Prologue: What? What?! WHAT?!

Pain. Every muscle, every tendon, every cell and every atom that I can call my own is in pain. My face scrunches up - and the facial muscles cry in agony as they move - and I groan in agony. I slowly raise myself, leaning against a wall at my back. The grogginess in my head hits me like a wave and I moan feebly. My body feels like it's been torn up and spat out by something. I try to push myself up but the pain and nausea halts me. I take deep breaths and squeeze my eyes shut tightly. After a few moments the dizziness passes and I gingerly open my eyes, squinting fiercely even in this low light.

It's a street, but unlike any I've ever seen. The street is cobblestone, the walls are tall and white and the people... Unwashed, wearing scraps of clothing in muddy colours. Barely any have any shoes. This is a far cry from the unholy SWAG culture my society is afflicted with. I must be dreaming, but I've never felt such pain before, awake or dreaming. I notice something moving above my head head and glance upwards.

There's a body above me. Wrapped in bandages and hanging from its feet, with red covering the torso. As sure as I am that I've never seen any mummified bodies outside of a museum, it's familiar to me all the same. I lunge to my feet and immediately fall to the ground due to my left leg being numb. I land on all fours and the sudden stop makes me throw up.

"That's it friend, get it all out," a voice says soothingly from behind me. I turn to look, but more vomit spews from my mouth. I take a few minutes to calm myself, the stranger encouraging me all the while, steadying my breath and spitting the vomit from my mouth. I hate throwing up. I always panic that I can't breathe. I look at the man, ready to thank him or ask whats going on when the words die in my throat.

Holy shit he's tiny! The man can't be more than three feet tall. He's got blonde hair tied into a small ponytail, with a brown duster open and exposing his hairy chest. At his back, he's carrying a mean looking crossbow. His face is wide, his nose is huge and his face is completely familiar.

"Good to see you back on your feet friend. Name's-"

"Varric," I whisper hoarsely. Oh my god, this dream is freaking me out now. "Varric Tethras." My eyes, wide with fear, are scanning everywhere - wake up now, can't keep making up details like this - before falling back at the hanged man.

My eyes widen a little in shock. It's the Hanged Man. THE Hanged Man. From Dragon Age 2. I gasp in horror. I'm in Kirkwall. I gasp in shock. I'm in Thedas. I stifle a cry of fear. I'm in a video game!

The kicker that finally forces me to my knees in despair though? "I don't know how to get back. I don't know how I got here."

"My reputation must proceed me," Varric mutters uncertainly, obviously put off by my outburst. "Are you doing okay?" I stare at Varric, it's really Varric, and try to form words that just don't come. I raise my hand - the pain is fading quickly now - and nip my arm as hard as I can.

"YOUCH!" I squeal as I vigourously rub the nipping pain. "Son of a bitch that hurts. Why the hell did that hurt? This isn't real, this is a dream. It can't be real," I mutter angrily.

"Great, the one time I try to talk to a gutter rat, he's insane," Varric mutters under his breath. He sighs heavily as he steps away. "Take care kid. Try not to drink so much. But there's a guy in that pub you might get on with."

"Wait," I call after him. He pauses, looking at me in puzzlement. "I, uh, I'm kinda forgetful. Wh-where am I?" I ask desperately. Please please please...

"Lowtown. In Kirkwall," he says as though he's talking to an idiot. Understandable, circumstances considered.

"Okay," I say, taking a steadying breath. "Next question. Is the Blight over yet?" The last thing I need is darkspawn in this... whatever it is.

Varric looks at me in bewliderment. "Blight? There hasn't been a Blight in Ages! What were you drinking anyway?" He asks with a wary chuckle.

"Despite the lack of fairies, I'd say absinthe," I say with a smirk. Unsurprisingly, Varric doesn't get it. I sigh. "Final question." I pause, knowing that this sounds stupid. But after that last question, he already thinks I'm mad. In for a penny... "What year is this?"

Varric sighs and groans, "9:25 Dragon. Is that everything?" 9:25? Wait wait wait. That's, uh, let me think... My lore's rusty. 5, yeah, 5 years before Dragon Age Origins. He looks at me, evidently annoyed at my questions. I nod numbly and he turns away without another word. I stand in the near deserted street for a few moments before my feet move towards the pub.

"This has gotta be a dream," I mutter quietly as I open the door. "I just gotta wake up somehow or just run out of imagination." I find myself sitting at the bar and without thinking I dig my hands into my pockets. A pen, my phone, my wallet and a note. I quickly unfold it.

Remember…

That's all it says. That's not even my handwriting. Okay… This isn't creepy at all! Remember what exactly? I fold the note back up and by that time the barman was right in my face.

"And what can I get you little 'un?" he says with a smirk. English accent? Oh yeah, these guys had English accents. That'll take some getting used to. Or it would if this wasn't a dream…

Which it is!

"I was, uh, just wondering what was new around here. Anything exciting maybe?" I smile nervously. He gives me a pointed look, the kind of look that says "Stop playing the adult and go back to your colouring". I'm not a kid anymore, I'm 17. I can't stand it when I'm not being treated my age. Before I can protest he walks away and begins chatting to another customer, a rather beautiful woman. I sit stewing in my anger for a few minutes before my mind clears and I concentrate.

I'm not sure I'm dreaming anymore. It's all so… real. The breeze from the door opening, ruffling my hair as it cools down my hot face. The smell of booze, piss and vomit…The loud ruckus of the drunks. I'm terrified. If this is real… then how the hell did I get here? What am I doing in a video game? And what the hell am I supposed to do? I've got a Blight and a Mage-Templar War to look forward to, and that's after 5 years in this nightmare. Neither of them looks like a fun thing to do when you're a scared, fat, 17 Scottish kid who thinks he's going insane. I put my head in my hands and moan again.

"Trouble messere?" asks a greasy voice behind me. Turning, I see two men in leather armour with metal studs staring at me on a way I do not like at all. One's tall and bald while the other has a full head of hair and a beard. Both of them have daggers across their back and I gulp. Their twin smirks widen.

"No no no, no trouble here, no siree. Just enjoying the good old fashioned pub scene," I chuckled nervously. I saw the look the men gave each other and the way their smirks didn't even bother hiding the evil inside them.

"You from Starkhaven?" asks the taller of the two, his voice low and dangerous. It takes me a moment before I remember what he means. The accents were similar after all.

"Yeah, Starkhaven, that's me. Fresh off the bus, uh, I mean cart. Road?" I finish feebly as the men stare at each other in confusion. Before I can make any plans to get away from them they turn back to me with greedy stares.

"Starkhaven's a very rich place… It'd be… kind of you to give us your coin purse." I shudder in relief; they only want to rob me. Wait, they want to rob me? I have no money. Well, a few pounds but I don't think there's a transfer rate between British pounds and Sovereigns…

"I don't have any money," I murmured lowly and they throw their heads back as if it was the biggest joke they'd ever heard.

"Come now Starkhaven, you expect us to believe that you spent your last sovereign on a drink? Look at the size of you!" Great, fat jokes. Very classy robbers. Beardy looks behind me and I turn to see a wooden mug of ale behind me. I look at the barman who's still talking to the woman, who keeps sending glances at me, watching the scene with my would-be muggers unfold. Great, first time a woman buys me a drink and I'm gonna get stabbed! This is why I didn't move to Glasgow. I smile uncertainly at the woman and she winks cheekily. A little courage floods my body as embarrassment flushes my face.

"Come now, boy, you don't want us to get nasty now. And believe you me; we can be very, very nasty." I stare at the two. Boy? BOY? I stare at the two coldly. I don't think I'm getting out of here without a fight. The taller one is around my size, maybe an inch or two taller. Long arms, though, could mean trouble. The smaller has his arms crossed and is leaning back on one foot. He's off balance…

"You know gentlemen," I say pleasantly as I take a large swig of my ale, Dutch courage and all that, completely at odds with the cold rage coursing through my body like blood. "You took the words out of my mouth." And with that I struck.

I kick Beardy away with my right foot and he staggers backwards before landing on a table. The patrons at the table cry out in anger as their table is knocked over. Before his friend can react I throw my drink in his face, blinding him. As he stumbles backwards I throw my mug at his head, where it connects with a dull thunk. Panicking slightly, I try to rush to the door only to find Beardy waiting with a furious expression and one of his daggers pointing right at me. One of the drunks rush him, knocking the dagger out of his hand and sending him to the floor. I'm about to rush to the door when a force crashes into my back with the power of a freight train and I land heavily as blow after blow rains down on me. I hear howls and crashing all over the bar as fights break out.

10 minutes in a new world and already I start a bar fight. Mama would be so proud.

I wait for Baldy to try to stand before I kick at his knee. With a howl, he falls to the floor and I quickly climb on top of him. I rip my pen out of my pocket and hold it to his neck and he freezes. Beardy takes a step forward before I push the pen in deeper, panting lightly. Please, please, please, please…

"What is that thing," cried Beardy in fear at his partner being immobilised. I nearly laugh from relief but I turn it into a dark chuckle.

"Knew this apostate once, powerful bugger too, had blood magic and everything. Sometimes he picnicked with demons for the laughs. He gave me this which is basically a mini-crossbow," I pushed the pen in deeper and Baldy had to stifle a shriek. "I push this button," I wiggled my thumb, "And a poison dart makes its way into your friends' skull. He's dead in a minute. And I don't have the antidote. So let's make a deal, shall we."

I realise the whole tavern's watching and I feel a little stage fright. But then I take a deep breath and calmly say, "Drop your weapons, throw over your coin purse and walk away." The thief looks outraged but a slight whimper from his friend makes him pause.

"You ever killed anyone before boy? Ever seen the light leave someone's eyes? Felt the blood run down your hands?" Beardy smirks. Uh oh. I give him my most convincing stare and see his eyes twitch.

"You gonna risk his life on that little theory," I say blankly, pressing the pen further into into Baldy's neck. After a few moments, Beardy drops his daggers and coin purse and takes a few steps back. Oh thank God that worked! I start to slide off Baldy when he bites my leg savagely.

Bloody Rogues!

I stamp on his head a few times before a fist crashes into my jaw, knocking me to the floor. I lie there, dazed and waiting for the stars to pass from my eyes. I start to crawl towards the door when a vice-like grip locks around my ankle and drags me across the floor. I try scratching at the wood for purchase, but all that comes away is years of dirt, grime and other stuff I do not want to think about. I kick at the hand around my ankle and hit the guys wrist, making his grip loosen. I rip my foot loose and rush to my feet. I look over my shoulder in time to see Beardy with a blooded nose driving a huge fist into my face. I'm knocked back, desperately trying to stay on my feet. He rushes me again and I duck, grabbing him around the waist and throwing him into a set of drunks across the room.

Did I say fat? I meant power.

I turn and yelp, ducking a slash from one of Baldy's daggers. Crap, this is bad. This is very, very bad. He stabs at me and I step backwards, tripping over a fallen drunk. I drag myself backwards as he stalks forward, rage etched in every line of his face. The back of my head hits a table and I scurry under it. When he gets closer, I kick the table into him. While he's distracted, I rush up and punch him in the face, feeling a crunch under my fist. Baldy howls and I pull his head down, driving my knee into his nose and he growls, driving a fist into my chest. It lands with a dull whumpf as all the air rushes out of me. I fall and wrap my arms around my chest, wheezing. Around us, the bar fights are dwindling, only the most sober of the patrons still on their feet. I see Beardy face down near the fire, a fat man in rags kicking him in the ribs. I'd laugh, but I can't get my breath back.

The door crashes open and men in steel armour pour in. On the chestplate is what looks similar to a goat skull and orange fabric over the shoulders and crotch. The Guard! There's no way that a bunch of drunks will vouch for me. That and Kirkwall is one of the most stuck up, racist, prejudiced places I've ever been to… And I just said I'm friends with an apostate!

Virtually.

I stagger to my feet and rush upstairs, away from the guards who are rounding up all of the drunks in the pub. I rush into a room upstairs. Varric's! Okay, window window.

Bingo. I rush over and open the window as I hear armoured boots thundering up the stairs. I swing my head out and look down…

That's a long way. Onto stone… Maybe the guard will be nice.

I look back and see two of the Guard rush into the room, swords drawn. Maybe not. "Stop, in the name of the Viscount!" one of them yells as they rush forward. Dammit, I hate pressure!

"Geromino!" I yell as I fall towards the ground. I land heavily and my weak ankle crumples. I land on my side and howl in pain. I rush to my feet, hissing at the pain in my foot, and start hobbling away as fast as I can.

I don't stop for a long time.

An hour later, I hit the docks. The smell of sea is strong and I move towards the water. My ankle is killing me, I need to soak it. I pull off my sock and shoe and dip my foot in. I sigh in relief as the cold water works away at the swelling.

Okay, so I'm convinced. This is real. Somehow, I've landed in Thedas. I don't know how, the last thing I remember is… I don't know, it's fuzzy. I was walking… and then there was… something. I don't quite remember. But I get the feeling that something bad happened.

So what do I do? How the hell am I getting back? I don't even know how I got here. There's too many questions. I need answers. But where? All I've got is a load of junk, and some money from some guys I basically mugged! I don't know what to do. I put my head in my hands and groan, both in frustration and the tenderness of my face.

"I enjoyed the show," a voice calls over to me. I look sharply and see the woman from the bar. She's smirking widely as she sashays over. My god that is a gorgeous voice. Why do I know it?

"I aim to please," I grumble with a laugh. "Thanks for the like piss mind, but thanks anyway. Who are you are you anyway?"

"Isabela. Captain Isabela to you." My eyes widen and I gasp loudly. Oh, my god! Isabela bought me drinks! Her smile widens as I recognise her name. "So you've heard of me then?"

I smile, trying to play it cool. She was one of the coolest characters, easily in my top 5. "Captain of the Sirens Call, sharpest blade in Llomerryn, Queen of the Eastern Seas! I've heard a bit," I chuckle. She smirks quietly.

"So what brings you to Kirkwall, Mr…?" she leaves the question hanging.

"Sparrow. Jack Sparrow," I almost snort in laughter but manage to turn it into a cough. "I'm not really sure. Something brought me here, I don't know what. I'm just trying to figure things out, if that makes sense. It doesn't does it?" I say morosely. For a second there, the fight, Isabela, I forgot this wasn't my world, that I'm a very long way from home.

"It does actually," Isabela murmurs as he leans her back against the bar. "I found what I was looking for. The open waves, the taste of salt…" she shudders in excitement. "There's nothing better."

"Is that what brings you to Kirkwall? The open ocean?" I glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

"No, I need a crew," she says, obviously annoyed.

"A captain without a crew, reminds me of someone I know," grinning at my namesake. Then an idea entered my head. A dreadful idea. A horrible, dreadful, wonderful idea. "So you're recruiting? Anything special?"

"If they're sober, I can use them. You might make a good pirate yourself," she looked at me, right in the eyes…

"You know what," I say with a smirk as I smack my lips and pull on my shoe. "I think that too. But there are a few small things to overcome…"

"Oh, and what would they be?" she asks, her eyes fluttering seductively. Is she thinking… No, she can't be, she's like over 10 years older than me.

"I have never used a weapon before. I'd need someone to teach me," I let a little shame to pour into my face, just to sweeten the deal. This is a very pivotal moment. I stand there before the Pirate Queen as she decides my fate. She takes a few moments to look me over.

"We can work on that. Maker knows this won't be the first time I've had to teach a man to handle his sword," she wiggles her eyebrow suggestively and I groan at the innuendo. "Come on Sparrow. We have a ship to catch," with that she strode from the pier, leaving me to pick up my spoils and follow her.

Less than a day in a new world and I'm a pirate. I'll decide whether that's a good thing or not later. For now, it's a pirates life for me.

A/N: Little thing that popped into my head, thought I'd write it. Dunno where to go from here so I'll keep working. Read review, Compliment or critiscise I don't care. Tell me what I'm doing right or wrong.