Last session of the campaign I'm playing in...

Last session of the campaign I'm playing in, I got so in character that I actually started to feel the emotions my character was supposed to be feeling at the time.
Is this normal?
is this what being a good roleplayer feels like?

Yep, you were in the zone, user. Pretty cool, huh?

It's pretty awesome, but also kinda sucks because the first session where it happens is the one where the DM called our bluff on putting off the plot hook sitting in front of us.

Shit went very, very south about an hour or two in. Y'all want storytime?

Sure, sounds interesting.

Yes

Aight. So, before I start on the grand cavalcade of fuckery that was last session, a bit of background.
First, the party.
We're all about level seven at this point.
First up, me. Angus McTavish, pseudo-scottish wizard. Used to be a gravekeeper, had to leave his village because peasant mobs are dicks to people who have anything to do with the dead, specialises in hit and run tactics by means of stacking speed boosts with a few houserules to increase damage output at high speed. Has a massive hero complex.

Second, our big gun. Ptolemaeus, the goliath barbarian. Has a habit of hoarding hides and skulls from defeated enemies.

Third, the healer. Freya Osborne, human vengeance paladin of Helm. Always angry, all the time.
Fourth, the chaotic stupid. Jhaan Mirwynn, winged elf fighter/sorceror. Don't ask why there are winged elves, I didn't write this. Well, there *were* winged elves, as we'll get to in a bit. Player is kinda scatterbrained at times, but does his best. We have a running gag where one of his possible wild magic roles is "Angus Appears". It does what you'd expect.

Finally, the shady asshole. Alan the dragonborn sorceror. Showed up after I did, is really dodgy. Currently basically puppeting his body as a result of some prior shenanigans involving creating a grimoire of resurrection and an interrupted bonding ritual. Is probably evil.

So, to summarise what happened before this session:
After a bunch of other shit happened, we wound up in a kingdom full of bird people. Ptol and I spend a few days showing off in a town which (apparently) has the highest concentration of bards per capita in the known world, and gain something of a reputation as total badasses and great heroes. Some guards showed up and took us to the king, who asked us to go ensure that his daughter made it home safe from some neighbouring kingdom full of shady assholes. We agree because what the hell, the money's good and (in my opinion) it sounds pretty heroic.
Cont'd

We find her about three days out from the capitol, being assailed by a wizard, because it's always fucking wizards. I use my signature "run very fast and thunderwave-punch the bad guy in the face" technique, the wizard summons about 100 goblins, we beat the shit out of the goblins. Good times all around.

We bring the princess back to the king, he gives us a shitload of gold and, since he for some reason thinks Angus is the party leader, gives him a lordship. The rest of the party (Excluding Alan, since he's currently comatose because of soul shenanigans) receive knighthoods.

We make our way over to Angus' new castle/hub of the area he's to govern.
Turns out the previous lord was a total piece of shit who overtaxed the people, until the king found out and had his head lopped off. So, while the rest of the party settle into their new houses in the city, I get to governing. Taxes are cut, illegal border tolls are rescinded, I find over a million illegitimately acquired gold coins under the castle and return them to the king, the usual.

After a week or so of un-fucking this province and making the local lordlings bend the knee, I figure out how to (sort of) stuff Alan's soul back into his body and rez him. With the party reassembled, we finally take a look at the plot hook that has literally been in front of us the whole time.
God help us all.

So, that's the leadup. Here's how it went down.

Jhaan was wearing a ring this whole time. It's fairly normal, except that it has a feather-like symbol on the top that always faces in a specific direction. Close to true north, but not quite. After some experimentation and map-checking, we figure out that it's facing towards something. Alan does some magic juju on it and attempts to figure out just where it's pointing towards.

It's pointing towards something in the mountains to the north. More accurately, something above the mountains. Really far above them. It's at about this point that the blindingly obvious becomes so to me, and I put two and two together. These winged elves, according to legend, have a floating city, cloaked by magic.

That would be fine and dandy on its own, were it not for the fact that the ring is corroding. Fast. By our best estimates, we have under a month until it breaks. From what Alan could tell from the enchantment, something was happening to the magical power source the ring was tracking, and it was having some kind of feedback on the ring itself. It was going to take us, travelling as a group, at least two weeks to get to somewhere where Alan promised he could get us airborne and up to the city.

The party agrees to go along with it, because it was the only idea we had. Apart from the scroll of flight we had that everyone had forgotten about, but that wouldn't matter. We set out, only being waylaid temporarily by some dickass gnome wizard who summoned a shitload of ravens. We beat him up and offered him a job, because apparently we do that to everyone we fight. He agrees, and we send him on his way.

Eleven days after we set out, the ring breaks.

(Sorry about shitty mixed tense in previous posts, I'll try to keep it consistent from now on)
Just for a moment, something felt very wrong with the world. Something magical had just happened. Something big.
We all looked towards the mountains and saw a tiny black speck appear six hundred miles away. What that says about the curvature of this planet, I don't know. What I did know is that it was falling. And in that moment, Angus did some mental linear algebra and put two and two together, but this time instead of equalling four it came out to OH FUCK.

First, a mythical city was falling out of the sky with who knows how many thousand people inside.

Second, when it hit the ground who knows how big the resulting shockwave would be.

And finally, Angus' village was at the foot of the mountains that Elf Columbia was falling towards.

So Angus activated every bit of speed magic he had available and started running. He hadn't brought a horse, but that didn't matter. With his magic, he could go faster than any horse could dream of. In combat, burning all of his actions, he could hit 320 feet per round. Out of combat, and pushing himself as far as he could go? He was much, much faster. The rest of the party had no chance to follow him, and so had to continue on their way.

Angus, meanwhile, was covering ground at speeds he'd never even come close to before. Nobody had. Three hours or so in, he met the shockwave. His magically enhanced senses gave him just enough time to dive behind the biggest rock he could see before the world around him exploded, and the forest around him fell. A minute or so later, a storm of scorching stone and soil followed. Any normal man would be dead. Fortunately, Angus was an adventurer. A step above most men.

And so he kept running, even though the dirt and ash burned his skin and chipped away at him, one tiny scratch at a time. The fallen trees gave way to splinters, which gave way to a barren wasteland.
And he kept running.
Cont'd.

I think it's probably healthier to keep reality and fiction seperated. Be able to appreciate the emotional depth of a character without emulating it.

Otherwise you run the risk of self inserting, or becoming schizophrenic as the character self exerts.