Soo...this is my first HGttG fanfic, so be nice :)

I was going to include this in my Merlin drabbles, but then I realised that it was probably slightly too HGttG for people who haven't read it, so I thought I'd put it as a seperate one, despite the fact that that now means that no one will read it. If that makes sense to you.

I based this off the entry on Magrathea, so it should be in keeping with DA's style.

(Excerpt from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Page 634785, Section 6a. Entry: Camelot)

Far back in the mists of ancient time, in the great and glorious days of Albion, life was wild, rich, and largely tax-free.

Mighty knights plied their way through exotic lands, seeking adventure and reward among the furthest reaches of the five kingdoms. In those days spirits were brave, the stakes were high, men were real men, women were real women, and small furry creatures from Alpha Centuri were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centuri. And all dared to brave unknown terrors, to do mighty deeds, to boldly split infinitives that no man had split befote - and thus it was the Empire was forged.

Many men of course became extremely rich, but this was perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of because no one was really poor - at least on one worth speaking of. And for all the richest and most successful men, life inevitably became rather dull and niggly, and they begsn to imagine that this was the fault of the towns they'd settled in - none of them was entirely satisfactory: either the climate wasn't quite right in the latter part of the afternoon, or the peasants' hovels smelt a bit too much, or there just weren't enough terrifying and lethal creatures around anymore.

And thus were created the conditions for a staggering new form of specialist industry: custom made, magic daydream worlds, enabling the user to go about their everyday business, seeing only what they wanted to see. A bunch of enterprising young sorcerers designed and made the drug, made it cheaply, and charged extortionate amounts for it.

But so successful was this venture that the sorcerers themselves soon became the richest people of all time and the rest of Albion was reduced to abject poverty. And so the system broke down, the empire collapsed, and a long sullen silence settled over the five kingdoms, disturbed only by the pen scratchings of scholars as they laboured into the night over smug little treatisrs on the value of planned politics.

The sorcerers themselves disappeared, and their story soon passed into the obscurity of legend.

In these enlightened days, of course, no one believes a word of it.

Opinions? I'd love to hear them...with enough encouragement I might even extend this into a multi-chapter fic with ones on Merlin etc. unless you all hate it ad want me to take it down :)

Please R&R!