He let out a snort at her attempting to speak with a gruff Imperial accent, and the ridiculous line she spoke. He actually started to chuckle. Cyrdic had to admit he must sound very odd in Tilea, or anywhere south of the World's Edge Mountains. But she'd traveled more than he. He'd definitely not be able to speak Tilean. Briefly, he wondered if he'd need to learn it at some point. Maybe the Empire wasn't big enough to escape a Baron's wrath. 

"Suppose that's lucky," he replied, poking the fire with a stick. He'd begun to down some of the Nordland jerky himself. "To be given a place to stay. Though the services..." 

Cyrdic shook his head. "I guess I'll be a Sellsword. Work for anyone who'll pay me. Fighting is all I know, so..." He shrugged. "I've not got much of a choice." He began to think aloud. "But, I guess it's not all bad. Mercenaries make their own hours, travel...long as you don't mind going hungry every now and then, you can manage. [i]I[/i] can manage." He sounded as if he was speaking to himself. What he'd need to do would be to sign up with any outsider noble to whatever province he was at. No, start low. Maybe a sewer watchman. 

"But you're able to do whatever you want. Outside of Ostland that is. What's your plan?"