After a lovely day and night spent in the river canyons, it was time for our next adventure. “What do you think?” I asked Lythea the next morning, spreading the rough map of the coastline that we’d pieced together out on the table in the galley. “The cartography of this region is incomplete, but my notes suggest that several migratory species congregate in and below the cliffs along the shoreline, somewhere—” I gestured diffidently with a claw. “—near here?”
She laughed at my hopeful expression, the water gently sloshing in the supramarine chair she affectionately called her “Little Sea” as she leaned forward and scrutinized my attempts at map-making, tracing the jagged lines with her finger. “We’ll aim for here,” Lythea said, her tone decisive, “and then work our way up the coast if we need to. No need to worry, Baranthet.”
“There’s occasionally some need,” I protested as Grefu approached, his finned arms delicately balancing several platters. “Here, let’s clear some space.”
Our stoic cook grunted his thanks as we swept the papers away and helped him unload the eclectic breakfast he’d prepared. We left the menu up to him, but he always seemed to find a way to accommodate everyone’s favorites (today’s breakfast included multi-seed scones for me and seaweed wraps for Lythea, among other delicacies). The others joined us shortly thereafter: Dr. Pom emerging from her cabin and blinking in the bright sun; Telero and Chari putting away their spyglass and sketchbook, respectively, as they returned from vantage points at the prow; Ten scuttling down from the central mast to arrive before the others and take first pick of the bounty. Grefu’s eyes twinkled as the young surki loaded their plate with one of everything and tucked in, their mandibles moving with wordless delight.
Lythea and I continued to discuss our plans as the others settled in. “With fair winds, it should only take a few hours, but... I’m not sure the weather will hold,” she said, evaluating the horizon with a critical eye.
Grefu politely refrained from smoking his coral pipe during mealtimes, but he was never without it, and now he gestured toward the clouds with it in hand. “She’s right. Storm’s movin’ in.”
This succinct observation complete, he stood and began clearing plates as I looked anxiously at Lythea. “The winds will guide us either way. There’s no cause for concern,” she reiterated with a smile.
Several hours later, I certainly felt there was a cause or two as I clung to the controls on the exterior deck, rain stinging my face. I much would have preferred, dear reader, to pilot the ship from the safety of the main bridge, the Zoetrope's sturdy panes shielding us from the elements, but some curious property of the storm had rendered our instruments erratic and unreliable, leaving us no choice but to conduct an open-air reading. Lythea watched the clouds and the sea below us with unflappable focus, fiercely calling directions over the thunder snatching at her words. But our navigator’s faith in our trusty ship and crew was not misplaced, and—trembling a bit from the effort, but still upright—I managed to set us down precisely where she wanted us with only minimal mishaps.
As I unclipped my safety line and sagged against the helm to catch my breath, Ten scampered by on their way to the engine room, looking as though they’d just had the time of their life despite an obvious abrasion on their arm. Grefu soon joined us, his coral pipe clenched in his mouth, and passed over a thermos of giant swordfish soup. I let the spicy aroma soothe my frayed nerves and permitted myself a moment to reminisce about the thunderstorms I watched in my youth with my pet protoceratops, Lin, my grandmother’s stew simmering away as she told us of the wardens.
Grefu’s gruff voice broke my reverie. “Nice flyin’, you two.”
I toasted him with the thermos. “Excellent cooking. Soup during a storm, imagine!”
He nodded, silently accepting the compliment, but his eyes were on Lythea, who’d accepted a thermos of her own but was staring off at the water.
“Lot of memories in storms,” he said, his voice gentle. “Lot of stories. This recipe was born in one, you know.”
Light writer plates of Grefu and Lythea, from official Zoetrope expedition logs. Art by Gunship Revolution.
Grefu leaned against the control panel, adjusting the satchel of herbs and salts that was always at his hip. His gaze as faraway as Lythea’s, he ventured, “Several generations back, my community was in a great famine. The matriarch of our clan had led us well for many years, but she was old and tired, and so we were looking for new leadership—normally a celebrated transition, but a grim one this time.
“My great-grandmother knew one good hunt could see us through. No one had ever dared to face the legendary swordfish lurking in the depths, beyond the coral walls of our home. Still, she was hopeful it could feed us for many seasons if she could only catch and prepare it properly.”
I was lucky the thermos was keeping my soup warm, because I had completely forgotten about it, so enraptured was I in Grefu’s story! Lythea, too, seemed to be hanging on every word.
Grefu blinked in that slow, measured way of his and continued. “She organized a group of our finest eel riders, even recruiting some from a nearby community, and set off into the dark. I imagine it must have been a terrific battle. But they returned, bearing the great beast—and she prepared and served it for her ascension feast, when the village unequivocally nominated her as our matriarch’s successor.”
“She sounds like an inspiring woman,” Lythea said, a small but genuine smile brightening her face. “Do you miss your family, Grefu?”
He considered this a moment. “It’s natural to do so, when you leave a close-knit community,” he said finally. “And I do. But they’re with me still, when I make a family recipe or repair the same nets their hands worked before mine.”
“Have either of you considered writing down some of your family’s stories?” I asked, ever the librarian.
“I sing of mine,” Lythea said, shaking her head. “That’s what keeps them close, for me.”
Grefu seemed to agree. “That’s more your wheelhouse, Baranthet—or Charikleia’s. Though I’ve thought about putting together a recipe collection, maybe.”
“A cookbook!” I was delighted. “Oh, you must—I’ve never eaten so well in my life as I have on this voyage.”
He huffed in amusement. “We’ll see. Maybe our navigator here can help me find a few of the rarer ingredients I’ve been missin’.”
Lythea’s lyrical laugh filled the bridge as she clinked her thermos to ours. “I’m always up for a dive!”
Baranthet Zamendi cultivated his love of the natural world at a young age, enamored with his grandmother’s awe-inspiring tales of the legendary Wardens of the Wild. He briefly attended Almas University before returning home to rebuild Droon’s public library, eventually becoming its head archivist. His upcoming book on the crew of the Zoetrope and their search for the wardens is his first, but he’s already planning his next adventure.
Support for Mr. Zamendi by
Simone D. Sallé is a senior editor at Paizo and has written for numerous Pathfinder and Starfinder books, including more of Baranthet’s tale in Pathfinder Howl of the Wild, the primal treatise and witch journals in Pathfinder Secrets of Magic, and Starfinder Bounty #12: Under Pressure. When she’s not extolling the virtues of the en dash, she enjoys playing as many narrative games as her schedule allows and wandering the woods with her Disreputable Dog.
Hello again, explorers! Today, we take a look at some of the aquatic content coming in Howl of the Wild: the athamaru ancestry and the merfolk ancestry! First are athamarus, Grefu’s amphibious people, who sculpt coral, communicate (and defend themselves) via scent, and practice eel rearing. Athamaru eel riders are a fearsome force, and your character can saddle up and lead the charge with abilities like Riptide Mount!
RIPTIDE MOUNT [one-action] — FEAT 5
Athamaru
Requirements You are underwater and adjacent to a creature that is at least one size larger than you, has a swim Speed, and is willing to be your mount.After working with aquatic beasts of burden for years, you have learned how to easily mount and dismount them. You Mount the creature and Command an Animal to issue it an order of your choice.
As a merfolk, Lythea has quite the voice. Merfolk are one of the most magical ancestries coming in Howl of the Wild, with abilities like manipulating water, cursing sailors, or turning their tears to pearls. But a merfolk’s most famous ability is their enchanting song—quite literally with the Siren Song feat!
SIREN SONG [three-actions] — FEAT 9
Auditory, Mental, Merfolk, Primal
Frequency once per day
Prerequisites expert in Performance
You can beguile and bewitch with your song. All creatures in a 60-foot emanation must attempt a Will save against your Performance DC. On subsequent rounds, you can Sustain the song, causing each creature in the area currently affected by your song to attempt another Will save. Typically, creatures that have traveled with you for a significant time, such as your fellow party members, are immune to your Siren Song.Critical Success The target is unaffected and becomes immune to your Siren Song for 24 hours.
Success The target is fascinated with you until the end of your next turn.
Failure As success, and the target is stupefied 1 for as long as it’s fascinated.
Critical Failure As success, and the target is stupefied 2 for as long as it’s fascinated.
The athamaru ancestry is embodied by the ship’s cook, Grefu, and the merfolk ancestry by its navigator, Lythea! Art by Gunship Revolution.
We’ll continue passing on any reports from the crew that come our way, so keep an eye on the horizon for the next log from the adventures from the good ship Zoetrope.
But that, explorers, is a story for another day.
James Case
Senior DesignerFor the third chapter of the Zoetrope Logs, click here.
Pathfinder Howl of the Wild releases May 22, 2024 and is available for preorder now. Customers who subscribe to the Rulebooks product line will receive the book and a complimentary PDF upon release!
Zoetrope Logs, Part Two: Water in the Storm
Tuesday, March 19, 2024
