You wake up, Durge style, and look around. Don’t remember your name. No idea what you are. All you know is that you’ve been marked by infernal runes, engraved into your skin.
You search high and low and after much effort, and months of travel, you eventually stumble across a demon who is willing to trade a favor. In exchange for you making him a sandwich (with the crusts cut off), he will translate these hellish symbols.
“Shoulder.”
“W… what?”
“It means shoulder.”
“What the hells does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m not the one who got the tattoo. I’m an infernal being not a psychic.”
“But… why the fuck would I get tattoo of shoulder? It makes no sense!”
“In case you forgot?”
“Bruh. If I forget what my fucking limbs are called I’m pretty sure I have other matters that are going to be more pressing.”
“Mmmike mmmwat?”
“Mother didn’t teach you any manners?”
(Devil just chews, staring you in the eyes)
“Oh yeah. Of course. Well, wanna try that again?”
(big swallow) “What other matters would be more pressing than discovering the names of your various body parts?”
“Like wh… forget it. Okay. Well now what am I suppose to do.”
“I dunno. Did you add mustard to this?”
“Yeah, it’s a little extra zing. I mean I revolved my whole new personality around discovering this. I thought it would lead me to the secrets of my existence. Of who I was. Of what I went through. Of why I ended up here in the first place!”
“Huh. Well you should have made a deal for that.”
“Fucking what.”
“Well dude, I’m a devil. While I may not be a psychic, I can hook you up with one pretty easily.”
“… Oh my sweet and sour Bahamut, what do you want?”