__full__ - 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.

“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

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. When she finished, Grom looked in a mirror

And somewhere in the Void, the real Melkor felt a strange tug of pride. Someone, somewhere, was using his face to make a demi-glace. He decided not to escape just yet. The world, he realized, had finally learned to season properly. “And I shall grant your cauldron the power

When it was done, the tattoo spoke.

Grom tried the stew advice. It worked. The orcs of the garrison wept with joy.