The rain begins to pick up now and everywhere around the square you can see merchants putting tarps over there wares, or carrying their goods to small tents which they have set up. Shoppers and other pedestrians run for cover under the wide eaves of the various merchant houses, residences and temples which line Qualtaine Square. All look up to the sky, wondering if the storm is only passing through or here to stay. As your group stands around the rain seems to begin in earnest, beating down on your heads, and giving your mounts a distinctly soggy look.
...
Near the gate to Krelont Keep things aren't much better. A loud muttering can be heard from the crowd in line as people pull out anything to wear which they can hide under. Up here on the bluff overlooking the city and hard against the curtain walls of the keep, there is nowhere to seek shelter. Just as the rain really begins to pick up, a door big enough to fit one person opens up in the main gate, and a somewhat bored-looking castle guard sticks his head out. "Sorry, my Lords, the Lady is not seeing a soul today, I'm afraid. Better luck tomorrow!" He shrugs, and as quickly as he appears, he disappears back behind the door which closes with a wet thump behind him.
"Better luck tomorrow, indeed" one of the dwarfs exclaims in a loud voice for all to hear. "Three weeks I've been arriving here at sunrise and what have I got to show for it? Not an iron farthing!" Cursing loudly in dwarven, an expression which sounds like two large boulders being slammed together, he gestures for his guard to follow him down the Keep road.
As he passes Mavic and the Reddogs, the dwarven lord trips, falling headlong into a somewhat foppishly dressed local lord, who in this weather looks a bit like a multicolored, bedraggled cat. In a flash the dwarf is on his feet and pushes himself into the soaked human nobleman's face, railing at him in Common "You tripped me, you stupid git! Can't you get your ogre-sized feet out of the way? You think you can treat me this way because I am lower than you?" The dwarf inhales and spits in the man's face.
The human's bewildered look instantly turns into harsh anger, "My feet? Why not look at your own? Your mother must have been a formorian by the size of them, you disgusting piece of orc-dung!"
OOC: Initiative! These two have their hands on their weapons and will use them if nothing happens.
n.b. Mavic and his cohort have seen plenty of combat and know that tempers can fly when people are under great stress. The ferocity of this anger surprises even them.
Mavic: 21
Dwarven Lord: 11
Reddogs: 5
Human Lord: 4