"Know, o Prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Numenor and its gleaming cities, and the rise of the civilizations of Men, there was an Age undreamed of, when kingdoms dark and light lay spread across the world like green grass across the hills -- Rhun and Haradwaith, storied Khand, Mirkwood with its green-shadowed elves and spider-haunted ever-shifting pathways, Rohan whose gold-haired riders rode like the wind over unending plains, Umbar of black sails and red-handed corsairs, Lothlorien, unchanging, where dwelt the Perilous Lady, Mordor of grey-black dust and fire, heart of uttermost darkness. But the proudest kingdom of the world was Gondor, reigning supreme from the seven-tiered fortress of Minas Tirith. Hither came Bilbo the Hobbit, brown-haired, mild-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a riddler, a Burglar, with gigantic appetite and diminuitive stature, to tread the jeweled thrones of the earth under his furry feet." -- the Bag-End Chronicles

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