“Release me, fool,” whispered the inky mouth on Grom’s lower back.
Grom refused. He had a cauldron to test. melkor tattoo
“Ink my visage upon your back,” the being had growled, his crown of iron thorns scraping the cavern ceiling. “And I shall grant your cauldron the power to boil any meat, even troll kidney, to tenderness in seconds.” “Release me, fool,” whispered the inky mouth on
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. ” the being had growled
