1: Fire

It began in flames for one curious quasit. Birthed in a boiling spawning pool deep below the plains of the Material Abyss, this one was born to fight, to burn, to kill, to die. He flew under the banner of one of the most feared armies in hell, under whose banners most demons would be content to plunder and murder. But the young imp Raqaz was not content - he had been born with an intense curiosity, a trait nearly ubiquitous among Serins humans but almost unheard of in demons. In the Abyss, being different was a very dangerous thing. For many years his curiosity was taken as promising cleverness: a new weapon was borne out of a desire to murder more effectively, a tweaked spell created only to destroy more efficiently. That the young imps motivation was to learn was entirely incomprehensible to the demon warlords commanding him. One who had more at stake was the captain of his siege gang, a cowardly and cruel demon named Kartalalsis. Planning a coup to advance, the brutal beast had to be sure that no independent thinkers would stand in his way. Raqaz had to go, it was nothing personal. The quasit was young and not so clever as he thought - he never expected five of his fellow mages to sneak into his quarters at night to beat him, and he certainly never expected to end up in the slave pens waiting for death. But his tale did not end there in blood and filth, for the curiosity that had doomed him offered one hope of escape: Raqaz had read every old book he could find, including one about forgotten rituals to a forgotten god. His work was frantic, for as the red sun crested the plains, his own light would surely cease. The circle was prepared, the runes were written in the sand, the abyssal slave bound and unconscious in the center. He was ready. The dagger fell, the words were spoken, and the portal opened.

2: Ice

When Raqaz opened his eyes, he peered out upon a strange and grisly scene. Quasits and pieces of quasits littered a small alcove of a cave. Had it worked, or was this a wicked trick? His wounds were gone, but he could no longer feel the mana throbbing in his veins. He had little time to ponder before the skittering sounds of a large beast filled the air, echoing off every surface. He clambered up the wall and hung tightly to a stalactite, enfolding himself with dusty wings as a gargantuan spider clicked and clacked underneath. Eventually it left the way it came, and Raqaz began to make his way toward the cooler, fresher air that must mark the exit to the surface. As he stepped out, he was assaulted the burning light of a noon sun refracted every way off snow and ice. The light of not a red, but a yellow sun. He had made it to Serin.

3: Thunder

Raqaz had lived for several months in a small ice-cave he had laboriously burnt into the snow, stealing scraps to eat from a huntsman and his wife. His life was not easy - the whipping winds could kill an exposed quasit in minutes. Flying was impossible, and it was not safe to scout far: the snow was crawling with huge beasts looking for nothing more than an easy meal. The quasit survived nonetheless, determined not to die after coming such a long way from home. Then the storm came. Lightning and sleet pounded the snow with fury unmatched by even the army he had escaped, with one lazy bolt collapsing the glacier accommodating Raqaz's meager home. Driven out and in grave peril, he wrapped himself in the tatters of a robe he had scrounged and ventured out into the white nothingness. Before long, he had a follower: a many-bladed beast stalked him from behind. As it approached, the quasit made his peace with fate and gave himself to the skies. He awoke on solid ground. Ground covered by snow, but thin enough to let grass peek through. A harmless-looking wurm foraged in the distance. Every step was agony for his broken body, but as he crawled, walked, and eventually flew north, his thin lips wore an unbreakable grin.