You awake, ravenous. It takes all the strength that your patron possesses to fend you off. The two of you emerge from the demi-cellar and into the ruins of the burnt-out farmhouse. The world is full of new sensations. From what you can tell, the battle here did not go well for the Americans, as most of the bodies you see are theirs. Otherwise, the west bank of the river seems almost empty of people.
Your maker smiles. "Can you smell that, dear Thundertusk? It smells like someone has survived the battle." Now that he points it out, you absolutely can. The churn of sweat and iron distinguishes it from the waterfall of blood now soaked into the soil of the day's battlefield. With a curt nod, your patron releases you in the direction of your first kill.
Tonight, you will feast.
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