“I am Melkor Bauglir, High King of the World, and I am currently compressed into dermal layers. Scratch me off.”
Grom tried the stew advice. It worked. The orcs of the garrison wept with joy. melkor tattoo
When she finished, Grom looked in a mirror. The tattoo now depicted a fat, cheerful kitchen-god—Melkor, the Dark Cook of Legend. “I am Melkor Bauglir, High King of the
But the tattoo also grew ambitions. It started twitching, stretching, trying to peel itself free. One night, Grom woke to find a black, two-dimensional arm emerging from his shoulder, groping for a knife. “I am Melkor Bauglir