The Lingerbite
Condition Name: The Lingerbite
Also known as: Memory Gut, Sweet Decay, Echo Fever
Cause: Triggered by consuming certain enchanted or naturally memory-rich foods—most commonly:
Bloodfruit (especially overripe or raw)
Spiced moonmilk custard (when made from nocturne milk)
Pickled Whispershrooms (fungi that grow in graveyards or Veil-touched ruins)
These foods are often tied to memory, grief, or spiritual rites. Overindulgence or improper preparation can activate this condition.
Symptoms: Flashes of distant memories—but not always your own
Sudden, involuntary repetition of actions (e.g., refolding the same napkin, retelling a story you never lived)
Nausea when presented with emotional stimuli, like music or shared laughter
Temporary disassociation or walking "between moments," where time seems to bend or fragment
A soft hum or echo in the ear when near the person or object tied to the memory
In advanced cases:
The afflicted may relive a specific memory nightly, even in dreams
They may start forgetting their own, replaced by whatever “imprint” the food carried
Clerics say the soul begins to “flicker”—torn between present and past
Treatment: Veilroot extract tea steeped for seven nights in blessed water
Rites of Grounding performed by a Sister of the Veil
Temporary fasting, silence, and shadow meditation
In rare cases, a bonded Veyrathi may “feed” on the lingering imprint and purge it
Cultural Reactions: Some people seek out the condition to reconnect with lost loved ones
Others fear it, calling it “a curse disguised as comfort”
The Church of the Veil warns against indulgent memory-foods without clerical guidance
“The Boy Who Ate His Father’s Song” An old Veilfolk tale, often whispered when Bloodfruit is mentioned.
They say it happened long ago, when the war still burned the sky and crops wilted in fear. A woman named Elarra ran a lonely roadside inn known as The Mourning Dew, where weary travelers could trade coin for a bed and song for a meal.
Elarra had a son, Miran, who rarely spoke but loved to hum. He hummed the same tune every morning—a gentle, lilting melody his father once sang before he marched off to die in the mountains. That tune was all Miran had left of him.
One autumn, a traveler arrived wrapped in shadow-colored robes. He carried with him a gift: a warm tart baked from fresh Bloodfruit, pulsing slightly in the firelight, like it remembered being alive.
He said, “For the boy who hums. Let him taste what was." A promise of relief for the boys aching heart.
Elarra, curious but cautious, served her son a single slice.
That night, Miran stopped humming.
The next morning, he was different. Quiet, still, eyes glazed like he was listening to something behind the world. He began repeating his father’s old habits—checking a sword that wasn’t there, tying phantom bootlaces, whispering goodbye to a wife he never had.
He forgot Elarra’s name.
By the seventh day, he sat at the window and sang the full song—his father’s voice, not his own. People came from nearby villages to listen. Some wept. Some ran.
On the eighth day, he looked up and said:
“The war is calling. I must not be late.”
And then he walked barefoot into the woods, dressed in ghost-clothes no one could see.
They never found him.
Since then, Veil Sisters warn:
“To taste the past is to invite it to take root. If you feed the memory, it may bloom in your place.”
Modern Implication: Daughters of the Path are told this tale as a lesson in restraint.
Some alchemists argue Miran became part of the Veil, a walking memory too strong to fade.
A few cultists believe the traveler was Thalen Vire, testing the early bloodfruit tarts.
Cause: Triggered by consuming certain enchanted or naturally memory-rich foods—most commonly:
Bloodfruit (especially overripe or raw)
Spiced moonmilk custard (when made from nocturne milk)
Pickled Whispershrooms (fungi that grow in graveyards or Veil-touched ruins)
These foods are often tied to memory, grief, or spiritual rites. Overindulgence or improper preparation can activate this condition.
Symptoms: Flashes of distant memories—but not always your own
Sudden, involuntary repetition of actions (e.g., refolding the same napkin, retelling a story you never lived)
Nausea when presented with emotional stimuli, like music or shared laughter
Temporary disassociation or walking "between moments," where time seems to bend or fragment
A soft hum or echo in the ear when near the person or object tied to the memory
In advanced cases:
The afflicted may relive a specific memory nightly, even in dreams
They may start forgetting their own, replaced by whatever “imprint” the food carried
Clerics say the soul begins to “flicker”—torn between present and past
Treatment: Veilroot extract tea steeped for seven nights in blessed water
Rites of Grounding performed by a Sister of the Veil
Temporary fasting, silence, and shadow meditation
In rare cases, a bonded Veyrathi may “feed” on the lingering imprint and purge it
Cultural Reactions: Some people seek out the condition to reconnect with lost loved ones
Others fear it, calling it “a curse disguised as comfort”
The Church of the Veil warns against indulgent memory-foods without clerical guidance
“The Boy Who Ate His Father’s Song” An old Veilfolk tale, often whispered when Bloodfruit is mentioned.
They say it happened long ago, when the war still burned the sky and crops wilted in fear. A woman named Elarra ran a lonely roadside inn known as The Mourning Dew, where weary travelers could trade coin for a bed and song for a meal.
Elarra had a son, Miran, who rarely spoke but loved to hum. He hummed the same tune every morning—a gentle, lilting melody his father once sang before he marched off to die in the mountains. That tune was all Miran had left of him.
One autumn, a traveler arrived wrapped in shadow-colored robes. He carried with him a gift: a warm tart baked from fresh Bloodfruit, pulsing slightly in the firelight, like it remembered being alive.
He said, “For the boy who hums. Let him taste what was." A promise of relief for the boys aching heart.
Elarra, curious but cautious, served her son a single slice.
That night, Miran stopped humming.
The next morning, he was different. Quiet, still, eyes glazed like he was listening to something behind the world. He began repeating his father’s old habits—checking a sword that wasn’t there, tying phantom bootlaces, whispering goodbye to a wife he never had.
He forgot Elarra’s name.
By the seventh day, he sat at the window and sang the full song—his father’s voice, not his own. People came from nearby villages to listen. Some wept. Some ran.
On the eighth day, he looked up and said:
“The war is calling. I must not be late.”
And then he walked barefoot into the woods, dressed in ghost-clothes no one could see.
They never found him.
Since then, Veil Sisters warn:
“To taste the past is to invite it to take root. If you feed the memory, it may bloom in your place.”
Modern Implication: Daughters of the Path are told this tale as a lesson in restraint.
Some alchemists argue Miran became part of the Veil, a walking memory too strong to fade.
A few cultists believe the traveler was Thalen Vire, testing the early bloodfruit tarts.
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