Desperate, Grom visited an old goblin shaman. The shaman peered at his back and laughed. “You don’t need to remove a Melkor tattoo. You need to change the subject matter .”
“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.” melkor tattoo
Grom, who had spent three centuries chewing gristly boots, agreed. Desperate, Grom visited an old goblin shaman
He ran to the kitchens, tossed a month-old orc-foot into the pot, and stirred. Nothing happened. The foot remained leathery. Urluk, who had been hiding behind a stalagmite, coughed awkwardly and vanished in a puff of cheap sulfur. You need to change the subject matter
Grom was left alone with a sentient tattoo of a god.
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.