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 Designer

For the third chapter of the Zoetrope Logs, click here.

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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!

To truly immerse oneself in the natural world, one must view it up close! Though our ultimate goal was to find the Wardens of the Wild, we couldn’t neglect the incredible opportunities for study we found over the course of our investigations, and we made frequent stops to survey the wilds on foot (or on fin or wheel, in Lythea’s case). I hesitate to call them “side expeditions,” for they were valuable in their own right; Chari’s notes and sketches filled several folios we’re still disseminating now that we’ve returned—ah, but I outpace myself.

In any case, these excursions were where our scout, Telero, and our scribe, Charikleia, really had a chance to shine. One day, early in our voyage together, we were flying along a river that gradually carved the land into a breathtaking gorge, its cascading tributaries branching like the roots of a great tree in the rocky canyons spread out below us.

“Professor!” called Telero from the starboard rail, his voice ringing bright and eager as always. “This could be the perfect place to look for more sage aconite!”

(I feel I must pause to note, dear reader, lest it cause confusion: I am not, in fact, a professor in any official capacity! A lifelong scholar, certainly, and a dedicated librarian and archivist, but circumstances led me away from my university studies long before I advanced to any sort of teaching career. Nonetheless, I’ve been “the professor” to Telero since our first day aboard the Zoetrope, and I must say I find the epithet endearing, despite its inaccuracy.)

Telero grew up among talented herbalists and knew botany was a special interest of both mine and the doctor’s; we also knew that where interesting flora grew, interesting fauna was sure to follow. Who could say what new discovery might lead us to the wardens? I set us down on the rocky riverbank—my landings were getting smoother with practice—and called our small crew together to prepare for the journey.

We quickly decided that, due to the branching nature of the canyons, a group survey wasn’t the most efficient course of action. “Let me go, Professor,” said Telero, eying the lodestone in his staff and tying off a bearing. “I spotted a waterfall a few miles in when we flew over. I can find it and then come back for everyone else!”

I could tell asking him to wait for someone who hiked at my speed—that is to say, glacial—would be futile. “A wonderful idea, Telero,” I said, smiling at his irrepressible enthusiasm. “But it did look like there were several possible routes. Why don’t you take Charikleia with you?” The two had already bonded over similarities in their childhoods, and the young nomad hung on the more seasoned adventurer’s every word when she shared tales of her exploits before our voyage. I also suspected Chari’s measured and experienced approach would be a good balance to Telero’s hastier decisions on the trail.

My friend and fellow scholar nodded, already tucking her sketchbook into her bag. “I am quite familiar with mazes,” Chari teased, “and I’d love to sketch the falls—”

“Last one there’s an egg full of broodpiercers!” Telero’s hooves thundered down the gangplank as he charged off into the gorge, no longer able to contain his zest for adventure.

“Careful to boil those first!” Grefu warned after him. Chari laughed and waved to the rest of us as the two set off, the clatter of their hooves echoing off the mossy basalt walls of the gorge long after they faded from view.

Dr. Pom and I had barely finished our second leisurely cups of tea when Telero came galloping back. My concern over his haste and Chari’s absence was quickly allayed by the exuberance on his face. “Professor, everyone, we found it! You’ve got to see this!”

Our intrepid scout deftly guided us through the canyon, at times splashing through the river itself as the mossy rock walls closed in around us, only a line of blue sky visible far above. “How did you find it so quickly, Telero?” I asked, marveling at his surety as the canyon widened and the river diverged. He led us down the left-claw path, stopping often so those of us on two legs could keep up.

“It’s easy,” said our young guide, his eyes earnest. “You just have to listen to the river and watch the wind.”

Light writer plates of Charikleia and Telero, from official Zoetrope expedition logs. Art by Gunship Revolution.

I’m afraid this surprisingly poetic insight has not yet improved my own sense of direction, but perhaps it will resonate with you, dear reader. If nothing else, the boy’s words remind us of the importance of being alert and appreciative of the world around us.

The roar of the falls drowned out further conversation as we rounded a final bend and came to a large canyon pool, fed from the endless water cascading over the cliff ahead. Telero beamed as we silently took in the thunderous serenade, the mist covering our awed faces.

It was nearly a full minute before I realized, with a shock, that Chari was sitting on a nearby rock, pencil in hand as she sketched the scene in front of us for our logs. She looked up and smiled as I took a seat next to her. Grefu and Dr. Pom began unpacking our picnic lunch while Lythea, Telero, and Ten charged into the pool, their laughter barely audible as they dove into the spray.

Chari passed me several sketches. “Signs of stony bat spit, similar to those of other gorgon subspecies detailed in the Kirisiel report, but I thought I’d document the flora first and wait for you to investigate.”

I paged through her neat drawings, all precisely labeled in her steady hand. “These are wonderful, Charikleia. How lucky we are to have you along. How was the trek?”

She laughed. “Telero’s a natural. He’d be right at home in the training mazes back home. I’d love to see him race my siblings sometime.”

Though I can’t fathom how he could have heard us over the waterfall, Telero bounded forward from the pool, narrowly avoiding soaking Chari’s sketchbook. “Chari could have found it first!” he protested, shaking water from his hair. “But she had to stop to draw everything.”

I traded a smile with my fellow researcher as she restacked her notes and moved them away from the pool. “I’m glad you’re both so thorough in your own ways,” I said. “The smallest detail could be the clue that leads us to the wardens.” I sighed, equal parts grateful and wistful, the sun warm on my scales. “Now, if only I were as organized as you are, Charikleia. I don’t suppose you know where I placed volume three of The Thrilling Tales of Spiridendra, do you?”

“You’re the librarian, Baranthet, not me,” she joked, standing and offering me her hand. “Care to join us by the falls? I think I saw some likely nesting spots in the rocks behind the water.”

Telero leapt forward. “I saw that too! C’mon, Professor!”

I accepted Chari’s hand with a smile as she helped me to my feet. “Lead the way!”

About the Author
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 inPathfinder 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.

---

Hi everyone—James here! As we get closer to Howl of the Wild’s May release date, we thought we’d share with you some logs of the wildlife expedition of the airship Zoetrope and its crew of naturalists as they seek the mythical Wardens of the Wild, which Simone has diligently sourced. As you may know, Howl of the Wild presents six new playable ancestries , each of whom is represented by a different member of the airship’s crew—alongside Baranthet, the expedition’s iruxi leader.

Since we got a look at Charikleia and Telero today, this seems like a good time to show off feats for the centaur and minotaur ancestries coming in the final book! Centaurs can be pretty competitive, and young Telero’s no exception:

FIERCE COMPETITOR [one-action] — FEAT 9

Centaur, Mental
Frequency once per day
You challenge a single ally to a physical competition. This competition must involve accomplishing a specific goal for a specific use of the Acrobatics or Athletics skill, such as Climbing to the top of a wall, Tripping a specific foe, or Long Jumping across a chasm. You and your selected ally gain a +2 circumstance bonus to the associated skill check for 1 minute or until one of you wins the challenge, whichever is first. If you win this competition, you gain a +2 status bonus to Intimidation checks for 1 hour.

You wouldn’t really expect someone as soft-spoken as Chari to be scary, but it turns out minotaurs are frighteningly good at disappearing into mazes and other cover.

ALARMING DISAPPEARANCE — FEAT 5

Minotaur
Prerequisites expert in Stealth
Your ability to move unseen is startling for one your size, causing panic among your enemies. When you successfully Hide when previously observed, creatures you are hidden from become frightened 1. They are then temporarily immune to Alarming Disappearance for 1 hour.

The minotaur ancestry is embodied by the ship’s scribe, Charikleia, and the centaur ancestry by its scout, Telero! Art by Gunship Revolution.

We’ll be checking back in with Baranthet and the crew over the next few weeks, so look forward to getting to meet the rest of our intrepid naturalists in greater detail in the future!

James Case
Senior Designer

For the second chapter of the Zoetrope Logs, click here.

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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!

I hope everyone had a great time at PaizoCon Online! It was great to talk to everyone in a little more depth about Pathfinder Howl of the Wild, and all the animals and beasts that this book about wilderness expedition contains as the Zoetrope airship journeys across Golarion in search of mythical beasts.

In addition to monsters, wilderness-inspired items and feats, and a whole lot more, Howl of the Wild comes with six new playable ancestries, each of which is represented by a different member of the airship’s crew. You’ll see these characters appear throughout the book (alongside our iconic characters), letting you get to know them over the course of their journey. The crew's snuck out a little earlier than we anticipated—that just goes to show, the wilds can't be tamed—so we thought we'd take the chance to introduce you to them. Having a unique cast for the book wouldn't have been possible without the superb work of art director Kent Hamilton, who designed each crewmate based on the personality and story lovingly written by that character's author.

Let's meet the crew!

Baranthet concept art by Kent Hamilton

You've already met Baranthet, the expedition leader who brings this crew together to travel across Golarion in his search for the four Wardens of the Wild—mythical creatures said to steward the great biomes of the planet. Baranthet's an iruxi, also known as lizardfolk, who will be getting a remaster in Player Core 2. He’s older than your typical adventurer and has spent most of his life reading rather than exploring, but he's excited to be setting off on a grand adventure, even if it took him a little longer than most to leave the library.

Charikleia concept art by Kent Hamilton

Charikleia is a minotaur from the Earthsong people on the Isle of Kortos. She's a studious research assistant to Baranthet, taking notes and field illustrations on each animal the ship comes across. As you might have seen at PaizoCon, minotaurs have a number of abilities to emphasize their strength, like an ability where they can fling allies across the field with their horns, not to mention great skill with stone and labyrinths.

Telero concept art by Kent Hamilton

The swift centaur Telero trailblazes ahead of the airship to make sure the way is clear for the scientists to follow. He's very capable, if a little hotheaded, and eager to prove himself. In addition to their speed, centaurs also have feats related to herbalism or archery—a skill Telero puts to good use with a number of signal arrows.

Lythea concept art by Kent Hamilton

One of the reasons the Zoetrope can always find its way is thanks to the skill of its navigator, Lythea, a merfolk blown far from her home, though she's sure to treat everyone with joy and laughter. Merfolk are an aquatic ancestry with many magical talents: shaping wind and water, crying pearls, or beguiling others with their siren song. Lythea gets around deck with the help of her "Little Sea," an example of a new item for aquatic characters debuting in Howl of the Wild.

Grefu concept art by Kent Hamilton

Grefu is the ship's cook, much to everyone's great fortune. A man of few words, Grefu is gruff and stoic, but loyal, often wordlessly giving an extra scoop of stew or slice of flatbread to a crewmate who's had a hard day. Grefu is an athamaru, an amphibious people primarily located in the undersea nation of Xidao in Tian Xia. Athamarus are highly communal and with a more physical bent, whether that's keeping coral symbiotes that can cleanse poisons from the blood, communicating via pheromones, or training pet eels to aid them.

Dr. Pom concept art by Kent Hamilton

While the crew are scientists, not fighters, people are bound to get a few scrapes on a long voyage—thankfully Dr. Pom's caring bedside manner and highly competent medical knowledge ensure everyone can always pull through (though she's a little lost in thought at the best of times). Dr. Pom is an awakened animal (in her case, a sand badger), a highly versatile new ancestry that allows you to play an animal that has gained sapience.

Ten concept art by Kent Hamilton

Lastly, we have the Zoetrope's accident-prone mechanic, Whose Antenna Is Askew, or Ten for short. They're a surki, a brand-new ancestry designed from the ground up for Howl of the Wild; rather appropriately so, as surkis are a subterranean people who burrow to Golarion's surface only in periodic generation digs, the most recent of which was triggered by the closing of the Worldwound. Surkis ambiently absorb magic, metamorphosing later in life with unique adaptations based on what they've absorbed. Ten is excited to experience every new thing they can on the surface, though this sometimes leads them into trouble.

The crew setting off on their grand journey around Golarion! Art by Mirco Paganessi

There's a lot we have to say about the crew, as well as the wild archetypes, items, and other player options coming in Howl of the Wild, so be sure to subscribe to the Pathfinder Rulebook line and stay tuned for Gen Con, where we'll be diving into a few of these new ancestries in more detail!

But that, explorers, is a story for another day,

James Case
Senior Designer

"For one epoch and one day, the Wardens of the Wild reigned. Where animals and beasts disputed or doubted, the wardens quelled their infighting and fortified their hearts. Where the wild grew threatened by disaster or development, the wardens repelled intruders and restored the world with their vast power. Yet nothing of the wild lasts forever—such is not the way of nature.

"When their time drew close, the four wardens felt the call. And as they were the stewards of the natural world, so too did every animal in their care: those upon the land, those within the earth, those under the sea, and those above the sky. The wardens converged from their disparate realms upon a single location, tucked away in the furthest expanses of the wilds, along with every beast that could make the trip. The flocks and schools and herds all came together in a grand convergence known as the Migration—every animal, even those so rare they’re thought extinct.

"Can you imagine it, Charikleia?" The naturalist, now much older than a boy, put the stone tiles back in their velvet-lined box, the one his grandmother had left him. "Every animal on the planet, all in one place?" He gazed out over the deck of the Zoetrope. Below, the water was so clear you could see the eels and fish and rays darting through the coral as the ship neared the coast.

"Professor, you're getting off track again," Charikleia said with as much tact as she could muster, even as her eye caught a majestic lightning turtle through the waves. Instantly, her brush was in her hand, capturing the turtle’s likeness in her sketchbook for the expedition’s records.

"Ah, apologies, got away from myself for a moment." Baranthet smiled at his research assistant. Though he’d explained their mission as soon as funding was secured—long before he’d finished constructing the ship or assembling the crew—he wasn’t sure he’d ever properly told her the story that inspired it all, as he’d originally heard it each year in his youth: Grandmother's story, which he now told in her stead.

"When the Migration was complete and the animals were gathered, the Wardens of the Wild would select their successors. Some might rely on their judgment, while others might hold contests of strength or wit or heart, but in some manner, they would choose four new wardens to inherit the mantle.

"And so it was that the little elephant, the rattling snake, the angry fish, and the kind butterfly became the four new Wardens of the Wild, growing to great size as they were filled with the primal magic of their respective realms, over which they reigned for one epoch and one day. And when the Migration came yet again, as it must, they in turn selected their four successors before passing from the wilds.

"So it was again in the next epoch, and again, and again, the great wheel of life turning. And though many consider it a myth, some say that out there, somewhere in the last expanses of the world, the four Wardens of the Wild yet reign."

Baranthet’s wistful sigh was drowned out by the thrumming wings of the Zoetrope as the ship crossed the water’s edge and began soaring over sand dunes. "We’re going to find them, Charikleia."

"We have a similar myth back home, though it’s very obscure," Charikleia said, adding some notes to her sketch as she scratched the base of one of her horns. "Though it’s more common in Earthsong minotaur art to carve our stories in stone, rather than tell them in words. All the same, I remember seeing a petroglyph depicting four great beasts in the corners of Kortos, though the specific creatures differed."

"That makes sense, the wardens would have changed many times over the ages. Who knows what forms they—AAAAACK!!!!" Baranthet dropped his tea over the side of the railing as a small airskiff buzzed past overhead, much too close to the deck, a young centaur man at the helm.

"Professor! You should’ve seen the look on your face!"

"Telero, that’s my favorite teacup!"

Telero rolled his eyes and gave a half-hearted salute before he kicked a pedal with a hoof, sending the airskiff down toward the dunes (far more quickly than necessary) to retrieve said teacup. "Way’s clear up ahead—we should be able to get to the mountains by nightfall! It’s a little close to roc territory, though, so if you see a red dye marker, that’s too far!" His voice faded as the airskiff plummeted.

Baranthet shook his head. "That boy will be the death of me."

"He’s an excellent scout, though."

"Indeed." Baranthet turned to pick up his book. "Why don’t you get the rest of the crew together in the galley—we can make a plan for surveying the area when Telero’s back."

Charikleia closed her sketchbook and stowed her brush with her usual quietness, ducking inside carefully to avoid scratching the Zoetrope’s doorframe with her horns. Baranthet stayed on the deck a little longer, though. The naturalist took in the sights as he reached out a hand, feeling the warm wind rush through his claws. Below him, the land stretched out, far from Droon, far from Absalom, far from anywhere he knew, rolling outward until it blended into the horizon.

While he and the crew had already seen amazing beasts and breathtaking views on their journey, the Wardens of the Wild were yet to be found. But Baranthet had a good feeling. For though he wasn’t quite as adept at hearing the stars as his grandmother, he had a bit of her ear, and for the shortest of seconds, he thought that he heard it resound across the land, somehow clear over the Zoetrope’s wings—

The howl of the wild.

To read Grandmother’s story from the start, click here.

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Howl of the Wild, Coming Spring 2024!

Baranthet, accomplished naturalist and expedition leader. Art by Gunship Revolution.

Paizo is proud to announce our newest project, Pathfinder Howl of the Wild! This latest creature-focused rulebook dives into the beasts and animals of the wilderness. Catalogue them all alongside an old naturalist and his eclectic crew as they sail their fantastic airship to Golarion’s furthest reaches, studying its lushest biomes in search of the elusive Wardens of the Wild.

Concept art of the Zoetrope airship by Kent Hamilton.

This book provides deep dives and regional variants of classic beasts of legend, as well as a whole menagerie of never-before-seen wildlife to study, tame, cooperate with, or confront. In addition, you’ll find unique gear for dealing with beasts (as well as magical items drawing upon their power), archetypes, feats, and more that allow you to evoke the power of nature. Howl of the Wild also brings six new playable ancestries for you to create a character who’s a bit more on the wild side, including the two revealed in the story above: the swift centaur and the powerful minotaur! Each ancestry is represented in the ship’s crew. Meet the ship’s scout, Telero, and the expedition’s scribe, Charikleia:

Telero, the ship’s centaur scout, and Charikleia, the expedition’s minotaur scribe. Art by Gunship Revolution.

Lastly, though we don’t have an airship of our own (...yet), we do have an excellent crew, without whom this book wouldn’t be possible! The ferocity and wonder of the wild is brought to you by Kate Baker, Rigby Bendele, Chris Bissette, Jeremy Blum, Logan Bonner, Dan Cascone, James Case, Jessica Catalan, Brite Cheney, Rue Dickey, Caryn DiMarco, Matthew Fu, Leo Glass, Steven Hammond, Patrick Hurley, Michelle Y. Kim, Dustin Knight, Kendra Leigh Speedling, Christiana Lewis, Jessie "Aki" Lo, Luis Loza, Letterio Mammoliti, Jonathan "Ryomasa" Mendoza, Quinn Murphy, Dave Nelson, Mikhail Rekun, Kai Revius, Ember Rose, Simone D. Sallé, Shay Snow, Levi Steadman, Kyle Tam, Ruvaid Virk, and Andrew White.

If you’re eager to learn a bit more about these ancestries and a few of the monsters in the book, check out this exclusive sneak peek from Wargamer for more information! Otherwise, be sure to tune in to PaizoCon Online 2023, where we’ll talk about Howl of the Wild in our Primal Previews panel!

But that, explorers, is a story for another day,

James Case
Senior Designer

The boy was in bed as soon as supper was gone and his face was clean. It was Baranthet’s last night at Grandmother’s house. He always loved harvest week, the time of year when he came to stay with Grandmother while his parents went to check on things up north. Lin jumped into bed too, and the two of them listened as Grandmother’s footsteps approached, waiting for their story.

Grandmother closed the door most unceremoniously and went to wash the dishes.

“But Grandmaaaaaaaaaaaa...”

She opened it again, laughing. “Very well, Baranthet. Where were we? Ah, yes.

“Once, epochs and days ago, there was a worm who tended a garden high on a mountain. The worm was very kind, always watering the trees, tilling the soil, and making sure that creeping ivies stayed pruned so that the thousand birds who played overhead would have a branch to sleep on if they needed a place to rest.”

“He didn’t get eaten?”

“No, for while worms are tasty, this worm’s garden grew flowers with the most delicious nectar, and all the birds would rather have a lifetime of tasty treats than just one tasty worm. The kind worm took care of the garden, and all the birds in it, even though the flowers were so high up in the clouds that he would never be able to reach them to enjoy them for himself.

“One day, the kind worm noticed that his trees were withering. Distraught, he looked up to see that the rain had gotten stuck in the sky (things get stuck there sometimes). He tried calling for one of the birds to poke a hole in it, but they were so busy singing that they didn’t hear him. He tried climbing one of the trees to reach it, but the tree was so tall that he couldn’t make it even halfway up. He tried throwing a stick to see if he could knock the rain down, but unfortunately, worms don’t have arms, so they’re not the best at throwing.”

“Did he go to the warden?”

“No, he didn’t, for he was a bit too polite, and he didn’t want to bother the warden with such a trivial matter. And besides, he was in the realm of the Warden of Peaks and Skies, and no matter how you look at it, that’s not where a worm belongs. He thought about going to one of the other wardens, but they were off in the other chapters of the story, so he wasn’t sure what to do. He cried himself to sleep.”

Baranthet’s eyes were watering too, though it was because he had forgotten to blink.

Art by Mayra Luna

“The Warden of Peaks and Skies saw the little worm struggling on the ground to restore the garden, for it is the duty of a warden to care for not just the creatures of their realm, but all creatures, and the land itself. She considered knocking the rain down herself, but she had a better idea.

“When the kind worm awoke, he found next to him a pair of wings, spun from a rainbow, sitting there as if to say, ‘If you need these, they’re yours to wear.’ The kind worm was delighted at the wings, which were exactly his size, and he put them on, fluttering up to the rain and knocking it down. The trees drank up the rain and sprouted a whole feast of flowers, and this time, it was not just the birds who enjoyed them, but the kind butterfly too.

“And ever since that day, after every Migration, the Warden of Peaks and Skies has always been one who takes care of their home, who looks out for others, and who isn’t afraid of change. Remember, Baranthet, that the animals of nature are part of their realms, and they take care of their environment as much as it takes care of them. If the realm changes, they can too… though it may take some time.”

The boy thought of how he was so slow and clumsy that he never got picked first to play thlipit. “Must be nice to wake up and be better at stuff.”

Grandmother saw a chance for some wisdom. “Do you know why I keep dragonflies in the garden outside?”

“...because they don’t sting?”

“True! Though they are fierce hunters, and they keep the mosquitos away. But no, I like them because many think of change as something that happens in a grand single moment of transformation. The worm goes to sleep and wakes up the next morning as a butterfly. But dragonflies are different. They’re—”

“Hemimebatolous!” The boy remembered reading this in his ecology book.

“Indeed!” Baranthet was mostly right, so Grandmother let it slide. “They change little by little, until one day they can fly over the water they once swam through. Not everyone has one moment of transformation, Baranthet—some people more gradually become what they’re supposed to be.”

The boy seemed to think it over, his eyes growing heavy. Lin yawned beside him.

Grandmother stood. “There’s only one more part left in this story! My, but it feels like the week has gone in a blink! I wish I got a bit more time with you each year, but your parents will be back tomorrow, right after supper.”

“You’ll tell me how the story ends though, right? Maybe after breakfast?”

“Of course I will.” Grandmother drew the covers up. “But that, my little explorer, is a story for another day.”

As Grandmother closed the door, she could hear the boy mumbling to Lin as he drifted to sleep. “I don’t know why she always calls me that, Lin. I’ve barely left Droon, and I’m no good at swimming or hiking or fighting or anything like that.”

Grandmother smiled, for the stars, you see, are incorrigible gossips, though they are very far away and we usually can’t hear what they’re saying about us, which honestly is probably best for all involved. But some iruxis, on nights when the sky is clear and the wind is just right, can just barely catch their whispers, and Grandmother’s ears were keener than most.

She said to herself, too low for the boy to hear, “You may not have explored much other than books, Baranthet, not yet. But I hear one day, you’ll fly far from here, on just the grandest adventure.”

About The Author

Grandmother

For the first chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here.

For yesterday's chapter, click here.

For the final chapter of Grandmother’s story, click here.

“Once, epochs and days ago, there was a fish who fell into the sea. She was, I must admit, not a very nice fish, but a quite angry one.”

The boy stared out at the surface of the pond. After last night’s storm had scared all the clouds from the sky, there was nothing to stop the sun from beating down, and it seemed half the city had come to the pond—far from the bone and glass buildings that trapped the heat so—to cool off. Children were splashing in the shallows, and three small frogs, one red, one blue, one yellow, were croaking on a log (for now, as the blue one shall be eaten later) far across the pond. Baranthet and Grandmother sat on one of the flat stone rocks by the side of the pond, a picnic basket between them. Grandmother dipped her tail in the water, and as the ripples continued, so did the story.

“The angry fish really had no good reason to be angry, having experienced a completely normal life. She had hatched in a river, far inland, with hundreds, thousands of her friends. And some of her friends had been eaten soon thereafter, by frogs and birds and other fish, as is normal, as is nature. And as she swam to the sea, more of her friends had been eaten, as is normal, as is nature. Most creatures in the sea were not angry at this—you may as well bemoan the sun setting or the sighing of the tides—and so the angry fish kept her feelings to herself, but inside, she seethed.

“When she reached the sea, her school’s numbers had grown lesser, but she found other schools of fish, each coming down their own river, and they all swam together, exploring the reefs and shelves and trenches. And as they did, every so often, some would be eaten by a shark or a squid or a ponguzoan, as is normal, as is nature, and the angry fish had to seethe in silence.

“One day, though, a shadow fell over the water, from a great wood-and-metal ship from above. Nets fell, catching hundreds of fish, far more than the great ship could have possibly needed to eat, and metal harpoons pierced the sea, skewering hundreds more, just like you’re doing to those poor grapes on your claw right now even when you know I’ve asked you nicely several times not to play with your food.”

The boy turned, sheepish, from placing alternating layers of fruit and cheese onto his pinky claw. But in truth, Baranthet had lost his appetite, a bit. He wasn’t sure he liked this part of the story as much as the last two. He used another claw to scrape his food back onto the napkin, then rinsed his hands in the water. “What happened then? Did the fish go to the warden?”

Art by Mayra Luna

“She did, for the Warden of Oceans and Rivers, like all wardens, had great power to suit their great size. They could shape the sea and waves however they liked, just as the other wardens could do in their domains, and with this, the angry fish knew that the warden would—”

“They’d maybe make a big wave to push the hunters away? Or make it so the fishes could swim away faster with the tide? Or maybe even make an iceberg to hide behind?” Baranthet’s head raced with the ways that a kind warden might be able to help, but Grandmother let out a sigh, a sad one.

“No, Baranthet, for it is the duty of a warden to protect the creatures under their charge and defend them against the depredations of those who abuse them, and the Warden of Oceans and Rivers was nothing if not thorough.”

In the distance, across the pond, a heron dove at the frogs on the log, and though two leapt into the water quickly, the blue frog was not so lucky, and it disappeared down the heron’s maw, never to sing again.

“They slaughtered the hunters to the last, in a battle much too graphic for your young ears. But when it was done, the seas were safe, and the angry fish resolved to follow the warden forevermore.

“And ever since that day, after every Migration, the Warden of Oceans and Rivers has always been one who tolerates no slight against their wards, no incursion into their domain, and no hunter who takes with undue cruelty. Remember, Baranthet, that for all their splendor, the animals of nature are wild and fierce, and so their boundaries and territories must be respected, for they will defend their realms with tooth and claw, spark and venom and even magic.”

The boy gulped.

“Don’t worry, Baranthet, that’s probably the worst the story gets. Why, the last warden is one I’m sure will cheer you up as much as this warm sunlight!” And with that, Grandmother jumped into the pond to cool off with a splash that sent a wave of cold water over the boy’s head. Her head emerged soon after and she shook more drops from her head spines Baranthet’s way.

“But that, my little explorer, is a story for another day.”

About The Author

Grandmother

For the first chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here.

For yesterday's chapter, click here.

For the next chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here.

“Baranthet, don’t forget to bring Lin inside! Skywatcher says it’ll storm tonight.”

The boy looked up from his book and out the door, to where Lin was busy munching on some leaves, a reward for a hard day’s work pulling Grandmother’s wagon to and from the market. Lin was gentle enough, but Baranthet never liked being too close to the old protoceratops—he was worried she’d nip him with that sharp beak of hers—and so he usually tried to get out of feeding her or giving her baths. Plus, she never listened to him.

“Lin! Time to come inside!”

Crunch crunch crunch. Lin seemed altogether more interested in her leaves than in listening to a young bookworm, and honestly, who could blame her.

“Lin!”

The second attempt went predictably.

“...Lin?”

He was just embarrassing himself, now. But he had an idea. He dashed back inside to his cupboard, rummaging about until he found a small wooden whistle with “#11” scratched into the side. There were still some splinters where he needed to sand it down, but it should work. He went to the door and blew the whistle, and though no sound came out, Lin looked up from her trough. Baranthet made a note—#12 would have to be a little bit bigger—before trying again. Success! The old protoceratops ambled to the door, Baranthet nervously giving her a wide berth as she entered.

No sooner were Baranthet and Lin inside than fat raindrops began to plink against the roof and splash in the pond nearby. Grandmother was already ambling around the tiny house and closing the windows. “On a day like this, I think a story would be best,” she said with a knowing smile. Baranthet sat on the cushions and drew a blanket over his knees.

Art by Mayra Luna

“Once, epochs and days ago, there was a snake who lived in a cave. There are many kinds of snakes—biting snakes and hissing snakes and squeezing snakes—but he was a singing snake, or so he would’ve been, if only he could sing. While every other snake in the cave sung every morning, their voices bouncing off the cavern walls in the most beautiful harmonies and shaking the cave’s crystals until they glowed to light up the cavern for the day, this snake stayed silent, embarrassed about his terrible voice.”

Baranthet squirmed under the blanket, thinking of how he usually mouthed the words when it was time for music lessons at school and hoped nobody noticed, not even the one teacher who always seemed to be able to tell when you snuck a handful of candied peanuts in between classes.

“The silent snake never joined his brothers and sisters in the morning, but it’s not as if he minded all that much. There were so many other things to do in the cave that he enjoyed, like heating himself on the rocks that were always warm from the earth’s heartbeat. But he did feel, sometimes, like he was missing something.

“The days went by like this, the silent snake always not-quite-all-the-way happy, until one day, the Warden of Caverns and Burrows came. It was a very big day for all the animals in the cave, not the least of all because the warden was very big, and it was decided that the singing snakes would welcome her with a song (she was a wonderful singer). All the snakes were very happy at this great honor, except for the silent snake.”

Baranthet squirmed even more under the blanket.

“All the snakes lined up, even the silent snake, and as they all began to sing, it became very clear that the silent snake was the only one not joining in. He felt terribly out of place, but the warden saw him and had an idea. She began to dance along to the song! And although it was known far and wide that the Warden of Caverns and Burrows was a wonderful singer—” here Grandmother winked at Baranthet, “—she was a terrible dancer. Terrible.

“The animals in the cavern weren’t sure what to do, for nobody wanted to tell THE warden how bad she was. But still, the warden danced on, for it is the duty of a warden to inspire the creatures under their charge and help them be the best they can be. The silent snake laughed, and the laugh shook his body from his head down to his tail. And as it did, he realized something: his tail made a sound when he shook it! His heart soared, and he shook his tail and shook it, adding beats and rhythms to the snakes’ song for the first time ever, pushing it to new heights! The rattling snake—for that was now what he was—had a place in the cavern’s song all his own now, and never left himself out again.

“And ever since that day, after every Migration, the Warden of Caverns and Burrows has always been one who lives wild and free, following their heart and inspiring their wards to do the same. Remember, Baranthet, that the animals of nature are free to do as their instincts please, and that freedom must always be honored.”

Baranthet looked to his side, where Lin was snoring, and gave her a tentative scratch. He noticed she had a bit of mud behind her frill, and he thought he should give her a bath in the morning. “It seems like it’s going to rain all night, Grandmother, so maybe you could tell me about the next…”

But Grandmother was somehow already in the kitchen, stirring the stew for dinner.

“That, my little explorer, is a story for another day.”

About The Author

Grandmother

For the first chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here.

For the next chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here

The CRAAAACK of the shattering vase echoed off the walls of the tiny house. Near the shards on the stone floor, a boy stood frozen.

“Baranthet, what’s that?” Grandmother’s voice came around the corner a bit before she did, wobbling slightly to avoid too much pressure on her hip.

“I’m sorry,” the boy mumbled, “I was trying to get the maps down and…”

Grandmother stopped in front of the vase’s remains. “Oh, this old thing? Don’t worry. Auntie Nashan got it for me before I moved here to the city all those years ago, but honestly, it’s a bit flashy, and I’ve never known quite where to put it. Still, she said it was something to—” Grandmother stopped as her eyes fell on four pieces of clay, or perhaps they were stone, or perhaps they were bone, lying among what was once a rather gaudy vase, “—something to remember home by.”

Grandmother picked up one of the stones, rolling it around in her hand as she rolled some memories around in her head. “Baranthet, if you clean this up and wash up, I’ll tell you a story, one my grandmother once told me. The Wardens of the Wild.”

The boy’s eyes widened. He knew every one of Grandmother’s stories—The Tale of the Liar King, The Queen of Bees, The Whispering Parrot—but he didn’t know this one. In a blink, the vase was tidied, his face was clean, and he was under the covers.

The curtains blew in the warm autumn air.

Art by Mayra Luna

“Once, epochs and days ago, there was a young elephant. She was quite small for an elephant (though this meant she was still quite large for any other animal), and so she usually played with the other animals of the plains and grasslands and forests, those that scamper through the brush and chase through the trees, like the elk or the hooplamander or the wolf. She enjoyed nothing more than sweet tree fruits, like papayas—”

“But they have so many seeds!”

“—like mangos,” Grandmother pivoted, smooth as a maple seed in freefall. “And she shared them with her smaller friends. But one day, there were no mangos to be found. The little elephant and her friends grew hungrier, and they searched far and wide, until eventually they found where all the food had gone. A greedy sloth had taken them all.”

“Mean sloth!”

“No matter how much the little elephant asked, the greedy sloth wouldn’t give the food back, and he was a very big sloth, like you hear about from the merchants sometimes up in the Kaava Lands, the ones as big as a house, and the little elephant was very little. She decided to ask an even bigger animal for help, the biggest one, the Warden of Forests and Meadows, for it is the duty of a warden to advise the creatures under their charge and settle their disputes.

“But the Warden of Forests and Meadows saw something in the little elephant. Rather than settle the problem himself, which he could have done easily, he asked the little elephant why she had come to him. ‘Why, because you’re the biggest creature around,’ she said. And so the warden responded, ‘Then surely all you need to do is become even bigger than I am.

“The little elephant didn’t know how to do that, but she thought and thought, and she had an idea. She waited until evening, when the sun was very tired and near the horizon, and she went to the greedy sloth’s den. She flared up her ears, and stuck out her trunk, and bellowed with all her might. And even though the elephant was very little, her sunset shadow was bigger than any other creature, even the warden. The greedy sloth took one look at it, and seeing such a big creature, he ran away so fast that he left all the delicious food behind, and the little elephant and her friends never went hungry again.

“And ever since that day, after every Migration, the Warden of Forests and Meadows has always been a clever sort, one who always thinks around a problem rather than barreling through it. Remember, Baranthet, that the animals of nature are far from dumb beasts, but are just as clever as us, and often more so.”

The boy, transfixed, nodded so hard his eyelids started to droop. “Wait, what’s the Migration? And there were four tiles, does that mean there’s four wardens?” His voice was sleepy as he tried to get a peep at the remaining tiles (to no avail; they had disappeared to wherever it is that grandmothers keep such things from prying eyes). But Grandmother had already placed a dollop of honey in the blown-glass jar near the bed, and the firebugs in it had already begun to softly glow, as they would until Baranthet was safely asleep. She moved to the door.

“That, my little explorer, is a story for another day.”

About The Author

Grandmother

For the next chapter in Grandmother’s story, click here.