At the threshold of his comfortable, familiar life stands Bilbo Baggins. In one hand rests a curious contract, inked by dwarves and laden with promise. In the other, a simple walking stick, as his feet already feel the pull of distant roads. It is a small moment, a hobbit closing his gate, yet within it an adventure begins, and a humble heart turns toward the wide world beyond the comfort of home.
The Goblin King ruled vast hordes of goblin-kind from forgotten caverns below the Misty Mountains™, a self-proclaimed sovereign whose cruelty was matched only by his vanity. Delighting in a twisted harmony of melody and torment, he mingled song with the screams of his victims: anything to feed his greed and ever-swelling appetite.
In the cavernous gloom beneath the lonely Mountain, all is quiet. A hot stillness lies upon the vast desert of gold and treasure that carpets the ancient Dwarf city's once teeming halls; a treasure unrivalled in all Middle-earth, but which glitters unlooked upon by mortal eyes.
For centuries he slumbered. A vast, scaly weight pressing down upon the stolen wealth of Erebor™, breathing the stale air of a kingdom’s tomb. In the darkness, the Dragon and his hoard became one. No longer just a guardian of the gold, Smaug became the very embodiment of greed, his hide mirroring the glittering coins he coveted above all else.