It begins, not with a fever, nor a rash of crimson, but with a subtle shift. A darkening, like the slow creep of obsidian across ancient stone. This is the first sign of the Bloom – the manifestation of Psorophthalmia, a condition whispered of in the shadowed corners of veterinary lore, a disease that intertwines the anxieties of beasts and the fracturing of memory itself.
The primary symptom, as observed by the Cartographers of the Silent Herd, is the alteration of the foot. Not a simple lameness, but a *distortion*. The keratinization accelerates, creating scales that resemble polished obsidian, hence the name. But the scales are merely the outward sign. The real affliction lies within the neural pathways, a dissonance that begins to unravel the beast's recollection of its past. The horse, the sheep, the ox – all susceptible, yet each experiencing the unraveling in a unique, terrifying way.
“They forget the taste of clover,” observed Elder Silas, a man who spent his life studying the afflicted. “They forget the warmth of the sun on their backs. And with that forgetting, they become… lost.”
These individuals, known as the Cartographers, are not healers. They are observers, chroniclers of the Bloom. Their task is to meticulously record the progression of the disease, charting the scale patterns, mapping the behavioral changes, and most importantly, documenting the fragments of lost memory that surface – often in the form of nonsensical vocalizations or compulsive circling.
Their methodology is… peculiar. They utilize a device they call the ‘Resonance Loom’, a complex arrangement of polished brass and quartz crystals designed to amplify the lingering echoes within the affected beast's mind. The Loom doesn’t cure; it merely allows the Cartographers to capture a fleeting image of what was lost. These images, they believe, are keys to understanding the nature of the Bloom itself.
Document 734, Cartographer’s Archive, Section Gamma-9.
Perhaps the most unsettling aspect of Psorophthalmia is the production of ‘Obsidian Tears’. These aren’t literal tears, of course. They are droplets of a viscous, black fluid that collect around the affected foot. The fluid is incredibly dense, almost impossibly so, and it contains traces of… something else. Something that resembles shattered constellations. Some theorize that the Bloom draws upon primordial energies, fragments of forgotten realities leaking into the beast’s nervous system.
The Cartographers believe the composition of the Obsidian Tears shifts depending on the creature’s emotional state. A creature gripped by terror will produce a tear filled with swirling nebulae; one consumed by sorrow, a tear of solidified shadow.
There are accounts, dismissed by most as folklore, of entire herds succumbing to the Bloom. Not through physical death, but through a collective erasure of memory. They wander, lost and disoriented, endlessly circling a single point, uttering fragmented phrases in a language no one can decipher. The Cartographers refer to this as ‘The Great Unraveling’ – a terrifying prospect that haunts their every observation.
Oral Account: Subject 47B – ‘The Shepherd’s Lament’
The Cartographers have identified a cyclical pattern in the Bloom’s progression. It begins with a subtle darkening, followed by a period of intense behavioral disruption, culminating in the production of Obsidian Tears. Then, unexpectedly, the scales begin to recede, the chaos subsides, and the beast returns to a semblance of normalcy – only to begin the cycle anew. This suggests that Psorophthalmia isn’t merely a disease; it’s a process of constant re-writing, a slow, agonizing erasure and recreation of identity. A perpetual dance between shadow and scale.