Priest J

Damico is trapped in a fantasy role-playing game. Not "trapped at the table" like Thanksgiving dinner after a particularly unpleasant election. Trapped inside. Back in the real world, he's probably bleeding to death in the trunk of the game master's car. On a happier note, he currently rules this improbably constructed world from the very plush Comfy Chair, which he ordered built to replace the previous overlord's throne. It's amazing what a true artist can do with hard wood, soft animals, and relaxation magic.

Damico writes games for a living. When called in to rescue a local roleplaying game demo, Damico is shot in the head by a loony fan. He awakens in a game. A game full of hackneyed tropes and clichéd plots. A game he was there to save, run by the man who murdered him just moments ago. A game that has just become world-swap fantasy. Damico, to his horror, has become the heart of the cliché.