As all of the people of the Lonely Mountain were driven from the homeland by the deadly Necromancer of the North, crouched at the mountain top, a winged feminine figure was elegantly watching the disaster before her. The ember of the fire reflected from her yellow-green eyes, making them glow, and reflected off of her sharp, metal finger cuffs that dug into the rock of the mountain. The Raven-black catsuit she wore with a few feathers being embedded on the outfit, matched with the horned headdress, made her represent pure evil. She wasn't phased when she watched the destruction before her. 

[i]Robbed of their homeland, the dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness. The once mighty people  were brought low.[/i]

Spreading the huge feathered wings, the feminine being took flight, away from the mountain. 

[i]The young dwarf prince took work where he could find it, laboring in the villages of men. But always, he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, where he had seen dragon fire in the sky, and a city turn to ash. And he never forgave, and he never forgot.[/i]

Sixty years earlier, during the Third Age of the Shire, a Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins, is siting on a branch of a tree, smoking from his pipe. "Good morning", he spoke to an elderly gentlemen, who was his friend, Gandalf.