The Banshee Takes Requests

Three hundred years of wailing, and everyone fled — until old Maeve's daughter walked out to the moor, red-eyed: "That was BEAUTIFUL. Mum would've loved it. Could you do it again? At the funeral?" The banshee had never been invited to anything. "I wasn't rebranded, love. I was finally HEARD. Same song. Better listeners. That's most hauntings, if you're taking notes." 🎵 "The Banshee Takes Requests" — an original D&D song about grief given a better job LYRICS: The banshee of the western moor had wailed three hundred years — the herald of the dying, the freelancer of all fears — till the night she keened for old Maeve's passing, and Maeve's daughter walked out to the moor and said, red-eyed, not afraid: "...That was BEAUTIFUL. Mum would've loved it. Could you— could you do it again? At the funeral? She always said nobody sings sad songs properly anymore." (the banshee had never been INVITED to anything) (in three hundred years) (she said yes) (she practiced) (BANSHEES PRACTICE now) The banshee takes requests! — the moor's most booked performer! Funerals, remembrances, and one very confusing wedding ("the bride WANTED weeping — it's traditional in her family — she was RIGHT — there wasn't a dry eye") Three hundred years of dreaded, one invitation from being beloved The banshee takes requests: turns out the wail was never the problem — the problem was nobody ever asked her to aim it at the GRIEF instead of the FEAR She learns each soul before she sings — sits with the family, listens, nods — "Tell me about her hands. Her laugh. The thing she said that no one else did." And the keening that she builds from it isn't death arriving — it's a life departing PROPERLY — escorted, honored, sung across the threshold And the villages have learned the difference: her old wail emptied streets Her new one FILLS churchyards (standing room) (bring a handkerchief) (bring TWO) And I asked her once — the narrator's privilege — "Why'd it change you? One girl, one invitation. Three centuries of doors, and THAT one opened you?" And the banshee drifted quiet on the moor-wind, and then said: "Three hundred years, I sang the truest thing there is — that someone's leaving, and it matters — and three hundred years, they heard it as a THREAT. Do you know what that does? To sing your whole heart, every night, and be fled from? And then a red-eyed girl walked out onto MY moor and heard the actual song underneath — the 'this mattered' — the 'she was HERE' — and asked for MORE. I wasn't rebranded, love. I was finally HEARD. ...Same song. Better listeners. That's most hauntings, if you're taking notes. Same song. Better listeners." The banshee takes requests — book early for the autumn (autumn's busy) (autumn's always busy) And Maeve's daughter manages the calendar ("someone has to — she'd sing for free forever — she NEEDS an advocate") And the old dread wail's retired, except once a year, by request: on the anniversary of the night she was invited, she stands on the western moor and sings the old one — the FEARED one — and the whole village comes OUT to listen on purpose (three hundred years of fleeing) (now they bring chairs) (same song) (better listeners) (bring two handkerchiefs) (bring three) 🎵 Music: Suno AI 🎨 Visuals: Midjourney ✍️ Lyrics & Production: Claude #DnD #DungeonsAndDragons #Banshee #TTRPGmusic #EmotionalMusic #CelticFolk #DnDmusic #TabletopRPG #WholesomeMonster #Grief