The Lost Journal

“Approach, Wectuh, oracle of the gods.”

The young man approached the giant dressed in golden robes.

“Lord Ougath, save us! I know you are able!”

“Not anymore, Wectuh. Despite his serpent body, Magog is too strong. Even now, his children break my sister’s defenses, and we will all perish soon.”

Wectuh’s heart dropped to his stomach. This was his home. This was all he had ever known. And soon, it would all disappear, as if it had never happened. “My lord, Ougath, you once knew the darkness that clouds your brother’s heart. Must we all perish from it at his hands?”

“Not all, my son.” Ougath’s voice boomed an octave deeper. “Even now, the thirteenth son is being spirited away by my brother, Aluttas. And with only one Atlantean alive, my powers and those of my brothers and sisters will be greatly diminished. We will only be able to help him and his children. As his descendants grow, so will our powers. A day will come when you will be the one to restore us to our full power. If the people stay true to you, you can protect them. Turn your ears to my brother, Kirrnackan, and obey his instructions.”

The god of peace and war stepped forward in his armor and rags. With a wave of his hand a large rock appeared before Wectuh. Contained within the rock was some sort of archaic-looking blade with an unassuming hilt. It was clunky and ugly compared to the weapons in Kirrnackan’s armory, but if the god had a purpose for it, Wectuh would not question it. The god pulled off a chain from around his neck and put it around Wectuh’s.

“A day will come when a great king will take this weapon in his hand. On that day you will be resurrected, and my jewels will be his to have and to grow in exchange for his protection of our people. Protect this key with your life. For one day, it will be you that brings us back. Let your blood fall upon the stone, that one day you may live again.

The walls of the temple were trembling now. Cracks were appearing and water began pouring in. The gods disappeared in glory of light, leaving Wectuh alone with the mysterious stone and the key heavy around his neck. Before the temple could flood and kill him, he cut his hand on the blade and let his blood cover the stone.

“May Atlantis rise again!” All at once, the temple walls collapsed, and Atlantis has since been lost.

“You know you have never belonged here in the first place!” The great dragon slithered grandly to the small crowd in the woods that might have been mistaken for fairies. “If your gods really could protect you, you would have already been restored to your rightful place as the kings and queens you claim you were born to be.”

The crowd murmured. Several raised their voices in protest.

“Aren’t you tired of living this way? Always hunted for your holy blood? You know your ways are higher and more glorious than those of mortal men. Why should you live among them when you could build your own kingdom under my own protection?”

“Do not listen to this monster!”

The crowd silenced, then whirled around. There in the middle of the crowd was a wizened, middle aged man with a staff in his hand a key around his neck.

“You know there is a reason why he who was meant to lead you in justice fell from heaven and why his brother is now the one who bears the heavy crown. You know why he is cursed to remain in this shape, this vile serpent!”

“We are tired, Merlin!” A voice cried out. “Let us find somewhere to settle!”

“Fools! You know I was there the day when Atlantis fell! Do this, and your gods will not be able to come to you or help you. By giving yourselves as slaves to Magog, you will not only seal your doom, but the fate of the gods as well!”

“Let us live in peace, oracle!” One shouted. “Go and serve your human king if you must.” The rest of the people began raising their voices against him.

Merlin sighed. “Then Atlantis is lost to us again.” With a whirl of his cloak, he was in the throne room of the king again.

“My king, come quickly with me, the treasure of Camelot is in danger!”

The boyish king and the young wizard dashed out of the throne room and descended into the castle, below the armory, cellars, and dungeons. Once they arrived in a secret vault, they removed a large tapestry to reveal a small door. Behind that door was room that appeared magically larger than what would have been expected. As far as the eye could see were heaps of gold coins, silver bars, jewels of all colors, shapes, and sizes. But there was one jewel that Merlin’s eyes were fixated on. It was a simple blue diamond, no larger than a man’s fist. He grabbed it and held it firmly in the palm of his hand.

“Mowee socdif, Kirrnackan.”

With a whirl wind and a flash of light, a beautiful god appeared. He was as Merlin remembered him from a time when his home was still the glorious pinnacle of the world. His armor was shiny, and his rags were dirty. His face was noble, but filled with sadness. He waved his hand over the jewel. He sparkled brightly and its bright blue color seemed to shine a shade brighter.

“The curse is complete. The only one who will be immune to it will be the heir to Camelot. Farewell, Wectuh. You have served us well.” the god said sadly. With that, the god disappeared into a dark cloud.

“I’m going away now, Arthur,” Merlin said. “Atlantis is no more.” And with those words, he sank deep into the cloud himself before it vanished.

October 27, 1852: This is the account of archeologist David Phess. It appears that all Owen Morgan claimed about this mountain is true. Early this morning, with a commission from the townspeople, I entered this mountain and surprise upon surprise has welcomed me. First off was a dragon head – a harmless, silly looking thing if people will shine their light on it. If they don’t, they will run in fear of the black monster with glowing green eyes. But once one finds their courage and enters the mouth and goes through the curtain of black moss, he will find himself in something that looks like a hall of doors. According to the podium in the middle of the room, it is a graveyard with four passages leading someplace. See for yourself:

Welcome Stranger.

Your journey begins if you are brave enough to start it.

Understand, this mountain is cursed.

You stand in a graveyard with only four possible ways to go.

Will you find the cursed gold or intrude on our secret community?

Will you face the dragon, Magog, or seek a way out?

Choose wisely.

According to the journals of Owen, there is an even greater reason that La Fay so willingly gave him 1,500 years to hunt down the Atlantean phantoms. The cursed gold is all the treasure of Camelot. The phantoms were given King Arthur’s protection in exchange for a curse only they could cast that would keep her from ever getting to it and cause some mysterious plague to fall upon those who encountered it, except for Arthur’s heirs. If Owen hunted them down, Morgan La Fay could easily gain the treasure for herself. Pity that will never happen. In fact, I plan to play the con man with these people. Shortly after I translated the inscription, I merely summoned the phantoms by screaming for help. Two men appeared before me. They were as fair as Europeans, but their hair was long and black like the Indians. Both wore a single strand of purple and gold in their hair. They wore purple trousers long enough to cover their feet so I could not tell if they were wearing shoes. They wore no shirts but seemed to wear something like a corset made of beads right down the middle of their chests. I told them that I was an explorer who had simply lost his way. They immediately burst into some sort of melody. It hypnotized me and all I could think of was how beautiful the music sounded. When they stopped singing, I found I couldn’t move, and it was later revealed to me that as these creatures sing, they unleash a mysterious web-like substance that wraps its victims in a cocoon and renders them defenseless. I was presented to the chief of these phantoms and told I was never to leave the mountain again. He has promised to show me around tomorrow, and in the meantime, I must figure out a way to get out of here without subjecting myself to their black magic.

October 28, 1852: Plans for this mission have changed along with the fact that my determination to leave this wretched mountain has doubled. I have been shown the entire phantom community and there are most certainly Atlantean styles of things throughout the vicinity. I have seen the sleeping Magog, green as poison, long and skinny like a sea serpent, and more fearful in sleep than the cave mouth dragon without the light of a lantern shining on it. It is said that he will awaken when the heir of Arthur and the emperor’s princess present themselves, whatever that means. Most importantly, I have seen the treasure of Camelot with my own eyes! Mere handfuls and Lakeville would no longer be a town; rather, it would be a town of the richest people in all the states, perhaps in all the world. The key to the treasure chamber is a blue jewel that the chief keeps on display in the middle of the town. I can easily get to it as these phantom creatures rest in their own homes every day at high noon. And here is the best part: if the key falls into a place where the phantoms cannot go, they will become trapped in their own community. By this time tomorrow, I will be the richest man on earth and long gone from this mountain.

This was the last entry David Phess ever entered into his small, black journal. He never even left the mountain. To the best of our knowledge, the phantoms killed him after he had stolen and hidden the key, rendering the key and the journal lost to this day in Lygomouth Mountain. The treasure of Camelot is still behind a locked door, and the Atlanteans are locked away, waiting in fear for the day Magog awakens.