The Wrath of the Dondorale

By Jake Thomas

After believing Dondorale was dead the heros come to learn the evil Queen who planned to take over the world was still at large. In a final attempt to stop the diobolical one before its too late, can the heroes stop the mad Queen before humanity is lost? Or will Dondorale finally rid the heroes and rule Camalore at last?

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jun 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781489735478

Jake Thomas

Jake Thomas was born and raised in the small town of Albermarle north carolina. He is the son of famous artist and homeschooled by his mother. Jake’s mother played a major role in his life as a writer in whom he has continued on with his talent the last decade. Jake’s motto is “I could never be where I am without Christ for without him I could have never came this far.”

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Copyright © 2021 Jake Thomas.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-3544-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-3547-8 (e)

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 04/21/2021

CONTENTS

Eternal Mother

The End Of An Era

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

ETERNAL MOTHER

Dearest mother, rock of my heart, anchor of my life, guardian angel who shleters me. I could go on and on of what you are to me but there is one thing I wish you never was…no longer with us. To be absent in body is to be present in the Lord that is what we have long heard. But I had hoped he would have come back before I was compelled to absorb such an unqiunchable ache that was left when it was your time to meet our lord and savior Jesus Christ. I must add to this, yesterday I asked my cousin John to say the prayer as we were about to eat on both sides of the phone, I never heard him pray before, but I kid you not hearing him speak to God like he did it sounded as if you composed every word yourself in his prayer. It was unbelievable. It was absolutly all inspiring. Living proof you still speak through our loved ones.

So I am certain you’ve spoken to grandma, Mama Judy, your daddy and uncle Jeff at least a hundred times now. All walking the streets of pure gold taking in the sights of a heavenly world we learned of in church but could only imagine it from what the bible speaks. There is so much your seeing right now, things our mortal minds could never handle from a human standpoint. As bodies could not handle a shard of a second in that paradisial place only meant for our souls. The light alone would blow us away like ash from a fire.What biblical celebrites have you passed time with? Have you met Mary? How many times have you spoken with the discples? Have you had tea with the woman at the well? Have you sat around talking with Moses hearing the story again of the parting of the red sea and hearing Jesus across the table laugh and say It was all in the wrist, I was just making a way for my children to be free.

Lets imagine that a moment, so many things reflcted on Christ’s wrist. With a flick of a wrist he set Moses and his people free from the wrath of the ruler of egypt. With the nails in his wrist he set the world free from the bondage of sin on the cross. With the jolt of his wrist he cast out demons. From the extend of his wrist his hand unfolded to take our hand pulling us up from the rut we got ourself into. From the jerk of his wrist he sent satan away at the mention of his name rescuing us from the devils snare of the day. With the display of his wrist he proved to doubting Thomas he was alive and risen and the plan he prophesied was complete. So much meaning behind just his wrist. And one day we will have the honor to see the hole in that wrist that paved the way for our salvation which brought us to this heavenly place outside time and space. A place our Savior waits, a place my Mama waits and so many of our loved ones we long and miss. Concluding this final piece, everything is possible through one choice…Jesus Christ. Your life matters, you are important, you are special, you are loved. If you don’t think anyone cares about you…put this in mind..you matter to him. And if you matter to him, who cares what anyone else thinks of you? If he loves you, you don’t need the love of anyone else, because his love for you can never be compared to anything in this world. You don’t need the love of anyone else, all you need is him, accept him, make him Lord of your life and watch how your new life unfolds. He has an offer you don’t want to refuse. Trust me, you need him. I made that choice and I became things I never thought possible. Take his hand make the same choice I did…a new life you can never imagine awaits.

THE END OF AN ERA

For a decade I had wrote about this character Dondorale. Beginning with only a pad and pen. Now four books later will complete her journey. It has been an amazing journey to enterain all of you with this character; this world, these heroes and villans. I spent every single day for a decade writing, striving, crafting, following every place my imagination had taken me throughout this inconcevible expedition. And what an incredible way to come to a close. I won’t tell you anything about how this ends, but there is a secret to this character that will simply blow you away.

I have two indviduals to specially thank for helping me all this these many years. The first one is Mr. Randel Calebro, who delt with the creation, guidng and evolution of the character and the stories I wrote. He will always be my teacher, my mentor, brother, family and friend.

The second, strived in helping me to create the world of Camalore… Mr. Lucas Smith. A number of years he fed me tons of ideas to help shape my world. As Randel worked with me deeply on the character and stories, Lucas guided me on creating the world of Camalore.So many nights we sat in his van after work or on lunch descussing ideas how to craft this vast world so many came to know and love. From towns, cities, to animals and races and so much more. He too was another mentor, teacher, brother, family and friend. These two men worked countlessly in helping me to create it all, and I could not thank you both enough.

To my family thank you for your love and support these many years.

There is one more person I’d like to thank, she has heard

every story since it all began, she knows about every character,

every nook and cranney of my world and has been the biggest

supporter of my work since the day I discussed it with her before

a word of it ever even met a piece of paper. And there is no one

who knows my world and stories better…Tamara Kendell.

This book is dedicated to the memory of Six beautiful

souls I miss more then anything in this world.

Cynthia Darlene Poplin Thomas

Betty Lucille Poplin

Mama Judy Hunnicutt

Steven Andrew Taylor

Bill Stacy

And

Bill Godwin

Once again, it has been honor to have entertained you all.

CHAPTER 1

Every scene of the battle was pulled by the strings of the diobolical puppeteer. The war in Archantatom merely a puppet pulled by the telepathic strings of the demonic Dondorale. The entire time she was present yet secluded behind the walls of the battle drawing heroes to combat yet they were pulled into her illusionary web. With her mind she created this false reality giving every hero, kingdom and soilder reason to believe they were fighting a real enemy. Yet it was a mere display of the dark one fooling them into believing they were in a bloodletting skrimish with a real enemy.As the battle tolled and raged she waved her hands in secret; eyes closed magicaly molding every movement of every enemy at the work of her powerful meleovelent mind. And when the battle was over and those still alive left the scene in thier hearts they’d believed they’d claimed victory over the enemy at last. Yet there was no real enemy there at all. And when they return to their homes the images of the enemy that laid dead on the mountionous regions and caves dissapeared as if they were never there.

After the battle, Dondorale fled with her forces to a dreadful place not far from Tegus town called the grey wastes. Deep within its forests laid the ruins of Malhasha (Mal-Ha-sha) Dondorale marched her remaining forces of Meganothian troops onto the grey wastes into the Mausoleum hidden deep within the forests occupied by Vanthein forces. The halls soon erupted with sword fighting, destruction, magic, and savagery. For three hours what seemed like a season, the war between Vanthein troops and Meganothien forces clashed in an all-out skirmish to claim the tomb, which was currently a battle station for blood elves.

Corridors littered with wounded fighters, bodies, and fighting. Red, blue and black are the new colors of what was once a reserved tomb housing Vanthein dead, now a stage of a bloody war.

The air, which would usually clad in the putrid stench of decay, mold, and earth, now clad another revolting canvas already layered of death along with cries of dying, enough to make even the bravest tremble in vomit at the stench.

Vanthein and Meganothien forces battled over control of the catacombs, but as time died away, it was evident which side will win. The dead and wounded of the losing side scattered in every torch-lit hall, fighters’ faces grim with fatigue and despair, yet they fought on over control.

The focus of victory coursed through their bodies; the Vanthein fought on no the matter the cost to eliminate these invaders from claiming their battle station. Some have succumbed to panic, barely able to force their bodies in motion; others fight merely for the sake of survival.

The fighting between the blood elves and the Meganothians lasted several hours.

An evil song of savagery, slaughter, ringing steel, and destructive magic swelled in the atmosphere like a nightmare born into flesh and bone. Dondorale led her remaining troops throughout every hall, chamber, and nook and cranny of the massive crypt. Threats hurled from Vanthein priests the day of the Vanthein reclaiming their once home of Camalore was at hand! The threat of the uprising would be their last words leaping from their lips. Darkness swept over them as the priest’s head bounced away with the decapitating blow of Meganothian swords. Dondorale could care less about any threat of elves returning to reclaim their home.

Several blood elves escaped through portals back to the islands of Pawnpoa, where the Elven King would hear of the latest attack.

Dondorale finished off the rest of the battle station. The leader in charge, Nodoran Rosefold, was surrounded. You killed my family, my brothers, sisters-

Yes, yes, and all but one remains, Dondorale cut him short. And what shall be done with you, last of your family? What shall become of you? Dondorale stepped forward Dangrail pointed at his throat, the blood of his family dabbing his throat from the edge of the blade. Perhaps I might make you my pet-

I will be no such thing, the Vanthein already know of what you have done here; they will return and claim their rightful home!

So I have heard the story for years; everyone has, a threat that has echoed the ages. Camalore was once Vanthein soil; then man invaded, wanting the land for themselves. The blood elves battled man for control, and after a season of warfare, the elves were driven from their home. When the time comes, and man was at its weakest, the blood elves would return and reclaim Camalore the place of their origin….that right? Dondorale stated the prophecy. That day is at hand. The Elf threatened. It was evident in his eyes.

Dondorale laughed at the statement finding it a joke. This prophecy had been whispered through the ages so long now no-one believed it would ever come to pass. She found the Elf merely spitting hot air. Had that day come, it would have happened generations ago; several casualties and events occurred in history enough to cripple humanity. And yet, no invasion of the Elves. The threat of the Vanthein uprising is a mere whisper echoing over the ages. Nothing more.

Until now. He threatened. The empires of man will fall, the Vanthein gather forces as we speak, and soon the resistance of man will be but a memory erased from the ages!

The leader’s words silenced after that, his head bounced away with the decapitating blow of Dangrail. The Queen wiped the blood from her face, turned back to her men. The Vanthein come! She mocked; her men laughed evilly. Before long, she made this place her new dwelling. It was after she settled in, Dondorale would pay a visit to familar face. And she could have arrived at no worse a time.

After placing flowers, Nicholas stood by his father’s grave, feeling the emotions well up in his eyes. No matter how many friends blessed to have fought by his side, no one could ever compare or replace his dad. Caught up in the grief, he tore away from the moment, feeling something crawling on his hand; finding a spider, he swats it away but noticed right after the air went ice cold. So cold to the point he could see his breath.

He turned, stunned to find Dondorale approaching him. Suprised to see me? She asked, slowly making her way up the hill. The look on your face gave it away. She said with flowers in hand. I know who you are, Nicholas, Son of Destiny.

How are you still alive? He was finally able to ask in a voice rattling with shock. The power to create a false reality is a gift us Cambion’s were born with. She was calm and collected when she explained. It was all a lie?

All but the part I was present controlling the whole thing. She answered. And so here I am, Her mood changed. Her icy stare boring into his eyes. You took everything from me.

And look at what it cost you. She walked up to the grave of his father, placing flowers. Your dear sweet father.

The worst day of your life unfolded when his eyes closed in death. Those words struck a nerve. And it was you that put him here. You took my Kingdom, and I took your father.

Nicholas, at this point, wanted to attack her. But he stood silent with a menacing impassive stare. So now that I have your full and undivided attention, here is the deal.-

I will make no deals with you-

It would do you well to hold your tongue and listen before it costs you another flyboy. Dondorale backed him up again, her words falling to a whisper. My plan of world takeover is in motion as we speak, so here is your choice. Dondorale laid out the groundwork. Interfere in my plans this time, another close to you dies, do nothing, and let the world wash away by my plague I will spare the lives of all those you hold dear. If any of the members of your clan interfere, another dear to you also dies.

The stakes are raised; choose wisely. The world around you or the ones you love. The choice is yours. Dondorale walked by him as she knew she had him by the balls. Let this be a lesson to you. She pointed softly to the grave where his father laid. Do the right thing, don’t be stupid, and put another you love in the ground. she softly put a hand on his shoulder, but he slapped it away. With a nasty stare. My god! What was he going to do?

He watched her as she cast forth a portal with the wave of her hand, walking through and vanishing before he could take a step.

In the meantime, Arlen’s day was laborious and full of adventure. The Wizard spent most of the morning helping his dear friend Lillian clear out a room in her house to make it into a potion room. As well as fix her porch. The two friends had lunch at Candora’s, sharing pleasantries over fine food and wine. Afterward, it was off to a few shops to browse. Arlen, what do you typically wear besides those old robes and pointed hats? Lillian approached him from a shelf of shirts. He quickly distinguished in her soft voice she’d planned to change up his style. Arlen went over the earthly colored robes in his possession. And the few pointed hats he owned. Surely, you must own other clothing besides those robes and hats.

The Wizard smiled merrily, shaking his head, reflecting he’d worn this style for the last decade. Lillian laughed, insisting she needed to get him out of that old fashion. She gently pulled him over to the men’s section of the store. Going through shirts and breeches in the midst of it all. The Wizard is throwing in an I am not wearing this, and Dear lady, I am a wizard, not a cotter, I am fine, do not waste your money buying me fashions I will never wear.

You will never do, She shook her head, still laughing. Arlen softly fired back; a wizard had a specific style they worn, nothing less and nothing more. Arlen was very particular about his clothing, and he remained that way. He did add that he would settle for a new smoking pipe if she did intend to buy him something. The woman playfully scoffed gently, pushing him away, walking out the door following his laughter trailing behind her as they left into the street.

Riff Brumbleton returned to his village deep in the eastern forests. His community, a cluster of mushroom homes, stamped with a fenced-in yard, garden, and stone walkways. Riff returned to his house, a two-story building with softly blowing chimes by the door. It contains a living room below, adorned in paintings hanging on the dried fungi walls. A small hearth with a chimney positioned to the right side as you walked through the door—furniture made out of the dried mushroom. To the back was a small kitchen just to the end of the canopy hanging with pots and pans.

A small ladder to the kitchen’s right wall took him to his bedroom upstairs. A large dome single bachelor-style room with a bed and chest. A bunch of dried fruit hangs from the ceiling in long strands. Phelix, Riff’s tomcat, ran about his legs the moment he came in meowing and wining for food, drawing grumbling from the short chunky Halfling who just got in the door and had not settled in yet. After feeding his cat, he relaxed and spent the evening working on another piece of art, telling his cat the last mission while he commenced preparing his pipe to smoke some delicate herb.

The Elven brothers spent the afternoon fishing by a stream in their local forest. A surrounding woodland tremendous, radiant, and thriving. Its canopy is monopolized by cottonwood, redwood, cypress, and occasional openings in their crowns, allowing plenty of light through for a motley of plants to dominated the sloping and slanting ground below.

Silent tree limbs grasped the occasional tree, and an assortment of exotic flowers, which grew in a sprinkled and disorderly fashion, stuck out against the otherwise monotone scenery.

A choir of wild noises, belonging mostly to vermin, echoed the air and almost wholly muffled the barrage of noise coming from a waterfall in the distance.

Their eyes momentarily fastened upon a creature and open a short way across the stream. It was a Mumya, a massive, unique, hexapedal mammal. Its narrow head is covered with tendrils, adorned in seven beady eyes, rabbit ears, a slitted nose, and a pair of piercing mandibles. Its neck almost non-existent neck, shoulders drooped with a curvy torso. It has six medium-length, thick legs ending in lion paws scaped the ground; behind it, a muscular tail swayed in various directions.

The Mumya’s head is covered in luxurious hair, while the rest of its dark purple and light green body is covered in thick fur.

The mythical Mumya fixed its curious eyes on the observing elves only for a brief moment before it disappeared into the forest.

In the meantime, that evening in one of the local caves, Marz heavily engaged in a drinking game called truth and daggers. Targets positioned to the far wall of the room on the stand. A blade was thrown at the target. If the player missed, the player had to drink. If the target hit, the player who threw the dagger could call out someone in the room to tell an embarrassing truth about themselves. Anyone else who did it had to drink. Marz was drawing a lot