied nonchalantly, “How's your right eye, uncle?”
Rage welled up in the dark sorcerer, as it took form as he was seemingly engulfed in a dark spiralling energy aura. That day. That wretched day.

If you want to read and critique the whole of my first draft, email me:
westafricanemperor@googlemail.com

Bump!