Fueled by Dust of Chili
Deep in the forest’s quietest clearings, where the wind smells of iron and the mushrooms grow in strange spirals, something stirs. Or rather—someone. Tummleeches, a cryptid with a cauldron for a body, simmers quietly through the underbrush, ever hungry, ever brewing.
| Height: | Varies with stew level (approx. 4–6 feet) |
| Temperament: | Hospitable, eerie, unpredictable |
| Delights: | Forest animals, lost travelers, bone crafts, slow-boiling broths |
| Detests: | Instant meals, steel cutlery, loud slurping, recipes written down |
| Botanical Obsession: | Dust of Chili |
Tummleeches is neither man nor spirit, but a stew-souled creature of mist and marrow. First recorded in 17th-century cookbooks with no authors and margins scorched by candle soot, he was described as a “forest ladler” who offered soup to those too weak to carry on. Accepting his soup, however, meant forgetting your name—and sometimes your form.
Many believe Tummleeches was once a woodsman who cooked for a vanished village, his grief boiling so long that it consumed him, transforming his body into a blackened cauldron. The ladle he stirs with is carved from the ribs of forest deer, aged by time and tincture. It’s said no two of his soups are ever the same, but all contain a whisper of Dust of Chili—his prized spice.
Tummleeches is a roamer, but prefers old-growth forests with fallen logs, fog-heavy glades, and the remains of long-lost trails. You’ll often find his trail marked by the scent of roasted roots and something sharp—like chili and ash. He leaves no tracks, only warmth in the air and the echo of bubbling broth.
| Behavior | Likelihood | Notes |
| Offering soup to the lost | ★★★★★ | Often appears at dusk, bowl extended, no words spoken. |
| Collecting bones for ladles | ★★★★☆ | Takes only from animals that passed naturally in the forest. |
| Spicing forest winds | ★★★☆☆ | Chili-scented breezes are his calling card. |
Hint: When the forest grows quiet and your stomach stirs before you do, he may be close.
Tummleeches’ silhouette resembles a hooded figure hunched over a fire, but closer inspection reveals his middle is iron. Steam curls from where his neck should be. His ladle glints with bone ivory. His “hands” are the ends of forged iron utensils—scrapers, forks, skewers. He never blinks.
Constant simmering, even when the forest is cold. A slow, wet bubbling and the occasional clink of bone on cauldron. When he’s close, the wind hisses—like breath through chili powder.
A swirl of root vegetables, ash, and hot pepper. If Dust of Chili rides the air long after sunset, and no campfire burns nearby, it’s him. Many describe his scent as nostalgic and strange—like a soup from childhood you never actually ate.
Ingredients: Dust of Chili, bark bowl, forest water
Method:
Outcome: Invites clarity, courage, and occasionally, a visit from Tummleeches with insight or sustenance to spare.
| Metric | Score |
| Global Population | ★★☆☆☆ |
| Human Encounters | ★★★☆☆ |
| Conservation Status | Rare and roaming, yet occasionally summoned |
Dust of Chili is Tummleeches’ chosen spice—and ours too. Ethically sourced and flame-kissed, each jar is wax-sealed to preserve its spirit. Add depth to your cooking or ritual work and honor the master of forest soups.
