A/n: I still own nothing, all known characters belong to their respective owners. Claire Violet Thorpe I really hope that you like this seeing as how this is the first time I've entered the Dungeons & Dragons world. Also please note that I don't know if anything that I'm saying is true or not, I'm just making this up as I go along. This story is going to be somewhat non-canon but the main pairing will be canon. Many thanks goes out to Deebelle1 for making the banner for this story, to JoyfulyetHesitantPen for pre-reading this I love you honey for all of the help that you gave me when we got down to the wire and to Tammygrrrl for not only being my beta but for also helping me come up with ideas for these chapter.

~One Week Later~

I didn't lay any charges against the man who chased after me the night of my big premiere. My publicist said that it would be bad publicity for the movie but something didn't feel right about it anyway. He unsettled me but it wasn't in a dangerous way. It was hard to explain; I just hoped that that feeling wouldn't come back and bite me in the ass. The week had gone by with no word from him, but I wasn't delusional enough to think that he was gone. He was still here in the city somewhere, and my hope was that he wouldn't try to get in contact with me again.

I had been promoting the movie all week, and I was due to leave for Canada in the next twenty-four hours, so I was currently making my way toward the spa that I frequented. It was a place in Venice Beach that I'd been going to since before I'd made it big. The owner, Sabrina, was the first friend I'd made when I moved to L.A. and she was a wizard with her hands. A massage from her would be the perfect thing to get me in the best mindset for my next promotional tour. Besides, I loved any excuse to go to Venice Beach. It was jam-packed with interesting people dressed in all kinds of different clothing, some of it normal and some on the trippy or kooky side, with hairstyles just as varied. It showcased what a melting pot L.A. was, and I loved that it was on the beach. I could grab a greasy tray of chili cheese fries, pick a spot on a tree stump, a grassy hill or a weathered cement bench and alternate between watching the waves, watching the people as they shopped at the kitschy little shops on the strip of concrete bordering the sand or racing by on bicycles, skateboards or rollerblades, or I could watch the street performers. Doing that would help me relax almost as much as the massage.

With a final hug from Sabrina, I left the spa two hours later ready to take on the next part of the promotions. I was exiting the spa when I bumped into someone.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," I said while looking up to see who I bumped into. The man held out his hand, and when I placed mine in his and looked into his eyes, I knew that it was the man from a week ago, but I didn't feel any fear. All I felt was lust for him and I couldn't explain it nor did I want to analyze it.

"It's quite alright, Sorceress. It was my fault for not getting out of your way," he replied with a bow.

"Why do you keep calling me sorceress?"

"Well, that is who you are. We are never allowed to call you by your name. You should know this."

I gave him a quizzical look as I tried to figure him out. Who was this guy? Why was he still dressed like an extra that had been kicked off the set of my latest movie? No one knew I was here. I never told anyone when I came to visit Sabrina at her spa, and I did the whole "celebrity-disguise" thing to make sure no one figured it out as I walked along the beach. He couldn't have followed me, but somehow, here we were, again in the same place at the same time. If he didn't know I was here, how would he have known to dress like he came straight off the computer screen of a Dungeons & Dragons nerd? Why did he speak like an actual D&D warrior come to life? Maybe he wasn't just a delusional fan. Maybe he was just flat out delusional.

I opened my mouth to ask him if he'd taken his meds lately—I know it's not the politest question, but I'm especially blunt when a person catches me off guard. Before I could, a burly skateboarder swerved around my crazy fan's bulky frame, heading straight for me. The guy, dressed in a tie-dyed Bob Marley T-shirt, tried to twist out of the way, and he mostly succeeded, but his broad, bony shoulder clipped me across the chest despite his efforts. I went flying backwards, even as my crazy fan reached to keep me on my feet, and landed flat on my back. I heard a crunch that was distinctly not the sound of my ass hitting the ground and another tearing noise as a searing pain shot up my forearm. I was dazed from the impact for a moment but was brought out of my stupor by a shadow blocking out the shining sun. It was my possibly "more delusional than fan" fan leaning over me. He took my aching arm gently in his hands. Were guys like him even capable of that kind of gentleness? A minute ago, I would have said no. Now I couldn't. It turned out the crunching was the sound of a glass beer bottle that hadn't made it to a trash can breaking as I landed on it, and the tearing was the sound of a shard of it ripping through the sleeve of the black hoodie I wore to blend in. Unfortunately, that shard had also torn through my flesh, leaving a nasty, jagged gash in its wake, and the blood that was spilling out of the wound was a gruesome river of red.

He studied my arm intently, eyes tracing the uneven edges of skin and muscle that should have been whole, a grim but kind expression twisting his gorgeous features. Then he placed his hand over the wound. I was about to tell him that if that was the way he hoped to stop the bleeding, then he needed to tear a strip of fabric off his tunic or something but, yet again, something happened before I could say those words. Twin tingling and burning sensations threaded through the wound and an unearthly blue light shone out from beneath this stranger's palm. When he pulled it away, my arm was unblemished and pain-free, the only evidence that I had been knocked on my ass at all was that I was still, well, on my ass. Other than that, the tear in my hoodie and the blood looked more like some Halloween gag than the remnants of a wound that had magically disappeared. Who was this guy?

"Who are you?" I asked, brain-to-mouth filter on the fritz in the aftermath of all this insanity.

The man frowned. "I am a cleric, made so by the Brothers Aro, Caius and Marcus," he answered.

Brothers Aro, Caius and Marcus? There was something about those names that nagged at me, niggling at the back of my brain like a splinter that was trying to wriggle free. I let my mind go blank and after a few minutes it hit me. I remembered from my days playing Dungeons & Dragons with my brother, Jasper, and our cousin, Peter, those names belonged to the leaders of an ancient faction in the game—in the literal, freaking game—that had gained prominence and power as the creators of it put out expansion packs. Then there was his outfit and that blue light and—

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed. What the hell is going on? This guy wasn't actually from Dungeons & Dragons was he? Was he? "Holy shit!"

My "possibly not delusional at all fan" fan spluttered for God knows what reason, but helped me to my feet. I wasn't really paying attention to his actions or really even to him though. My mind was still spinning with the idea that I was actually in some sort of D&D-themed Twilight Zone. I had to get to the bottom of this, but in order to do that, I needed to remember every last little bit of the time in my life when I could call myself a D&D nerd. First things first, he had to believe that I believed him, so I had to play the part. Considering I was an actress, that wouldn't be hard. I knew enough about that world to make the little charade I was about to put on convincing.

Thinking back to how he'd greeted me before I was knocked on my ass, I knew that he was right. Characters in the D&D world were never allowed to call the sorcerers by her or his first name. It was against the law and punishable by death, and that was my in. If I wanted to figure out what the hell was going on, I had to communicate with this man the way I would if I was playing the game.

"Are you alright, m'lady?" D&D boy asked as he righted me with a firm grip on my biceps. If I had been paying better attention, I might have noticed that he'd hung on just half a second too long than was appropriate.

"Of course I am," I replied in a haughty tone, brushing sand and other debris from the seat of my jeans. "And yes, of course I know all about your the restrictions you have on names and the consequences if you break them—" I studied his armor and wracked my brain to figure out what character class he was, and after a second, light bulb— "cleric."

"I should have known that you were testing me, Sorceress. Please forgive me for my incompetence," he bowed again once he finished talking.

"All is forgiven. Now tell me your name, cleric."

"Emmett McCarty, Sorceress. I am a fairly new cleric."

"When were you dubbed?"

"The day prior to meeting you, Sorceress. If you don't mind me asking, where are we? I've never seen a land like this before. Where are the horses? Why is there no dirt on the roads? Is it always this noisy? I'm at a loss in this land, Sorceress."

I could tell it would be a long road to getting to truth of things, and this wasn't a conversation that should be had out in the middle of crowded Venice Beach. I let out a sigh and said, "You'd better come back with me to my home so I can explain it all to you."

"Thank you, Sorceress," he replied with yet another bow. I was going to have to make him stop that.

I got in my limo, and Emmett followed me. I told the driver to take us home instead of to the hair salon. As we were driving, I called Jessica—my hairstylist—and told her that I wasn't going to be able to make my appointment. She told me not to worry, she would be able to get me in before I leave for Canada; I thanked her and hung up.

"What is that contraption that you were speaking into Sorceress?" Emmett asked while staring at my cell.

"I'll explain it to you later.,"

He just nodded and said no more. We arrived back at my apartment, and we made our way up to the penthouse. I unlocked the door and gestured for Emmett to follow me. As he looked around, I called my publicist and told her to cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. When she asked me what was wrong, I told her that I wasn't feeling well but that I would be ready to go when we took off tomorrow.

"Emmett, would you like a drink?" I asked once I hung up with my publicist.

"Some wine would be nice m'lady," he replied.

"Of course," I agreed. "I'll be right back. Please have a seat on the couch."

I walked to the kitchen and pulled down two wine glasses from the cabinets and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from the wine fridge, popped the cork and poured some into the glasses. I then walked back out into the living room and handed one of them to Emmett. I took a seat opposite him and took a sip of my wine while trying to figure out how best to explain this world to him.

"Emmett, before you met me, what year was it?" I asked figuring it was best to start there and go from the information that he had given me.

"It was the Year of Our Lord 1897, m'lady," he replied.

Shit, that meant that he'd traveled here from over 200 years ago. This was going to be a nightmare.

"Well, first off, Emmett, this is no longer the 1800s. Wherever you came from, you traveled over two hundred years to get here. That is why this land looks so different to you. You didn't have the things that we have today."

"Two hundred years? But that's impossible! How can one man do that when they are not a sorcerer?"

"I don't know, Emmett, perhaps someone cast a spell on you to transport you here," I reasoned.

"Why would someone do that?" He was really puzzled, and I felt bad for him.

"Did you upset anyone recently?" I questioned.

"Just Demetri Apostolos that I know of."

"Why was he upset?"

"Well, he believed that he should have become the next cleric, not me."

I had to admit that that was a valid, if cliché reason. Jealousy was petty, but it did make people do shitty things. I still thought there might be more to it though. There had to be a reason Demetri thought he was so much more deserving. "Why is that, do you suppose?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

Emmett blushed and said, "Because I'm only a farmer's son, and Demetri thought that a cleric should be someone that comes from better parentage."

"That's ridiculous!" I was abruptly and mysteriously outraged. I didn't know Emmett, so other than on principle, I didn't understand why I cared so much. No matter why that was, Demetri was still a slimy little bastard. "Where does he get off thinking that just because you are the son of a farmer that you're not important as well? Doesn't he realize that without farmers many of us would starve seeing as how they provide food for everyone?"

"He doesn't care, m'lady. To him, being the son of a farmer, blacksmith, or any other profession that doesn't pay a lot, means that you are not someone worthy of such a high and honorable post as a cleric and that you should not get special privileges like the sons of bankers, judges, lawyers and others such as that."

"Well, he's a prick. I'm glad to know that we now know how you got here. The question is how to get you back." I had to hold back the laugh that was bubbling to the surface when I saw the look of shock that passed over Emmett's face when he heard me say prick.

I thought long and hard about everything Emmett had told me as well as all that had happened in the last week. His appearance in the movie theater very well could have been some staged special effects trick, as realistic as it had been, but when I took into account how he'd healed me only a couple of hours ago, I could no longer believe it was a stunt. He couldn't fake making my wound disappear. Plus, I'd gotten pretty good at reading people since I'd come to Los Angeles. Hollywood was full of fake sycophants who were out to use you for your fame. You had to learn how to tell who was real and who wasn't. Everything about Emmett screamed at me that he was genuine, and the innocence he exuded made it seem like he couldn't tell a lie to save his life. I had no choice but to believe he was telling the truth, and it scared the hell out of me. Video games weren't supposed to be real, but since they apparently were that meant he didn't belong here, that I had to somehow get him back to his own time.