The Banshee's Sorrow

The old man sat in the corner of the Hound and Tails, near the fire. Surrounding him was several children, there for their nightly dinner and a good story. The man leaned forward, and removed the pipe from his mouth. "Alright then, lads n' lassies. What do you want to hear?"
The children all shouted at once, a cacophany of requests. "Tell us about the orc wars!" shouted one child. "No, Tell us about Lothar's fight against the Evil of Hardlow!" shouted another. The man saw a small girl, sitting in the corner, with her head down. He pointed his pipe at her and said, "You girl. What do you want to hear?"
The girl paused and lifted her head only enough to see the old man. "I want to hear a story about love" she said.
The old man smiled, and the room fell silent.
Then a story about love, you shall have, child. Gather 'round, my friends, and lend an ear to the tale I'm about to share. It's a story of love, tragedy, and the haunting echoes of the past that linger in the Shrieken Mire. Sit back, relax, and let me spin this tale as only an old storyteller can.
Once, in the days of yore, when the mists of the Shrieken Mire were as thick as the secrets it held, there lived a noble lord by the name of Artran Shrieken. Lord Artran was a man of wealth and power, but he possessed a heart hardened by the pursuit of his own desires. You see, he had set his eyes upon the fair Eanwin Parlfray, the eldest daughter of the Great Sarden Parlfray, ruler of these lands at that time.
Eanwin, however, had no love for Lord Artran. Her heart yearned for another, a dashing young suitor whose name has been lost. Their love was a forbidden flame, a passion that could not be doused by the societal expectations placed upon them. Desperate to escape the clutches of Lord Artran, Eanwin and her paramour decided to elope, running away to the east, hoping to make their way to the Azure Gulf in the south and sail away. Instead, they found the treacherous embrace of the Shrieken Mire, although it wasn't known as that at the time.
Deep within the mire's murky depths, they sought solace, unaware of the perils that awaited them. The whispers of the marshy bog concealed treacherous paths, and the tangled roots of ancient trees grasped at their every step. Trapped within the grasp of the mire, their fate was sealed, and their lives were extinguished too soon.
Legend has it that the spirit of Eanwin Parlfray lingers still, trapped between the realms of the living and the dead. Her anguished soul, twisted by sorrow and betrayal, haunts the Shrieken Mire as a banshee, her mournful wails echoing through the mist-laden night. Those who dare to venture into the mire speak of her ghostly apparition, her eyes reflecting the pain and longing that eternally bind her. It's said that she seeks her love for her lost romance, and revenge against the noble that chased her there. Only when she finds both can she rest.
So, my friends, take heed when you tread the treacherous paths of the Shrieken Mire. Beware the haunted whispers that fill the air, for Eanwin's tale serves as a somber reminder of love denied and the tragic consequences that can follow. And when the mists grow thick and the moon is veiled by clouds, you may catch a glimpse of her ethereal form, forever trapped in the mire's melancholic embrace.