Banshee of Skin Street

The city of Irgan's name is rarely spoken lightly. Its history is one of abhorrence and torment, and most folk are content to let its legends sink into obscurity. In days gone by, the Ironheart Dwarves of Irgan saw a promising future of prosperity, commerce, and peace, but this would change when they bowed to the whims of a tyrannical king. Tagrid the Vile assumed the throne and at once set about earning his moniker. The meek villages on the kingdom's marches were ransacked and their people put to the sword or bound in chains. None would be spared. When emissaries from Mazzogaraniz approached the vicious despot to enquire into the kingdom's newfound savagery, they too were butchered.

However, it was not his warmongering alone that attracted unanimous disdain, but another penchant that he possessed. All who succumbed to Tagrid's forces would be flayed, be they living or dead. Every inch of skin was peeled from their bodies with exacting precision. Once the sickening process was concluded, the skinless corpses would be sent to neighbouring powers as a deterrent against retaliation. This was not the only putrid manner in which he would demonstrate his power. Reams upon reams of tanned skin were fashioned into one long carpet and laid along the route from Irgan to the Fenceroad - a distance of nearly six miles. Vile Tagrid strolled the whole distance barefoot without ever once touching stone. It is this despicable act that earned this path the name of "Skin Street."

Irgan now lies in ruins, having been abandoned for centuries. A coalition army led by the cities of Mazzogarniz and Viaz'maradae defeated the Ironheart army and granted no mercy to their conquered foes. The fields were salted, the palace was demolished, and the population was massacred. To this day, an eerie silence looms over the empty streets of Irgan. Like the city that it leads to, Skin Street is also a desolate place. Although some small settlements have developed along its way, most stand as solemn reminders of the atrocities of Tagrid. It is not, however, solely the echoes of past misdeeds that dissuade people from inhabiting the area.

During the initial stages of Tagrid's brief yet catastrophic reign, many villages were caught entirely unaware, and so very few were able to escape. Tales speak of a Drow woman who had travelled to Viaz'maradae to trade some wares, and that her departure took place mere days before the invaders pillaged her home. When she finally returned, all that she saw was death and devastation. Her husband, children, parents, siblings, cousins, friends, and everyone else she had ever known laid rotting in the streets, or were strung by their ankles from the smouldering rafters of their homes. All that she loved had been brutally snatched away. Legends proclaim that her anguish was so great that she unleashed a wailing screech which endured for seven days and seven nights. Her lament did not subside until the life left her chest, and she slumped down dead besides her butchered kin.

She would not drift gently into the realm of the dead. Brave and curious travellers ventured into the area to gaze upon the carnage and offer assistance to any survivors, but they instead were greeted by a ghostly sight. A wispy apparition floated with uncanny grace about the ruins, singing an eerie dirge to the decaying corpses. According to these visitors, the phantom's song was enchanting yet unsettling, and cajoled them into moving closer. Carefully, the new arrivals approached and sought to calm the mourner. They conducted proper funerary rites for her slain kin and promised that those who had murdered them would be brought to justice - a vow which would be completed within a year.

Regardless, the sorrow-stricken spectre would never find peace. The Ironhearts' transgression was so dire that the Banshee of Skin Street herself swore an oath; that she would not rest until their name was worn only by the dead. It is unclear whether some otherworldly entity enabled such an assertion, or if she has survived purely on force of will, but still she endures in the ruins of her old village. Tending to ancient graves, she wails in grief for her lost family, her cries echoing through the caves for miles around, and awaiting the death of the last Ironheart. Although most of their clan was exterminated, the name is not forgotten. Some escaped from the ravaging of Irgan and found sanctuary in distant lands. There, where their history was unknown, they built new settlements and tried to put their woeful past behind them. Whilst the new generations of these enclaves hold no memory of Irgan or Tagrid's campaign, the Banshee's rage still demands their demise. Until the day when no soul bears the name Ironheart, the Banshee of Skin Street will grieve forevermore.