Sentinel x Wanderhome
The Guardian
I am Weenie, a witch and a guardian of The Misty Hallow of the West.
When I was five, my parents brought me to the monastery, hoping I would grow to be the Creator’s most diligent servant. The world outside was steeped in hatred and greed, chaotic and cruel. They believed that within those sacred halls, I would be nurtured into a beacon of virtue, unshaken by the corruption beyond.
I flourished in my studies. The holy words flowed through me like music, and before long, I became the youngest —and perhaps the most brilliant— of the monks. My devotion was unwavering, and soon, I found myself guiding others along the same path of faith.
And yet, a voice stirred within me. At first, it was nothing more than a whisper, a flicker of sound at the edge of my thoughts. But as time passed, it grew —a persistent, burning presence that would not be ignored. I meditated, searching for its source, withdrawing further and further into solitude.
Then, the calling came. "Go to the Scriptorium. Take the book that has always been locked away. There, you will find the truth."
A flame —one only I could see— illuminated the path to the forbidden archives. There, hidden behind layers of dust and silence, lay the manuscripts that did not align with the Church’s teachings. I slipped inside, uncertain of what I was meant to find. But in the corner, a leather-bound book gleamed as if it had been waiting for me. I took it and fled the monastery that very night.
I crossed the bridge to the mainland, exhausted. Beneath the shelter of the bushes, I fell into a restless sleep. By morning, the voice was gone.
With trembling hands, I opened the book —and within its pages, I uncovered a history I could scarcely believe. It chronicled an era long past, when dragons and daemons roamed the land, and those who sought to shape reality by their own will were condemned as heretics. It was a record of persecution, a systematic erasure of those the Church had called "wizards" and "witches." Entire legacies wiped away in the name of order. And among the names, the first entry was the Flame Goddess herself.
At the back of the book, a map had been drawn. A single mark indicated where the massacre had taken place.
I followed it.
When I arrived, I found only a quiet forest, undisturbed and peaceful —save for the mouth of a cave, carved by our hands. A faint glow flickered from within.
I stepped inside. At the heart of the cavern, preserved through centuries, I found it: the still-beating heart of the Flame Goddess. Its embers pulsed softly, as if waiting. I took the book that had led me here and fed it to the flames.
"May this bring you final peace, masters and mistresses."
Then, from the corners of the tomb, they appeared —ten figures, men and women who had once been among the first to wield magic, their names lost to time. In that moment, I understood.
I had spent my life searching for the Creator, believing faith was a path of obedience. But here, before these forgotten souls, I saw the Creator in a way I never had before. I had not been led astray. I had been led home.
They did not speak, but they did not need to. The knowledge they carried was passed to me in silence. When their duty was fulfilled, the Ten Gods returned to their slumber. And I, in turn, remained to honour them.
I built a sanctuary upon this land, a shrine to guard the heart of the Flame Goddess, to protect what had been lost, and to ensure that those who sought the truth would never again be silenced.
I am Weenie, the witch. The guardian of The Misty Hallow of the West.
The Sanctuary
The Sanctuary lies deep within the West Forest hidden in a thin mist. Once, there was nothing here but a somber, foreboding tomb —an entrance to the void, heavy with the weight of forgotten history. I began with a shrine for the Flame Goddess, but over time, I shaped this place into something more hospitable -well, more homey.
Clubs, 3: 30 years after, what did I learn?
Thirty years have passed since I first arrived in this place. In solitude, I became attuned to the smallest of sounds —the wind through the willows, the murmurs and sighs carried on the breeze.
In time, forgotten gods found their way here, seeking refuge. For those first three years, I did nothing but listen.
Diamonds, 4: Discovery - A locked box with no key
Today, while gathering herbs, I unearthed a small locked box —one with no key, and curiously, no keyhole to open it. Intrigued, I sat with it, meditated upon it, and drifted into sleep.
In my dream, the box lay open —completely empty. Yet as I gazed inside, it began to draw out all my worries —the harsh weather, the loneliness, the lingering doubts— every burden I carried, one by one. When my heart felt as light as a feather, the box closed.
I awoke to find it open beside me. But inside, where my worries had been, lay small confections of chocolate. I picked one up, let it melt on my tongue —and with it, one of my many worries simply faded away.
Clubs, 2: 20 years after, what did I gain?
By the fiftieth year, a few souls began to find their way here. Some had uncovered fragments of the hidden past and sought the courage to defy an unforgiving world, determined to follow their own will. They became regular visitors. Others were merely lost travelers, whom I welcomed into the small cabin beside the shrine. I did not mind —after all, in their company, I had found friends.
Diamonds, 5: Discovery - Something I thought lost
Today, I found my old lace shawl —a cherished keepsake from the monastery. I lost it in my first year here, and at the time, it felt like pulling a wisdom tooth—painful, yet necessary to grow beyond my old self. Now, a swarm of tiny, raucous bees has made it their home, weaving their lives into its delicate threads. I choose to leave it there, hanging in the tree. If it serves the bees, then so be it.
Spades, 4: Threat
Today, a group of monks arrived —armed, to my surprise. Word had reached the Church that this place was stirring something dangerous, something blasphemous. That it led people astray, encouraging them to worship in ways deemed unorthodox. They came with threats: either I cease welcoming visitors, or they would tear the shrine apart.
I stood my ground. Are we not all children of the Creator? Faith takes many forms, and as long as we acknowledge the divine, the way we express our devotion should be our own. But my words fell on deaf ears.
Without hesitation, their massive beetles stomped upon the altar, scattering offerings, shattering relics —desecrating what they did not understand.
"Next time, it will be the whole shrine. And most likely, you too."
The altar, at least, was easy to mend. But the offerings were lost. The Ten Gods remained asleep, while the forgotten ones wept.
"Wait," I murmured, gently placing my hands on the stone. "It’s just the altar. Not now. There, there."
Diamonds, 10: Discovery - Something that serves as a warning
Today, in front of the shrine, I found an apple pierced by a dagger—a warning, a threat against the beating heart of the Flame Goddess. I placed my hand upon the apple and glimpsed a vision —an angry monk, seething with resentment.
Carefully, I pulled the dagger free. I cleansed it, wove a warding spell around it, and placed it at the entrance of The Sanctuary, where it would turn away those who came with ill intent.
With the task done, I picked up the apple and took a bite. It was crisp, sweet, and utterly delicious.
Spade, 6 - Threat
Tonight, an angry mob driven by religious zealotry descended upon The Sanctuary, torches in hand, ready to reduce it to ashes.
As they approached, the dagger at the entrance awakened. It flew straight to the leader’s torch, igniting his hands in an unnatural flame. The priest beside him, horrified, rushed to smother the fire—only to find himself burning as well.
But it was merely an illusion. No one was truly harmed. Yet fear gripped them, and they fled into the night. Still, I know they will return someday with this night forgotten and recharged with hate.
Hearts, 10: Memory - My greatest accomplishment
Today, I found myself reminiscing about the day the dragons came to this place.
A week ago, I was repairing the shrine’s roof when I heard it —a faint echo, something beyond sound itself. I attuned myself to it, straining to listen. It was unlike anything I had ever perceived —divine, heavy, yet steeped in solemn melancholy. Something vast. Something sublime.
A thought stirred in the back of my mind: Maybe… maybe it’s them. The old ones.
I spread my oracle to make contact, but as I became more attuned to their echoes, I no longer needed a medium. And the stories they told —unbelievable, yet undeniably true.
They spoke of how they once ruled the skies, how they had been the Creator’s most beloved, how swiftly they fell from grace. How they found a new paradise in the ancient lands of Haeth —only to be hunted, one by one, at the behest of the Church and its dragon slayers.
Some found solace in my arms. Others settled in the West Forest, offering tribute to the small and forgotten gods. Here, at last, they could simply exist.
Clubs, 1: 10 years after, what have I lost?
I looked up at the tree where my shawl once hung. It was empty now —silent, desolate. The bees had long since left, and the old lace was fraying, unraveling thread by thread.
I took it down, running my fingers over the worn fabric. It had lost its magic to hold life —just as the Church had lost its empathy, becoming nothing more than a vessel for power.
And yet, I still prayed to the Creator, no less than I did to the other gods. My own words wove around my craft, reaching the divine in ways the monastery never taught me. The prayers I had once recited so ardently —the ones I had memorized with devotion— were gone.
Spades, 8: Threat
As I had suspected a year ago, the mob returned —this time, more furious than ever. But I was stronger now. My craft had deepened, my power sharpened, and I no longer stood alone. The spirits of dragons were with me. They would not harm the mob directly, but they would lend their strength to my spells.
It was monsoon season, and I called upon the wind to rise against them. I beckoned the rain to swell into a flood, the dragons amplifying my will. Despite their persistence, the mob was swept away, carried through the forest and out to the shore. The storm followed them all the way back —to the very monastery where I had once lived and studied.
I wondered if they knew. If they realized that the witch they had sought to destroy was the same prodigy they had once revered —the brilliant young mentor of their own faith.
Even after the monsoon passed, the storm lingered over the island of Notre Dame des Laitues. The rain did not cease.
The next day, an old priest came to me. His skin was leathery and wrinkled, each crease etched with greed. "I propose an eternal truce," he said. "Disperse the storm, and we shall leave your sanctuary untouched."
And so, I lifted the clouds, and they never returned. But from what I hear, they now speak of this place only in hushed, fearful whispers —preaching that the Misty Hallow of the West is haunted, cursed, a place no righteous soul should dare to tread.
Clubs, 4: 40 years after, how have I changed?
Twenty years ago, to my surprise, one of the visitors was the new priest. Since the treaty, no one from the Church had come, and without their threats looming over me, I had lost interest in them altogether. Instinctively, I was wary, ready to raise my guard —until I read the priest’s demeanor and saw that she was different.
"I know my predecessors were fundamentalists," she admitted. "They turned the Church into a courtroom, judging people as they saw fit, feeding on their fear of eternal damnation. But I think differently. The Old Church has been blind to its own greed, twisting the Creator’s teachings for its own convenience.
Now, people are rising against it, yearning for the Church to return to its true purpose. We are trying to change —for the better. To embrace all forms of faith without discrimination. And I wish to be in good standing with you. I’d like to understand your path, to learn from it when I can.
Oh, old mentor of Notre Dame des Laitues."
"You knew."
"Mama Lilly still misses you. From the moment you left, she has only ever wished for your safety."
At the mention of that name, a flood of memories washed over me. The monastery, the faces I had long since tried to forget. And just like that, the bitterness I held toward the Church —or rather, the Old Church— began to shift.
For the past twenty years, the priest and I have exchanged letters, sharing our beliefs, our hopes for the people of Haeth. And through these conversations, my perspective changed. It was never the Church itself that was the problem, nor faith. It was the people who twisted it to serve their own power —just as it is with most things in this world.
Diamonds, 6: Discovery - A remnant of someone who came before me
Today, a fellow worm unearthed a brooch. It bore the initials G. H. The font looked familiar. A memory stirred, and I hurried to check the old iron-cast crockpot my grandmother had passed down to me. There, engraved in the same script, were the very same initials: Geenie Horn.
She had been here before.
Perhaps, long before me, she too was the guardian of this place. She never spoke of the craft, never taught me its ways, but there had always been something about her —a mischievous glint in her crone’s eyes, something ancient and knowing. Too mischievous, in fact, for my parents, who feared she was different and kept her at a distance when I was a child.
I sat down, holding the brooch in my hands, tracing its worn edges as I thought of the life she must have lived.
"See, Nana? I’m doing well. I suppose I’ve followed your footsteps after all. Maybe this was always meant to be. I hope you are well, resting in the Creator’s arms."
Clubs, 4: 40 years after, how have I changed?
More and more people came to The Sanctuary, seeking to break free from the endless cycle of hierarchy and power. The story of the Flame Goddess and her kin spread quietly, carried from one whisper to another. And under a Church that was now more tolerant than the one before, people felt free to worship as they wished.
I, too, had changed. I no longer saw the world in stark contrasts of black and white. Some chose the orthodox path of faith, some walked the unorthodox, and others found meaning in both. In the end, faith takes many forms —shapes and sizes beyond counting— and they can all coexist, even regardless of what we choose to believe.
Spades, 5 - Threat
The bureaucrats came with threats. Their superiors were displeased by what they called pagan worship.
I asked them "Does the Church not acknowledge all forms of faith? Why, then, does this trouble the royals?"
They had no answer. But I did. The Church is too powerful to challenge outright. And yet, the royals resent how much sway it holds over the people through faith. They fear what they cannot control.
Regardless, the bureaucrats refused to listen. When they tried to step inside The Sanctuary, my warding spell activated. The mud at the entrance clung to their limbs, holding them in place, denying them passage. Helpless, they turned back. And as they did, the mud released them.
They left, but I know they will return. We have too many enemies now. The world is stirring.
Diamonds, 2: Discovery - Something I know is dangerous
For the past few days, the bugs had been restless. Conflict arose between them and the people. Visitors came to me, troubled. "My dragonfly seems malaise,"* one said. "My beetle isn’t the same," another added. Their mantises, their cicadas —all behaving strangely, unnerved and aggressive.
I wondered why, until Patsy the squirrel cautiously suggested, "I think it started after we visited your place… no offense."
That led me to the pond —the place where visitors let their bugs rest while they visited the shrine. I examined the water carefully, searching. Then, I saw it.
Something buried, something wrong. I reached in and pulled it out: a rusty nail, laced with a curse. The moment I touched it, a vision surged through me —of a Salmon from the Dark Lake, bestowing a wish upon a hooded man.
Who was he? A royal, I suspected.
I unhexed the nail and cleansed the pond, purging its taint. Then, I called the visitors back and had them let their bugs drink from the now -purified water. One by one, the creatures calmed, their wild eyes softening, their familiar, docile nature returning.
Hearts, 1: Memory - A moment of Peace
Today, we held a quiet ceremony to honor The Sanctuary’s existence. It wasn’t planned —just something that happened naturally.
People had gathered to heal their bugs from the cursed water, and with offerings still left, we decided to share a meal together. A picnic under the open sky.
As we sat, I taught them the language of the bugs—the ones that thrive across Haeth. I watched as they tried to communicate with their beloved creatures, their faces lighting up when they found a connection. The air buzzed with chittering wings and murmured words, a lively, joyful chaos.
Yet in the midst of it all, I felt nothing but peace.
Clubs, 1: 10 years after, what have I lost?
I lost my best friend. Living among gods and spirits has granted me a longer lifespan, but my friend of the Church was not blessed with the same grace. In her last letter, she wrote:
"I would rather return to the Creator sooner than live long enough to see things that make me doubt if the Creator even cares."
The world outside grew more frenzied, ruled by those who desired more than they could ever consume in a lifetime. Merchants crowned themselves as royals, and royals as kings and queens, lording over their own kind. They took more from those beneath them, then hired the very same people to guard the wealth that had been stolen from them.
Hearts, 3: Memory - A moment of surprise
Today, something strange happened. I was making my morning tea when a sudden rush of energy surged through me—something stirring, something waking. The Ten Sleeping Gods were shifting.
I hurried outside and found a piglet sitting before the altar, carefully placing his pearl necklace as an offering. Most likely his most precious possession.
For so many years, I had waited for this moment —for someone willing to walk this path, to learn what I had to teach. The piglet saw me, startled at first, then bowed. And just like that, Lester became my little apprentice. My first pupil.
Clubs, 2: 20 years after, what did I gain?
My dear Lester grew into a marvelous wizard. Watching his knowledge expand and his practice flourish with such speed was a true wonder—both as a mentor and as a witness to his brilliance.
I never longed for a child, but over these past twenty years, I have come to understand why people do. Lester was more than just my apprentice. He was like a son to me.
Diamonds, 9: Discovery - Something of tremendous value
Today, Lester discovered a piece of dragon’s blood resin in the woods near The Sanctuary. The moment I touched it, I felt a dragon shudder —a lingering echo of pain. This must have been the blood spilled when a slayer’s blade struck its kin.
We sought the dragon’s permission to use it, to weave it into a ward against ill intent. She nodded in solemn agreement. With ink infused with the resin, we painted the entrance, sealing The Sanctuary with its ancient power.
Clubs, 1: 10 years after, what have I lost?
Lester asked me carefully, hesitantly, if he could leave —to see the world, to travel beyond The Sanctuary.
I had always known this day would come. All mothers must let go of their children. From that moment on, they become a safe haven—a place to return to only when needed. That is the fate of a mother.
I nodded, then pulled him into a tight embrace —my apprentice, my child, piece of my soul.
Clubs, 2: 20 years after, what did I gain?
Twenty years have passed since Lester left. In the beginning, my heart ached for him, but as time went on, I learned to be grateful—for his letters, for the glimpses of his journey, for the knowledge that he was well.
Tonight, as I called upon the stars, one whispered a quiet omen —good news.
And then, from the distance, he appeared. I ran to him, embracing my forever little boy. But he was no longer the tender, soft-skinned piglet I once knew. Time had etched its marks upon his face and eyes —he had grown, shaped by the world beyond The Sanctuary.
I welcomed home the son I had found once more.
Spades, 5: Threat
"Mother, a storm is coming. A great war—perhaps the last, the one to end every injustice, every cycle of violence and hatred on Haeth.
The small and forgotten gods have taken the people's side, aiding them in their fight against the royals who draw their power from the Looming Gods. The Church has chosen neutrality, offering sanctuary to those in need. But it is not enough. So far, the people are losing. We need to help."
I agreed. I opened The Sanctuary to the Rebellion, to the weary, to anyone seeking refuge along the West Coast. And I warded off all who would bring them harm.
Lester, however, chose to fight. He left to stand alongside the Rebellion, to wield his magic in the heart of the battlefield.
Every day, I resist the urge to look into his future. Because if I saw what was coming, I don’t know if I could bear it.
Spades, 1: Threat
The royals had never liked this place. Not the Flame Goddess. Not the Ten Sisters and Brothers. Not the Dragons. Not the Small and Forgotten Gods. And certainly not me, the one who guarded their peace.
So they attacked. They catapulted the entrance, shattering the wards painted with dragon’s blood. They rained down fire arrows, determined to reduce The Sanctuary to ruin.
In that moment, I realised —I had never held the political power of the Church. I had no shield of influence, no army of devotees. And for the first time, I wished I were as strong as they were.
The Rebellion fought. The refugees fought. The gods and dragons fought. But against the Looming Gods, we were simply not enough.
Spades, 8: Threat
Then, with the dawn, Lester came. He called forth a thunderous light, wielding it like a blade, offering himself as a vessel to purge the enemy. The Looming Gods burned away, their presence reduced to ash, and the armed men —stunned, overwhelmed— fled The Sanctuary in terror.
For a brief moment, there was silence. Then came the rush of joy, the breathless exhilaration of victory.
But when we turned to celebrate with him —Lester was no longer standing. He had fallen.
Today, I lost my son.
Hearts, 2: Something I'm ashamed of
The war raged on. One man’s death was never enough to end a war. But it was enough to keep this land untouched —a true sanctuary, protected from harm.
More and more people came seeking refuge. Even the royals, once my enemies, arrived in need of shelter. War spares no one; it had struck both sides of the hierarchy alike.
But I must admit —I was not fair to all who sought my aid. The royals felt like intruders, and they knew I did not welcome them as warmly as the others. I tried, but my eyes betrayed me, heavy with disdain and resentment. Deep down, I knew the truth —that as individuals, they bore far less blame than the systems that shaped them.
And yet, hatred lingers, even in a heart that longs for peace.
Hearts, 8: A secret revealed
Today, I went through Lester’s belongings. At first, I struggled to accept that he was truly gone —that he had moved on, rather than lingering here. Lester knew that if he had stayed, we could have carried on as if nothing had changed, save for the absence of his physical body. And yet, he chose to leave.
It took time, but I finally understood —I needed to let him go, just as he had let this world go.
Among his things, I found a small embroidered pouch, beautifully stitched. I vaguely remembered it from the first time we met, when he sat before the altar, offering a pearl necklace. I opened it and found a brooch bearing a royal emblem —and a family photo.
A typical royal portrait: a stern father, medals and brooches pinned to his chest; an elegant mother, draped in fine jewelry; children standing straight, proud in their adorned clothing. But young Lester was nowhere in the picture.
A vision filled my mind —of a small piglet, a child cast aside for being different, for thinking differently. A boy who refused to wear the robes of nobility, who wished to dress like the peasants instead. And so, he was erased. Stripped from the family’s image. Forgotten, even before he left.
Clubs, 1: 10 years after, what have I lost?
The realization that Lester had once been a royal himself made me finally lay down my grudges. For so long, I had seen the royals as a single entity —a collective mind, driven by greed and power. But as I came to know them as individuals, I saw something different. Some were kind and just, generous and fair. Some were polite, thoughtful, even burdened by the roles they had been born into.
And so, I let go of my anger. During the final ten years of the war, I embraced all who sought refuge —no matter where they came from, no matter who they had once been. Even the lost souls of the Looming Gods, if they wished to stay.
Hearts, 9: Memory - My fondest memory
Today, the war officially ended with a treaty between the royals, the Rebellion, and the people. The Looming Gods were no more —whether gone entirely or merely fallen into eternal slumber, no one could say. The Small and Forgotten Gods returned to their quiet, idle resting places. At last, peace had come to Haeth.
And I will never forget the gentle flutter of the moth that carried this news to me.
Diamonds, 1: A weapon, unused for years, covered with rust
Five years have passed since the war. With peace restored, the flow of visitors gradually dwindled —no longer driven by fear or desperation to seek The Sanctuary. My days remained much the same, though there was far less to tend to now.
During a walk, I stumbled upon a rusty arrowhead, likely from that night. In the past, I would have cleansed it, reforged it into a ward against intruders.
But now, there is no need.
Joker: The End - 5
I have dedicated my life to protecting the Misty Hallow of the West, and now, at last, it is safe. Every threat that sought to disturb this peace has been driven back. The Sanctuary now stands unshaken, unafraid, enduring beyond my watch. The last confrontation was hard-won, but I know—without a shadow of a doubt—that the fight is over for good.
I am no longer needed as its guardian. My duty is fulfilled. And now, it is time to rest. I have lived too long, seen too much.
But there is one final task that remains.
For years, I have waited to pass down what I have learned. After Lester, I swore I would never again devote myself to an apprentice—never again open my heart to the pain of loss. But in time, I realized how foolish it was to fear losing, only to let the craft die with me.
Now, I wait in hope. Somewhere, there must be another —a willing soul ready to walk this path, to carry on this dying craft. Now, only six of us remain across all of Haeth. And yet, we understand. The path is difficult. The path is misunderstood. But for those who choose it, there is meaning here.
I dream of the day when one arrives, eager to learn. When that day comes, I will teach all that I know, pour out everything I have.
And when my work is done, I will walk into the tombs and rest alongside the Ten Sisters and Brothers.
Review
I've always wanted to incorporate other TTRPGs into my Wanderhome sessions. (I wish I could have played 'The Tavern at the End of the World] during the Hoppendell arc). Recently, I played Sentinel by Meghan (lynnFTW), and it turned out perfect for deepening the character of Weenie, a kith in the Misty Hallow of the West.
Weenie was a mentor figure to Clover, and though I had a vague notion that she was the "Generous Mentor Who Betrayed," a folklore from Notre Dame des Laitues, as well as the guardian of the Flame Goddess and the Ten Sleeping Gods, Sentinel gave her a richer backstory, greater depth, and deepened my personal connection to her. I'm especially glad Lester became part of her canon; it feels more meaningful that Clover wasn't her first apprentice —it's much more compelling for Weenie to have previously had an apprentice who was talented and beloved, but tragically lost, instead of Clover being an all-too-perfect "Mary Sue."
Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the two days spent playing this. Plus, it gave me a great excuse to finally use my pretty dice, which often sit unused during solo journaling RPGs.