Gorgoloth’s Hounds.
He moved silently and purposefully towards the gated entrance on the hill. The old metal rods having long been corroded by the action of time, prevented the gate from doing its service and so it laid ajar.
The eerie tunnels beneath the old fort were shunned by all, for even if those under his service didn’t know what laired here they had always felt the tunnels were the abode of something evil. Something which preyed on men and creature alike.
Others would probably get lost in that maze which crisscrossed the hill the fort laid upon, reaching, some said, the very borders of his domains. Others believed you could cross from one end of the Howling Hills to the other without ever seeing the light of day. He knew they didn’t stretch that far, having scoured the very same tunnels for centuries, he knew every inch of every tunnel. He was the master here after all.
The Painting Frog 