Ezio: Stop it…
The most important man in this god damn universe
Oh!) I didn’t give it much thought yet, but may be it’d be something like energy power. I wanted to make it all armored, with claws or something, but since I’m fond of inks and tattoos, may be it’s better to make it all covered in special tattoos, like magical (well that sounds stupid, but whatever), which would give it certain strength. What I am pretty sure about, is the reason he gained such an arm (actually stupid, too, I’m bad with plots) - he injured his own and sacrificed it to the priests to make a weapon out of it so he could defend his king and the kindom
Actually, this plot is quite good! You can do nice things with it. Let Malik tell us how this happened.
How did I get this arm? Hm… Probably the greatest decision of my life. Do I regret it? When I look at what I have to protect, sometimes… Well, sometimes I regret not having the possibility of feeling what I touch with this hand but it’s probably for the best. This hand, this arm…it’s cursed. Losing it was an honor, an injury only the bravest warriors would get, but with only one arm, a warrior is useless. And I can’t be useless, not when…not when my king needs me. He is what he is but he’s still my king.
So I went to ask the priests to help me. I didn’t really think about what they would do to me, how they would be able to help someone who lost his arm, flesh and bones torn, broken. But they did it, they helped me, they made me the warrior I’ve never been, powerful, almost invincible. This arm is a blessing and a curse. My curse. I’ll bear this in my flesh as long as I’m alive, this monstrosity, this part of me that is not me. The say it belongs to God himself, that sometimes, He gives one of His breaths to a mortal to take him out of the land of the deads, and wounds and diseases are healed. Somehow.
They say I should feel privileged. I don’t know. I only want to protect what is dear to me. This kingdom, my family, my friends. My king.
This arm is my weapon and what keeps me alive. They never told me what the tattoos really were, their meanings, but the pattern is changing when I fight, the ink feels like boiling in my skin, torturing this flesh more dead than alive, and at this moment, I do believe this arm is from another world. But it makes me stronger so I don’t really question it.
As for its powers… The priests told me I would discover it when I would be ready, but who’s ready for such a thing? I kill with it, with this hand hot like the sun and these claws like dragon fangs and the strength is like the power of ten men, crushing the bones, burning the flesh, annihilating life, stealing breath until the last drop of blood.
This is made to kill. How can a god could give this power to me?
Sorry if it doesn’t stick with what you imagined! And sorry for my English. I just couldn’t let you say your plot was bad when it really has potential! :D