The smell of charred flesh and blood still hung in the cold Irish night as the dark figure strolled among the corpses of the dead. Dressed completely in black, the lone Viking carefully searched for something -- any sign from the Gods this would be a successful mission. With keen hearing, it turns towards a partially burned croft, still smoldering in the crisp, cool night. Walking over to a pile of debris, a leather gloved hand reached under the wood and pulls out a black ball of fur, revealing a hissing, spitting kitten.