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Almost instantly, they appeared on the other side of the portal's tunnel in a smoggy city on the rooftop of a large building. Silastrix and Farrow were thrown out, the agile and flexible ex-bandit doing a series of front flips to ensure that she landed safely. However, Farrow had less luck and skidded on his feet before tumbling head-over-heels and landing on his back. He moaned softly as Silastrix rushed over in concern.
"Jeez, Farrow," she said, grasping his forearms to help him back up to his feet, grunting with the exertion. "If you had any less balance, you'd be tripping over thin air." The tall cleric brushed the dust off of his armor, frowning. "We have the nightmare to blame for that. The sooner it's gone, the better."
"I'll say," agreed a voice, its tones as smooth as velvet. The pair jumped, as the voice seemed to come out of nowhere. However, they relaxed, seeing it was only Smythe. The man wore a pinstriped suit with a matching fedora. His eyes were blue, not navy blue like Farrow's, but brighter and much less intense. His hair was medium in length, part of it swept over one eye, and a honey-brown color. He wore a smile as if he were holding a secret. But then again, that's how Smythe usually smiled.
"Smythe!" Silastrix said, removing her horned helmet. "You scared us for a second. I'll never get used to seeing you as... you know, alive."
"After who knows how many years of being a skeleton, it's a little surprise every time I look in the mirror as well. Although I am pretty handsome, if I do say so myself." He fetched both of them a wide grin and straightened his suit jacket. Then he appraised Farrow and Silastrix with a frown. "You're not going around New York City like that, are you?" He gestured to their full suits of armor. "Sorry to say, but the Renaissance Fair's not in town."
Farrow blinked. "Er, what is the Renaissance Fair...?" While Silastrix had already lived in Oerth before, this was Farrow's first time there. Judging by the bewildered expression on his face, this was not at all something he was used to.
"Forget about that for a moment. I've got some clothes to make you all fit in. We'll just take a ride down the elevator and change in the restrooms," Smythe replied, motioning for them to follow.
"By the way," the draconic hybrid mused, "what building are we on?"
"Why, we're on the rooftop of an asylum!" the ex-skeleton answered cheerfully. "Isn't that wonderful?"
"Fitting," muttered a still-bewildered Farrow.

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The elevator ride was interesting, to say the least. All the while, the cleric of Isod'us gripped the railing as if it were a lifeline, his eyes squeezed shut. Silastrix and Smythe stood on opposite sides, smiling nonchalantly, as if they really weren't strange oddities from another plane. With a small ding, the elevator doors opened and the group of them strode out, ignoring patients in wheelchairs and straight jackets and the occasional rushing of staff members down a hallway. Surprisingly, no one gave Silastrix and Farrow a second glance. It was like a normal day in a New York asylum.
They made their way to the restrooms and came out a few minutes later, holding the bundles of their armor at their sides. Farrow was in a white polo shirt and dark blue denim jeans, wearing a pair of decorative glasses. Silastrix wore a green sundress and a black jacket fitted at the waist. A pair of black 2-inch heel shoes were on her feet. She did not look happy at all.
"A dress, Smythe? Really? Don't you recall how much I despise these lacy, frilly, flowy things?" she snapped at him. Smythe shrugged. "It must've slipped my mind," he said innocently, though he did not even bother to look apologetic.
Farrow shook his head. They quarreled like two-year-olds, but that was to be expected, for they'd done so for as long as he'd known them.
"All right. We're in New York," Silastrix said. "Where do we head from here? I hope nobody put the mask in a pawn shop or anything..."
"Actually, no. I believe it's located in the Sahara desert in Africa. While it may be a long trip, at least it has less of a chance of being found by someone just taking a stroll." Smythe replied, leading them down the hallways to the rotating door exit of the building.
"Africa? I've heard some bizarre stories about that place," Farrow mentioned. "Supposedly, there's a fly that can lay eggs inside of a person's skin, and some type of fish that feeds on people by swimming inside their..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. "Right. Africa." Silastrix shuddered, trying not to think of it.
They stepped out onto the street and were swept along the general direction of the crowds, as it seemed that everyone was moving in every which direction. The three of them held each other's hands to not get separated (Smythe was the only one with a cell phone, for he'd been living there long enough to understand how one works), while being constantly bombarded with people in business suits, tourists, and hot dog vendors. Soon after, they called a taxi and took off.
On the taxi's radio, a familiar song was playing. (Clocks by Coldplay) Farrow stared with wide eyes at the scenery of New York as they drove by. It was Smythe's same reaction upon entering Oerth for the first time, as well. It was as though he could not have begun to imagine such a place, not even in his wildest dreams. The road was paved and not cobbled, similar metal monsters like the one they were riding inside swept past, and there were buildings so high up that it seemed as though they reached past the clouds.
"How's it going, Farrow?" Silastrix asked him. "Kind of different from Malindor, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Very different." He paused, thinking. "The atmosphere is flat. It's like it's weighing me down. There is no magic here, nor is there the presence of gods or goddesses. My spells will be useless in this plane, as they're mainly supplied by Isod'us. And Isod'us has no presence here."
"And the air stinks, too. These humans are so careless that they pollute their air with poisonous toxins," Smythe chimed in. Silastrix nodded in agreement. When she was away from Oerth, she didn't miss it very much at all for those reasons.
"Where are we headed to?" Silastrix asked Smythe.
"My apartment for now. We need to be prepared and rested up for a long trip."
"That's good. At least I can see if I can find anything to wear instead of this dress."
"Why do you complain about them so much? It's not a bad thing to look ladylike," Farrow commented. Silastrix hrrred in frustration. "I don't appreciate looking ladylike, that's the problem. You would figure that a bandit living around men for most of her life would despise dresses. Especially with men like him." She gestured to Smythe, making a point. Smythe rolled his eyes.
Farrow shrugged, returning to his thoughts.

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The taxi dropped them off at a large, expensive-looking apartment complex. Smythe tipped the driver, and they took their bags and went inside. Up another elevator they went, and Farrow had another round of holding onto the railing, lest he'd lose his balance.
"Apartment 7-B. I got quite a nice place," Smythe said. "It has a modern style to it. I think I'm beginning to melt into Oerthan society." He inserted his card key and opened the door, revealing a large room. There was a living room with a wide Sofa circling around a glass coffee table, a black-and-white abstract painting hanging from the wall, and a black-and-white pattern rug on the floor. The kitchen, next to the living room, was separated from the living room by an island. The floor had white tiles, the counter tops made from granite and the wooden cabinets from mahogany. The sink was chrome-colored with a water-filtration device attached to the faucet. The hallway led to the bathroom and the master bedroom (with its own bathroom, a Jacuzzi hot tub included), as well as the guest bedroom. Silastrix whistled in amazement. Farrow observed the surroundings quietly, setting his bag down.
Smythe put his hands in his pockets, nodding at Farrow and Silastrix. "Alright. I'll be out for a little while, getting the basic necessities. Help yourself to anything in the fridge," to help Farrow identify what exactly a fridge was, he pointed to it, "try not to cause any trouble, and I'll leave it to you two for who sleeps where tonight. The master bedroom's off limits. I'll be back." And with that, he opened the door again and left.
"You'll take the guest room. I'll have the couch," Farrow said, being the gentleman. Pride and reason made Silastrix refuse. "No. I'll take the couch," she insisted. "You need a real bed to rest up, because you need as much of it as possible with that nightmare inside of you."
"I'll be fine, really," he replied.
"No, you won't. Take the guest room." After staring him down with dragon eyes, he gave in and took the guest room. Best not to risk anything when a woman gives you a look like that, especially if she's part dragon.
When Silastrix finally settled down, she turned her attention to her bag and rifled through its contents, checking that she had everything. She gave a satisfied sigh as she reviewed all of her contents, but then paused as she picked up a skull from it. The skull of Masamune, a man who'd once challenged her to a duel in the Malindor sewers. She accepted not to win, but to feel his blood between her claws, for she had reverted back to her bandit self momentarily around that time. Twice, she won, and she claimed his head as her prize. As a result, her friend Farrow became mad at her for not only breaking Malindor's laws, but also for going back to the way she used to be. It turned out that Masamune was the one who murdered her former love Severo's family, so it had given her greater pleasure in her victory against him. However, Masamune said something quite strange...
So now he owns the plane of death, Silastrix thought. Was he really truthful, or was it a bluff? That voice... the one he spoke with... it was as if it was from another world. And he seemed to know of Mortal Coil...
Silastrix stared at the skull, turning it in her hands. It stared back at her with dark, empty eye sockets. Its canine teeth seemed slightly sharper than a normal human's would. He couldn't be a human. Whatever he was, she would possibly never know. All she knew was that it gave her a slight chill of fear when she thought of his smoldering red eyes gazing into hers, as if he were already analyzing the best way to murder her. She put the skull back. That monster was dead. Hopefully, she would have nothing more to do with him.
Her thought pattern was broken as she heard a thump in the hallway. Farrow had tripped and was getting back up to his feet, grimacing.
"Are you okay?" she asked in concern. She recalled the way Valian had been when he was sick with the nightmare's taint. She hoped that her friend wouldn't go the same way. Without a god's presence here in Oerth, he wouldn't be able to use his divine powers to heal the wounds caused by the fiend.
"I'm all right. I lost my footing briefly," was his answer, rubbing the shoulder he'd landed on sorely.
"Come and sit down a while. There's a wonderful thing called a television that I think would interest you," she offered, holding up a remote. Even better--Two and a Half Men was on.