Five very different images inspired by a random-word generator prompt: "Riot."

Dragon Age Belongs to BioWare.

1. Tower

Anders rested his chin in his palm and nudged peas around his plate discontentedly.

Bored.

Only the apprentices were in the dining hall tonight. All the mages were upstairs attending some grand seminar, which undoubtedly involved six courses, brandy and dinner mints.

Bored, bored.

A thunderstorm had been threatening all day, and the oppressive atmosphere was reflected in the languid conversations in the room, unusually subdued considering the absence of the elders. Even the Templars at the doorway looked distracted - well, old Thackeray looked distracted; Montague was nodding off.

Borrrrrred...

Pok.

A foreign pea dropped onto his plate. He looked up. Across the table, Godwin winked at him from behind a row of perfectly lined up peas, thumb and forefinger cocked and ready to flick. Anders instantly responded in kind.

Pok.

To his left, Niall elbowed him for attention and delicately flicked a pea so it rolled across the tablecloth to the opposite edge.

Pof-fb-fb-fb-fb-fb-fb-f-

They all held their breath as the tiny green orb hovered at the edge, then barely restrained a cheer when it lost the unequal struggle with gravity and dropped out of sight.

Anders laid his butter knife across his hand, carefully balanced a pea on the blade, and brought his free hand down sharply on the handle. The pea arced through the air to land squarely in Kelli's goblet of milk several seats down.

Plirp.

The marksmen collectively nearly choked, then watched in speechless joy as Kelli raised her goblet for a decorous sip.

"Eww!" she wailed, fishing the offending morsel out and flinging it down, incidentally splashing milk over everyone within range.

"Hey!"

"Watch it!"

"Quit it!"

Napkins were indignantly brought into play, and a couple thrown at the girl. The owner of one of the latter forgot she had hidden a handful of figs in hers, and the sticky fruit went flying in every direction.

And ecstatic bedlam ensued.

The Templars observed from the relative safety of the archway, arms folded. Montague, groggy from his broken nap, looked to his fellow.

"Should we stop them?"

Thackeray watched as a Tranquil moved peacefully through the flying foodstuff, collecting empty plates, and shrugged.

"Nah. It's not like they're casting any spells." He leaned aside to make way for a ballistic dinner roll. "Just kids' high spirits."

"What in the Maker's Name is going on here?"

The Templars snapped to attention as Gregoir stormed between them into the dining hall.

"ENOU-" A three-pronged tiramisu launch, missing Anders who had flung himself to the floor, scored direct hits on the Knight-Commander's breastplate, ear, and face.

Everyone froze in soul-searing horror. Save for the drips of food and the faint hssthink! of the littlest apprentice icing himself in terror, utter silence reigned as Gregoir slowly wiped his purpling face.

And the storm broke.

)~~~~ ~~~~~~~~(

Thackeray stood guard alone in the small hours, watching impassively as an apprentice approached.

"Godwin."

"Ah, Thackeray. I'm just returning from the jakes."

"So I see. And I believe this is yours." A pouch clinked as it changed hands.

"Why, yes, I believe it is. I must have dropped it during the, er, unpleasantness earlier." Godwin winked cheekily. "Well, goodnight then. Always a pleasure." He continued on his way.

Thackeray stood in silence, a satisfied smirk creeping over his face.

And that, Ser Sodding Knight-Commander, is for denying me leave on me mum's birthday.