<<Dexterity Check: Success (10 vs. 15)!>>
But, it's worth a shot. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you start clambering over and through the ruins of the tower. Most of the rocks here have been untouched for an age, and thankfully, aren't easy to shake loose, and the piles themselves are surprisingly solid. The climb is quiet and easy, moreso than you'd expected, giving you the opportunity to listen in on the singing voice a little closer as you draw ever nearer.
The words are foreign, a language you don't know yourself, but they carry a melody that speaks of sorrow. Almost like a dirge.
You slow your pace to a veritable crawl as you crest the last mound of shattered stone, advancing just enough to peek your head up over the top. The castle courtyard is wide open and overgrown with grass peeking up between the cobblestones, and thick vines growing wild on the inner walls. Looks more like a garden than a fortress now; the only exception being the sturdy keep still standing, all the way across the yard from where you're sitting. What's left of a well marks the halfway point, and some distance along the north wall are a handful of small buildings, mostly collapsed save for one that looks like it might have been a stable once upon a time. The doors to both structures are closed, solid oak that have endured the years of abandonment.
But your attention is quickly recaptured by the minstrel sitting at the base of the tower. Except she's not like any bard you've ever heard of: she's a big woman, built hardier than even you are, dressed in fur-lined leathers and rough mail that's seen more than its share of savage blows. A braid of blood-red hair falls around one of her shoulders, and her face is painted over with a green stripe across her eyes, and claw-like marks of blue down her cheeks.
Her back is to a standing bit of wall, legs folded underneath her. Her gallichon rests on her knees, and a oilcloth is rolled out in front of her, playing home to a poleaxe nearly as large as its owner is tall. The woman's song might be beautiful, but her arms and armor make her out to be anything but a soft-hearted troubadour, and you get the feeling she's waiting for something... every muscle seems tensed, ready to spring to action in the blink of an eye.
It doesn't seem she's noticed you yet, and you're not sure what would happen if she did...
(( There's a lot of possibilities here, so I'm going to leave this passage open-ended. Post below & upvote as to what Remi should do! I'll be AFK most of today, so you've got plenty of time to discuss! ))
Name: Remielle Syrililth
Race: Salamander
Sex: Hermaphrodite
Figure: Amazonian
Class: Mage
Stats: STR (10) CON (16) DEX (14) INT (15) WIS (8) CHA (12)