Stepping into your body feels weird but comfortable, like putting on your oldest worn and frayed pajamas in front of your friends, and you assume the same position your body is in. There is a subtle click and you gasp.

You're alive.

You spend a moment just breathing and feeling your heart beat in your chest. Then you dare to open you eyes, hoping to see the blue Colorado sky. Instead you see this wooden planks. Turning your head a bit, the view changes to heavy, stone walls and barred window. You don't get to breath clear, Colorado air either and instead get a nose full of ammonia laden, damp straw scented horribleness. You caugh a bit and sit up. From this vantage it is clear you are in some medieval dungeon complete with the heavy, wooden door with barred peephole. You're alive but in prison.

You sit half sulking, half contemplating your options, and half wondering if you'll get fed soon, when the door opens. It sits open and you stare at the crack before realizing the person who opened the door is only two and half feet tall and you're staring way too high to see them.

Before you is a tiny woman with shocking blue hair. She wearing a uniform of sorts and is armed with the smalled crossbow you've ever seen. It's aimed squarly at you. There is a mischievous glint in her eye and her finger is on the trigger. You dive to one side as the bolt springs from the weapon; being shot hurts, you've learned. She laughes after the bolt bounces off the stone wall and lowers the weapon.

"'merican?" she asks.

Yep, born and bred.

Not that you'll confess to a stranger in a strange land.