[b]Sorin[/b]

Seeing his mighty demon collide with and bring down the dragon at last, Sorin felt a mix of quiet pleasure and exhaustion. Though the latter was most certainly encroaching on the former at a rapid pace. Sustaining such a massive summon was draining him quickly, and he soon found himself collapsed to his knees. However, as the confirmation of victory was shown before his eyes, he released his grasp on Withengar, allowing the demon to dissipate.

Before his consciousness entirely slipped, however, he was forced into yet another crude mockery of Planeswalking, and found himself in an armory of sorts. As they reemerged, he found himself feeling quite refreshed, with his wounds gone as though they had never been there. Even his armor had been restored to pristine condition. Finally, a touch of civility. Though the contents of the armory put a damper on that thought. Bits of both "dragons" they had slain were strewn about, altered to form weapons. As some intrusive exposition explained, these were apparently their rewards for having slain the beasts. Sorin was unimpressed. He would prefer his own sword over any of these tacky pieces of corpse any day. It was likely twice as powerful and a tenth as burdensome.

It seemed that the blond fool in the red coat was yet again making a nuisance of himself by forcing his suicidal pacifism onto others. Sorin found himself irked by the constant bickering more than anything else, and so he thought for a brief moment on how to shut him up. Thinking of something to perplex him with in hopes that he would keep to himself in the future, Sorin grinned evilly, his fangs showing through his smile.

"Listen for just a moment, would you?" He approached the man, still smiling. "If perchance, there was an individual in an usual situation; for them to live they must take the lives of others. They could only sustain themselves by stealing life. Would you stop them, and have that individual perish? Would that not make you their killer?" His eyes narrowed, burning like golden tourmaline. "Something to think on. It is not a question many can answer, and is often more complex than most believe."

[b]Kavinsky[/b]

Meanwhile, another man slowly rose up off the floor. Hair like blue steel shook as he tried to rouse himself from his delirium, still not quite sure what was going on. His stony complexion was just barely detectable in the low light of the armory, but the burning red eyes behind his vintage Wayfarers were visible plain as day. Still, a befuddled expression ruled his features as he slowly raised himself back into his feet. Studded leather gloves, a bright red letterman jacket, tight jeans and authentic Dunks gave him a strange, anachronistic look when compared to the others present; as though he had just been ripped out of a John Hughes film.

"Holy crap," He muttered to himself, "I don't think I've been this drunk before in my life. First I dream I'm gettin' chased by dinosaurs 'n shit, now I'm hallucinating a room full of weirdos." His vision apparently leveling out, he eyed the others in the room cautiously. "What a trip."