About the T’chowb

“That was the dumbest thing I have ever seen you do! Got a t’chowb on your back?”
- A not uncommon insult on Athas

“We know frustratingly little about them. They are real, make no mistakes. My path to mastering telepathy was birthed by the determination to never let one ride me again - I know firsthand the harm they can do. Yet, despite two of your lifetimes, I know only slightly more about them now than when I began.”
- Mesifen, Master Mindbender of the Sun Runners Tribe

“There is no reliable evidence that they have females or young. The only encounters seem to be with adult males. This may be a lack of sexual dimorphism (we can’t tell the genders apart) or extreme sexual dimorphism, where we don’t recognize them as the same species. I, however, think they don’t have any at all; they are a dying, finite breed. Wishful thinking perhaps.

“The t’chowb have no society or language of their own. They are individualistic, their memories and intelligence vary incredibly - sometimes day to day - and they need very large hunting grounds. Add in the likelihood that they have no one to mate with. These factors deprive them of the shared experiences that make a culture.

“Indeed, the most telling part of the t’chowb is its primary weakness: the natural state of a t’chowb is idiocy. They are exceptionally dumb. This changes only when they feed upon intelligent beings - by siphoning off another’s intellect, they can go from barely functional morons to geniuses; in an appalling short amount of time no less.

“This brings with it several caveats. Firstly, they cannot get any smarter than the host. T’chowb are cautious, and will generally try climbing the ladder of intelligence, going from least smart all the way up to most smart. This is because overextending oneself by going for the smartest right away is fraught with risk. How exactly they gauge intellect is unknown. Most likely, this is observation, psionic scrying and the victim’s level of education.

“As if we needed ANOTHER reason to feign illiteracy.

“Secondly, this intelligence boost is strictly temporary. In terms of duration and function, best consider it to be likened to a snake swallowing its prey. It sustains longer than a simple meal, but it does fade. As it fades, so does the intelligence of the t’chowb. This terrifies the little monsters. As they are getting dumber, they are also getting more vulnerable and slowly starving to death.

“The constant degeneration of the t’chowb mind cannot be understated. Among the short-lived races, such as halflings or humans, the elderly (rare as they are) may sometimes succumb to a number of diseases that strip them of their mental faculties. It is a tragic end, and most commit honorable suicide rather than burden their relatives in such a way. If only t’chowb were so gracious.

“One of these - prosopagnosia, the inability to recognize faces - has been suggested as one of the possible side effects of a t’chowb’s mental degradation. It is true that starving t’chowb may not remember or recognize you. Is it because they can no longer recognize faces? Possibly. More likely, it’s the encroaching stupidity.

“As such, they are obsessed with securing their next meal. A typical specimen will try to establish a community of people as their hunting grounds, carefully jumping from one person to another. But even this has risks. The longer one sticks to one group, the more likely discovery. A t’chowb will always be considering its next meal. The hungrier it gets, the dumber it gets and the more difficult prey becomes.”
- Niscet, Scholar and bride of the Shadow King

I was able to fool a t’chowb, named Corbda, into believing I was another t’chowb. I protected my mind ferociously and whipped up a lie about having to speak because I was new in his city.
Corbda - “You ridin’ a dwarf? Ain’t the focus driving you nuts?”
Me – “His Focus took him to Uruk. I just rode that to the city.”
Corbda – “Well ain’t you the clever one. Looking to set up shop in my turf eh? This city is mine!”
Me – I slammed a fist against the table and bellowed. “Mellikot dung and you know it! I bet a weakling like you couldn’t handle a city block!”
What came next was a great deal of foul-mouthed shouting, with him trying to probe my mind for weaknesses. We calmed down.
Cordba - “The university is my hunting ground. Most are just rich fops. The teachers are lazy with sinecure. It’s only just enough to fuel my meager self-preservation.”
Me – “No conflict then. I prefer merchants. Canny by nature. That is MY turf. Especially the traveling ones in the caravanserai.”
Afterwards, I had friends spread rumors of an especially smart elf merchant, especially among the student body. Sure enough, we caught Cordba making a play at our planted target only a week later. We even had the body to prove the kill to the dean. Sadly, test scores did not improve.
- Jurfan, the Boulder Who Crushes Those Before Him; report of a job.

Possible Origins

“Plenty enough wars in the past to explain these abominations. One side or another tried to create a new psionic weapon…Employed correctly, the t’chowb would make excellent spies and saboteurs.”
- Report from Mesifen of the Sun Runners

“Aha! Here we go. I have extracted the t’chowb from within! Psionic surgery is never easy, but it is the best way. Your carapace will heal normally. What are they? Where do they come from? A gift of the Pristine Tower I think. What? Oh yes, as the offended party, you may eat him.”
- Click-a-click, thri-kreen healer attending to a member of her clutch.

“No, they are not born of psionic energy, like feyrs. Their existence is too consistent for such a thing; no ties to emotions. I have heard they were one of the fae races, like fairies of antiquity. Got cursed to have no women and degenerating brains. No matter! Even if true, being so clumsy as to allow one to hijack you calls for more training. As I envision Mekillot you defend with…too slow.”
- Clavis Viae, Balican psionics teacher

Treasures and Rewards

“I do not deal in intelligent creature body parts; mostly. Don’t look at me that way! Squeamishness or morality has nothing to do with it! The type of clientele attracted by such things as pieces of dead sentient are not my favorites, let us say that. I have heard rumors that if dried and powdered, the body of the t’chowb can be sprinkled into tea and the like, to reduce the target to stupidity.”
- Notaku, famous and good-looking seller of refined goods.

“Aye, I can remember a time I caught meself a t’chowb! Slippery little bugger promised me wealth and treasure in the world. I held tight to my captive, as he directed me to his hoard. I navigated all the obstacles with my usual aplomb. My luck turned when he led me into the clutches of some goons in his employ…”
- Dran’th the Quick, one armed pterran adventurer, retired

“Surely the shadow of the Dragon has passed over me! Such a marvelous turn of fortune! I was searching the premises of a suspected Veiled Alliance cell. High above the beams, inside a hollowed-out stucco brick with a camouflaged flap, I found it! No mere spell components! Though tiny in scale, there were scrolls with writing upon them! After I checked for arcane traps, I chanced stealing a scroll. I told the guards it was a waste of time and sent them home. Though I needed to magnify the writing to be legible, I found no arcane spells! Instead, a wealth of information on many other members of the court! The blackmail contained within is immense with possibilities. I shall return tonight!”
- Last known entry of Sortar of Urik, a templar executed for egregious stupidity.

“If one looks at a t’chowb with ceramic bits in the eyes, they are best approached as intelligent beings. They cannot be trusted, of course, and will lie profusely to protect themselves and their hoard. The key is to remember the variable intelligence of the t’chowb. When it is smart, a t’chowb will have a carefully selected location for their hoard. It will be a secret nest egg, and usually only accessible by someone of the t’chowb’s size. It will contain magic items, spells, blackmail materials, and more. However, as the t’chowb gets dumber, it values base wealth more and its hiding locations become less inspired. When they are outright dumb, they will stick whatever shiny or interesting token they stumble across under a pile of dung to keep it safe.”
- Vosib, Free Tyrian wizard-for-hire

T’chowb of Note

S’kin’di: Describing this t’chowb as “ambitious” is an understatement - he desires nothing less than to become “king of the t’chowb.” Given they seem to have no society of any kind, nor any mechanism to communicate amongst themselves to recognize a monarch, it is questionable how he intends to accomplish this and what he expects to get out of it. However, his quest has led him to become a brutal and capable assassin, one experienced enough able to work directly with at least one sorcerer monarch.

Sarwasso: Sarwasso is a t’chowb in a unique situation. He established a thriving slave post north of Urik. The overseers of the brutal obsidian quarry located nearby often jest that the slaves they receive from the slave post are even dumber than normal. Little do they know that this is because Sarwasso is secretly in charge, using a web of blackmail and bribes to control the slave post’s managers. He does this to drain slaves to keep his appetite fully satiated and keep himself frighteningly intelligent. Sarwasso is secure; he always knows where his next meal is coming from. But now with his basic needs met, he longs to find a new purpose to challenge his intellect.

Sinna: As far as t’chowb go, Sinna is an odd one. Inspired by the lavish and dramatic style of storytelling performed by the members of House Fyra, he is determined to craft his magnum opus: a brilliant play. He is a wretched playwright however, as his ego will not let him accept criticism or defeat, believing them to be the same thing. Having no imagination of his own, Sinna instead claims victims he judges to have superior artistic talent, though his assessment of even that is often lacking. His current victim is the bard Genar of Gulg, who was until recently quite popular among that city’s nobility. Popular that is until Sinna drained his intelligence and used mindlink to “suggest edits” to Genar’s performances. The changes enraged the listeners, who expected their oral traditions to be respected, and the bard barely escaped with his life to reach Nibenay. Genar has found some success amongst the Nibenese, as patrons love to throw rotten food at him while he butchers Gulg stories. Meanwhile, Sinna continues to use his powers to make Genar work at his masterpiece.