Smells Like Team Spirit

You find yourself on an ancient -- at least in your terms -- battlefield. Your ears ring with the clash of sword against shield and the screams of dying men and horses as arrows rain from the sky like, well, arrows.

"Oi, you there. You don't look like one of them -- mind giving me a hand here?" You turn to see a shabbily-dressed man hunched over a cart laden with the corpses of fallen soldiers. "One of my wheels has gotten stuck in a rut or something."

He sees the way you're looking at the bodies, and nods grimly. "Terrible sight, innit? All these young lads dead, and for what? Beverage preferences. Completely daft, if you ask me. These lads in the red, they're fighting for Cloaca-Cola. Them in the blue are for Dyspepsi." He raises his eyebrows at you. "Which do you favor, then?"

Choices are Dypepsi, cloaca, or don't get involved.

Don't Get involved text:

You shrug noncommittally, and the man nods. "Aye, good on you. No reason to get mixed up in this madness, not for the sake of some fizzy sugar water."

You help him push his cart out of the rut. It's a pretty good workout. You gain 23 Strongness.