The One Ring: The Nameless Fellowship
Erebor is the last great stronghold of the House of Durin. Built deep within the Lonely Mountain, it is more than just a city, or a mining complex, or a fortress: it is a palace of gems and marble, a mansion of emerald and iron, a redoubt of diamond and steel. Great streams of gold run through the living rock of its foundations and the columns of its halls are dense as the trees of a forest.
The Lonely Mountain dominates the north-east of Wilderland, standing guard over the Dalelands like a great sentinel, a solitary peak rising between Mirkwood and the Iron Hills. Shaped like a star, with six ridges extending outwards from a central peak, this snow- capped mountain has been the site of bitter struggle, bloodshed, and much toil for many centuries. Other Dwarven holds have risen and fallen, Erebor alone has been reclaimed and rebuilt anew; not once, but twice. Its long history has become legend among the Dwarves, much of its lore has been lost in Dragon-fire; many secrets and dark mysteries may yet lie within the depths of the Mountain, waiting to be rediscovered.
When Smaug finally fell from the skies above Esgaroth, Erebor was once again free, but there weren’t many among those who first entered its befouled halls who dared dream of restoring them to their former glory. It took all Dáin Ironfoot’s will and energy to transform the blasted peak back into one of the wonders of the North. The old trade routes leading to the Mountain are being reopened; the Men of Dale and Lake-town prosper once more; and peace reigns between Durin’s folk and the Elves of Mirkwood. In just a handful of years, the Dwarves have restored the upper levels of their stronghold, while reopening many of the lower passages and tunnels that were blocked by the Dragon. Yet in recent years it seems that a shadow may again fall over the Lonely Mountain. Even from within their fortified mountain-halls, the Dwarves hear tell of a growing darkness. Doubt festers among those who feast in the well-lit halls of Erebor, as fell creatures gather in the wilds and, they say, smoke rises from Mount Doom far to the south.