Tercera

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?"

Dyspepsi Cola
Cloaca Cola
Don't Get Involved

Me fui por la Dyspepsi Cola y ...
The man sniffs. "No accounting for taste, I suppose. Always found it too sugary, meself. Not fizzy enough, neither. You wouldn't see me killing nobody over it though, I'll tell you that for free."

After you help him push his cart out of the rut, he pulls a knapsack out of the cart, and tosses you a pair of blue pants. "There y'are. Now you can show your allegience properly, if you've a mind."

You watch quietly for a moment as he trundles away with his cart.

You acquire an item: Dyspepsi-Cola fatigues