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

Dragon Age Belongs to BioWare.


3. Tropics

Sten's ship had docked at a small Par Vollen harbor to refit and take on supplies before continuing the final leg of the journey to Seheron. He had hesitated, and then instead of heading straight to an inn had turned his steps to the outskirts of town. A few score of paces and the sights and sounds of habitation were engulfed by the living, green maw of the jungle.

His memory had not betrayed him and he now stood silently on an old observation deck, little more than a few strategically placed planks with a decrepit rail. To his right a waterfall hissed in clouds of white threads, an accompaniment to the keening insects and the penetrating hoots of unseen howler monkeys. The surrounding verdant foliage quivered in the spray, returning collected moisture to its source drop by drop. All around, orchids, bromeliads and other blooms glittered in competition with the darting hummingbirds they enticed and the enameled frogs they sheltered. In the canopy above swarmed a troupe of tiny primates with large, wistful eyes, twittering excitedly amongst themselves over the abundant fruits and cramming their cheeks before being displaced in a rush by their larger competitors.

A flock of macaws burst from the undergrowth in a screeching, flashing curtain of blue, gold, scarlet and indigo, abruptly switching direction in raucous unison once, then twice before finally settling near their starting point.

He touched the rail, which had been claimed by forest and now sprouted greenery of its own, and inhaled deeply. The air was warm and moist, thick with the scent of blooms and growth and heat, the breath of the great, systolic pulse that surrounded him.

A tense emptiness of which he had been only marginally aware until this moment now eased.

Almost home.