Feweh

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”

Baltar stares blankly at the crone in a puzzled look as disbelief comes across his face. "You're what they call a crone aren't you?" 

Baltar reminisces, remembering the warning a wanderer on the road near yesterday gave him about heading into the swamp.

Baltar nervously stumbles towards the closest chair which resembles more-so a rotted stump masquerading as such. I sternly state, "I'm a vagabond, travelling the lands looking for a purpose". A sweat drips from my brow, a tell Baltar was lying. The Crone made an audible groan of agreement, the sarcasm could almost be tasted by Baltar who was a healthy distance from the Crone.

I felt a cold chill rise through his spine, the Crone unseated itself and advanced towards Baltar closing in on my healthy distance I created. "I'm Baltar, Baltar the Grey!" I shouted nervously.

"I'm travelling without a purpose, outcasted from my family and village".

The Crone seated herself again, as she put her button onto the large stump a swamp beetle emerged from it's rotting husk. 

Baltar feeling more at ease spoke with confidence. "Truthfully I did not set myself upon your.... dwellings, I've come across it on my travels by accident". 

The Crone swayed back and forth on her stump, hummin to herself.

"I appreciate your hospitality but I'll take my leave". Baltar raised himself from his poor excuse for a chair and began walking towards the doorway, as he opened the tents light sheet doorway the Crone stood in-front of him.

Baltar with his right hand reached for his belt, finding nothing. His sheath housing his families blunted short sword was gone. A panic rose and Baltar locked eyes with the Crone observing a blackness in the Crones eyes ever expanding from her pupils outwards. This blackness overtook Baltar and he faded with a loud thud to the tents mudded floor.