"Is that so? How many hellhounds oppose my uncle?"
All the 5 of them were shaking with fear, they could sense how unfriendly he was towards them. They could sense the anger that seemed to be buried deep within him, it seeped out with every syllable he spoke to them.
"There—are—many of us Sire, though most are those who can no longer fight. Both the Old and young generation." Said one of the two that seemed to have sense, though he stuttered badly at the beginning, his speech gradually became better.
Hubris didn't seem to care about the rambling the hound in front of him was making, he just wanted a number, an estimate. He knew how cunning his uncle was, he'd naturally use his people as meatshields before he falls from grace.
"How many?" He asked, impatience leaked out from his maw.
"About, 300 Sire. But with more than a thousand on his side, we didn't stand a chance."
