Chapter 1: The Beginning
In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. It wasn't a dirty, wet hole, full of smells and the end of worms. Nor was it a dry, sandy hole with nothing in it, like a cave. It was a hobbit-hole and that means comfort. It had cosy furniture, a dancing fire in the kitchen and an always filled pantry. The name of the Hobbit living in ... What? What is a Hobbit, you ask? Well, I guess they need some description, for they have grown scarce nowadays and won't show themselves in front of the "Big Folk", as they call us. Hobbits are kind, home-loving creatures, who appreciate a simple life.They seldom go on adventures or do anything unexpected and most of them live in the Eastern Region of Middle-Earth. They don't grow very tall, something between 2 and 4 feet, have curly hair on their head and feet and normally do not wear shoes, for they grow a leathery sole naturally. Hobbits love everything that grows, especially flowers and like to dress in bright colours, mostly yellow and green. There is little to nothing magical about them, except for the every-day sort of magic that allows them to slip away very quietly and hide from unfriendly eyes. That should be enough to go on with.
So, where have we stopped? Ah, yes, the name of the Hobbit living in this particular hobbit-hole on top of The Hill - called Bag End - was Bilbo Baggins and I will try to recite his tale here as good as I can. I have lived with Bilbo and his parents for as long as I can remember, ever since his mother found me in the woods. I am no Hobbit, mind you! We've never been sure where I really came from or who my ancestors could have been, but Mother never cared. She raised me as if I was her own daughter. Bilbo and I became the dearest of friends and after the death of his (or should I say 'our') parents, he asked me to stay with him in Bag End. I gladly accepted his offer, for I wouldn't have known where to go otherwise. But enough of my and eventually our story: To understand the upcoming events a bit better we have to look back several decades: Far to the East, beyond the Misty Mountains and the Greenwood lies a single, solitary peak. It grows into the sky several hundred feet and can be seen crystal clear from afar, for it stands alone among the wild land around it. Inside the so-called Lonely Mountain grew the greatest dwarven kingdom ever seen in Middle-Earth: Erebor. I wish that I could have seen it in its glorious days. Legend says that never again there will exist a more beautiful or prosperous city than Erebor. Its halls reached down deep and deeper into the earth and were filled with all sorts of gems and treasures and rang with the songs of bells and laughter alike, next to hammers and voices full of song. The inhabitants of this fortress city were no other but the kin of Durin, one of the great fathers of the dwarves. King under the Mountain during these days was Thror, who ruled with utter surety, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son, Thrain, and his grandson, Thorin. The people of Erebor lived happily many a year, until the day of desperation came, when all of the mountain came crushing down, when all hope was lost in ash and fire.
