"Brioc! By Odin it is you! Tis I, Ecgthow! I'm coming out, and I have a friend," he looks at the Old Man and smiles at him in reassurance.
A rangy, yet to some familiar figure makes his way round the corner. A Norseman, clad in little but rags and carrying the marks, scars and bruises of several beatings. About all he has with him is a shortsword and a decaying breastplate held in his off hand.
He surveys the group, "Well met indeed. You seem to have fared better than I since we parted."