Once Erebor had felt like home, it was loud, warm, open. And now it felt silent, cold, and enclosed. It was dark, and the slightest tap would echo through the halls.

Thorin was walking back and forth in the dungeons, muttering things to himself as he lusted over the gold. The Thorin you once knew was no longer and replaced with a twisted dwarf who only cared for the things that shone.

The other dwarves seated in abandoned rooms that had a stench of dragon and death.