“People are… Scum. Finding those who are not is a far more arduous task than it should be. And yes. I am real. I have the scars to prove it.” Not that he was going to be taking off his armor to show her most of his, but - Tristain shoved back the sleeve on his right arm, which was just clad in cotton and thin leather, and took one of her hands. He placed the hand against his arm, and let her fingertips roam along the skin as he spoke.

“Now.” He shifted away from her hand, and focused his attention on the bath. The water had filled to a decent level, and was warm but not hot. One broad hand clasped one of hers and guided it to the water, letting her test it.

“This is fine thank you.”

Aynur stepped away from him and started to remove her dirtied rags. There wasn’t much left of the clothing. Her body was littered with scars and her entire right arm was marred with the signs of severe burning. Her back was turned to him and on it looked like a crudely draw half sun with an eye in its center. Tristain blinked several times, the only motion as his body froze when her rags began hitting the floor.

I - I know the women in the Danse don't have shame, but I thought normal women did. Oh, my. I definitely did not see clearly with those rags. Wow. Uhm. He shook his head sharply behind her, forcibly dragging his attention away from the figure, instead looking at the network of scars that littered her body. From behind her, he could see the edge of a thin net of scars on one side of her body, wispy and jagged. They looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

As his eyes dipped lower, he bit his lip, hard, the sharp taste of copper focusing his mind. He coughed, once. “I - will leave you to your bath. I will be outside, call for me if you need assistance with something.” Staying in here was not something he was fully comfortable with doing. At all. Without really waiting for a reply, the mercenary snatched the rags from the ground and strode out - not quite a run, but more than a walk.

He closed the door to the bathroom most of the way, leaving it ajar so he could hear if the woman called for help - if Aynur called for help, he had to associate her name with her. He found the rubbish bin, tucked into a corner of the room, and shoved the rags into it. The fighter was not going to let that poor woman stay in that torn attire, not of he could help it. And he could. With her taking a bath, she would be occupied for a time - long enough for him to make a trip to a nearby market, or store, and find some clothes. He had gotten an… unexpectedly good view of her body, so he had a fair guess what size she was.

As he locked the door to the inn room, he ran one hand over his head. She had said someone had done that to her, indicating her face. It was a safe bet that the rest of the scars across her body had also been inflicted by people. She seemed harmless enough - blind, now, and broken inside, to the point of not fighting back when that drunkard had been about to - Tristain cut off his line of thought forcibly, not wanting to get angry all over again.

Back on topic, she seemed to have had a rough go of things. A few days, hot meals, and safety, might help her immensely. He had time to spare, and paying the favor forward of helping someone down on their luck sat well with him. He took a deep breath, and headed out, stopping one of the serving girls to ask for directions to the nearby market before he continued on his way.