Melkor Tattoo _verified_ — No Survey

Of all the orcs in Mordor, no one knew less about tattoos than Grom. He was a cook, not a skin-artist. But when the Great Lord Melkor—or at least, a very convincing impersonator claiming to be the Dark One returned from the Void—offered him a job, Grom didn’t argue.

Grom, who had spent three centuries chewing gristly boots, agreed. melkor tattoo

Urluk used a needle made from a broken arrow, ink boiled from shadow-berries, and his own whispered lies as a catalyst. Grom screamed for six hours as the design took shape: a spiked, glaring face with eyes like pits, spreading from his shoulder blades down to his waist. Of all the orcs in Mordor, no one

The tattoo still whispered, but now it said things like: “Add more salt. No, more . Good. Now serve it with a garnish of fear.” The cauldron began to obey. Any meat thrown in emerged fall-apart tender, infused with a subtle dread that made orcs homesick for the bad old days. Grom, who had spent three centuries chewing gristly

Grom refused. He had a cauldron to test.

Grom twisted. “You’re a drawing.”