Broken. It is all broken. Chunks of rock lay strewn across the entrance hall. Once a great pillared gate to the mighty fortress brought down by the dragon in mere seconds. And further down, gold, silver, and precious stones lay strewn across the cold stone floors. The forges remain unlit and the billows still. And then there is the silence. The unbearable stillness of it all. All that can be heard is the distant echo of water, trickling down from some unknown mountain stream and the cluttering of coins as Smaug turns in his slumber. But worse still is a sorry sight. For it has been no more than a week since the dwarves were driven out. For in the farthest corners of those great halls, grasping onto life, clawing for breath, are those unlucky souls who are barred from escape. Terrified by the screams of their friends and comrades had run blindly and reached an end with no exit. What a horrible fate, to know of your certain doom and powerless to change it. The only thing you can do is wait and hope death would take you in sleep. One by one, starvation and suffocation took the dwarves. A young couple holding hands, a mother clutching her baby, an elderly dwarf, thinking back on his life and weeping at the fate which befell his home. Their refuge became their tomb. A once great city, brought low. Now the ravens are all gone. Laughter and singing is foreign to this place. I hope one day, some great person, whoever it may be, dwarf or human, will take back my home. I pray he will find this account and take heed. We people of Middle Earth, while thinking ourselves great hidden in our halls, are weak to the greater powers of this world. I have seen it, and now I will die because of it. Truly vanity and greed are the worser evils of this world. I feel that the air has gone stale. There is nothing to eat. Nothing to say. Nowhere to hide. Broken. It is all broken.