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.
“I am Melkor Bauglir, High King of the World, and I am currently compressed into dermal layers. Scratch me off.” melkor tattoo
Grom refused. He had a cauldron to test. Urluk used a needle made from a broken
Grom twisted. “You’re a drawing.”
“Release me, fool,” whispered the inky mouth on Grom’s lower back. ink boiled from shadow-berries