Hi guys! Sorry for the big delay. I'm going through a minor hiatus at the moment, but I hope to get into the swing again very soon. Enjoy!

"I need this fixed. And be quick about it," a female charr spoke up as a bloodied and dented sword was tossed against the metal workbench, resonating the metallic noise like a bell that rang. Asterix took his helm off to wipe an arm past his sweaty forehead and puffed. He was covered in dirt stains and smears of oil.

"Get up, mouse. Break time's over, back to work," his boss, a charr with brown manes and golden fur like a lion, announced. "You're not getting paid to slack off."

"Yes, yes, I'm going," he replied as he got up from the ground and waited for his boss to finish hammering the dents out of the sword. He was tasked with cleaning the blood and dirt off the weapons after they were fixed.

Despite how simple and to the point it sounded, it was difficult work to do. The weapons were often large and heavy to carry, everything had to be done as fast as possible, preferably in less than two minutes, and the pay was low. But it was the only job he was able to find that was even remotely in the area and was allowed to do. The charr were bewildered about a human looking for a job in their city. His boss, whom he nicknamed simply Lion, since the guy refused to tell him his name, even doubted if he was capable for the job. But so far, he didn't fire him yet. So that must have meant he was doing it right.

To top it all off, the Black Citadel was a scorching hot city during the summer, even though it laid at the base of the Shiverpeak Mountains' foothills. Walking there from the mountains and back took some effort by itself. Working in the city was much worse a grind. Especially for a human, who felt all but at home in a charr city built from metal, fire, and the ruins of an ancient human city. It even smelled unnatural. The air was unhealthy and filled with smog. And the charr loved it.

The charr were a warring race; everybody was a soldier, trained from cubhood, disciplined and loyal to their cause. They were much alike the Romans. They were conquerors, owned more advanced technology than just traditional sword and magic, were well organized and even used terms such as Centurion and Legionnaire, which surprised Asterix. Being a species of predator, they were also far more violent and fearless than the type of invading enemy he knew.

They saw sport in fighting and enjoyed beating each other black and bloody. To the charr, getting a scar was an achievement. And what better place to get into a rowdy battle than The Bane, the colosseum of the Black Citadel? Swords lacerated, shields bashed, rifles fired and hammers crushed. More often than not, a bloody tooth or even a claw was lost in the fighting, and maybe once in a week, one poor sucker would be found dead and was dragged out if they still didn't stand up several hours after they collapsed. Sometimes, the more mature characters came here to settle disputes. Other times, it was a slaughterhouse worse than Caesar's 'finest' gladiatorial shows.

And that arena was where he now worked, wiping blood and dirt off weapons in the blazing sun as though it all didn't faze him. Of course, it did faze him at first; a lot even. But after figuring out this was all just daily life to the charr, he taught himself to cope with it, resisting the urge to watch the fighting and only wincing once every so often whenever there was a bloodcurdling scream. Thankfully, his shifts were short and only on the calmer days when there were no tournaments.

"Here you go," his boss spoke up, and he slid the sword over the workbench. The Gaul wrapped both hands around the grip without question, heaving to lift the heavy blade. It was bigger than himself, but he did his work just as fast as a charr would. He slid it down into a metal container filled with strong-smelling liquid, taking it out again after counting five seconds in his head. He then took an old shred of cloth and began to wipe the blade clean, and the blood came off easily after the treatment. He then lifted it by the hilt again and let it drop on the workbench once again, in front of the customer to take. A handful of coin was dropped into the boss' paw, and the warrior sprinted back into battle, her sword glimmering like new.

"I gotta say, I expected you to quit after the first three days." The lion-maned boss grinned at Asterix while he scratched a twitchy ear with a single claw. "You even made me lose a bet of money."

The Gaul wiped his forehead again, panting roughly. "That's all fine and dandy, as long as it doesn't come off my paycheck."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea!" the charr joked while he took the next weapon from another customer. This time it was a shield. Asterix shot him a dark glare. But then, the charr flicked each of his four ears and looked up.

"Oh boy, here come some bloodies," the charr suddenly hissed under his breath, while he raised the hammer in his paw to bash it into the shield. The Gaul looked around cautiously. "Where?"

Lion pointed a claw at four other charr, with shining red armor, walking into the arena. "Those cubs right there. Looks like we're in for a treat." The hammer slammed down shortly after he finished the sentence.

Asterix spotted the four and immediately became nervous. If there was one thing he knew about these cat-people, it was to watch out for the Blood Legion kind. They were easy enough to distinguish; they often dressed in blood-red armor, they were easy to anger, and were even more violent and blood thirsty than the other Legions. Blood Legion soldiers were always the first to march into battle. They did not rely on stealth and secrecy, like Ash, or on siege and advanced weaponry, such as Iron. They just ran in head first and slaughtered what got in their way.

But the 'easy to anger' part was what concerned him the most. He got into trouble with one Blood soldier before, just from accidently bumping into her rear. She thought he was hitting on her, and if nobody else was there to keep her contained, she would have torn him to shreds. In the end, everything was cleared up and forgiven, but that experience left him distrustful of many charr. They weren't particularly fond of humans, either, but most were quite neutral.

Thank all the gods he came here after the war treaty was signed, and not before.

Asterix was pulled out of thought when he felt his boss' bushy end of his tail slap him in his face. "Focus! You have work to do," he growled.

"Yes, sir…" Asterix replied, and he took the bulwark in his hands. As he fastened a large clamp into the shield and lowered the heavy thing carefully into the vat for the liquid solution treatment, he couldn't help but overhear what those Blood Legion soldiers were here for. Two of them in particular sounded like they were spitting profanity at one another. He knew that those words would soon be replaced with claws and teeth.

"It's you who got us into that mess in the first place! Thinking you could cheat an Ash soldier on a gamble and expect him not to notice!? Where would you like to have your guts splattered on?" The first, a female, roared furiously at her companion.

"One more word out of you, cub, and I'll cut your tail off and strangle you with it," the other with a masculine voice, sounding more animalistic than humane, snarled back.

"I don't get the violence of you people…" Asterix eventually muttered toward Lion. He raised the shield out of the vat and took the shred of cloth again, wiping the dissolving stains from the metal.

The boss looked down at his employee and smiled, though it looked more as if he was baring his teeth at him. "Hah! You're just lucky, kid. If we never signed that war treaty with the humans in the first place, you would have been dead out here."

"You mean I wouldn't have been here at all," said Asterix. "I'd be a big idiot to come here if you guys were still at war with…us."

"Good point," Lion hummed. "You're not a big idiot. Just a little one." He cast a cheeky grin at Asterix. But it only made his human employee groan in annoyance.

"Once I have enough money to pay Margrit back, I'm quitting this job right away," he angrily spoke up while he lifted the shield to hand it back to its owner. But his boss didn't hear him. He was focusing on the quarreling that ensued between the two Blood legion charr. It had since turned into a violent skirmish. They had both drawn their weapons, axe against morning star. They would fight each other to the death. The third charr cheered for either one, and the last simply looked on.

Lion got up and straightened his back, and as he did, he became almost twice as tall than he was when he stood hunched. And then, he bellowed. "Hey, shrubs!" he called out. "Move your petty argument further into the arena! You're gonna hit one of my clients at this rate!"

Asterix suddenly flinched in surprise, withdrawing the shield back to himself before the customer was able to take it. "Are you insane? Don't anger them any further!"

But despite a charr's well-developed hearing, most of them chose to ignore him.

"Hey, meat," the disgruntled customer growled. "I want my shield back."

Asterix looked back at yet another burling figure of a charr standing behind the workbench, towering before him. His tiger-like fur was greying with age, and a pair of wrinkled, golden-orange eyes peered at him expectantly. "Y-yes, of course. Sorry," he stammered slightly, and he held the shield out again for the charr to take. A small handful of coins clattered on the workbench. Lion still was too busy shouting at the two fighting Blood soldiers, so Asterix collected the money himself and dropped them into the boss' coin pouch.

His boss then abruptly shoved him aside, grabbing the rifle that laid amongst his other tools. "You stay here and watch my stuff," the charr commanded as he positioned the musket in his arms and turned. He approached the two charr, who were starting to get dangerously close to the work station. Asterix didn't even have a chance to protest, and his boss had already released a warning shot.

The two stopped upon hearing it, and turned to look at the blacksmith. He was looking back at them.

"Did you have something to say to us, oldtimer?" The female charr snarled, blood dripping out of a split lip. Her manes were messed up from the fighting and one of her fangs threatened to fall out.

"Yes," Lion retorted nonchalantly. "Move your fight somewhere where you're not bothering anybody else!"

The Blood legion soldiers now also focused their attention to the blacksmith. The other fighter had one of his eyes black and swollen, his already ugly mug was now riddled with cuts, and his tail had a painful looking kink in it, suggesting broken bones. He cast a glance at Asterix in the back.

"Why don't you mind your own business and go back to playing card games with your pet, human lover."

Lion growled furiously. "Run that by me again, cub, and I will blow your head off!"

That was when the Blood soldiers forgot about their own argument, and turned toward the lion-maned charr. Four charr against one, while bystanders watched casually, some muttering words of worry, others grinning in sadistic approval. Asterix couldn't take it. He ached to help his boss, yet he was forced to watch helplessly, realizing it would be the death of him if he threw himself in the middle of a brawl between five aggressive cats with horns, and each of them weighing at least three-hundred pounds, armor not included. But, four against one - that would mean the death of Lion. And they tore at him, not giving him a chance to fight back.

The Gaul felt his anxiety build up to bursting point. There had to be something he could do. Anything! Even if it meant drawing their attention to himself for just a few moments…

Suddenly, his old instincts kicked in. Those same instincts that, when there was big trouble, he would do whatever it took to stop it. Without thinking it over, he leapt over the workbench, drew out his revolver, and took aim at one of the Blood soldiers, trying not to direct the gun anywhere close to their heads, necks or torsos. There was a second of hesitation, but then he cocked the hammer and pressed the trigger. A short loud pang echoed through the arena, and then, an even louder, anguished howl followed. The noise caught the attention of many.

"You! You RAT!" the female roared out, clutching her thigh. "You shot my leg!" She bent down to a kneel, blood leaked out of her newly acquired wound that stained the leather of her armor. Asterix stood, petrified with the gun still in his hands, aimed at her. He breathed rapidly. He felt his heart race. Snapping out of his state of adrenaline-induced panic, he dropped the gun shakily. Whatever he did, it worked. The fighting had stopped…for the moment.

Responding to his comrade's distress, whom he fought just minutes before, the kink-tailed male of the group suddenly roared like an enraged animal and came bounding, and before Asterix was able to do anything, he felt the charr's large paw slam into the side of his head. The impact sent him flying several feet, landing near Lion's work station and rolling over the sand several feet more until he finally came to a halt. His winged helmet clattered over the workbench, and his head spun and burned in pain. Barely conscious, he couldn't even remember anymore what had happened.

"Pathetic son of a grawl!" the charr cursed, and he continued to cuss, approaching the limp body threateningly. Now Asterix remembered. He shot the charr's warband mate, and now he was going to pay dearly for it. In his hampered vision, he watched his doom closing in, long horns swinging as he shook his head, and sharp claws drawn out. He wanted to get up, but his body wouldn't allow him, only aching more if he tried to move.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved, punk," the charr hissed when his foot stepped down on the ground, only several inches away from the Gaul's face. The claws on his toes drew out a little further, pressing into the dirt. Asterix gave one last attempt to get up, but he only moved about feebly, then pressed his eyes shut, not ready to take the beating. The charr bent over and reached out to grip him in his neck, like he would a rabbit.

"That's enough!" a distant voice suddenly shouted. The charr shot up and raised his ears, and his face went pale under his fur.

"S-Sir! We weren't expecting you'd…"

"I would what? Find you idiots out here?" the superior snarled. "Can't even leave you for one hour and you cubs get yourselves in trouble!" The white-as-snow charr cast his blue eyes around, taking in the damage. One lion-furred blacksmith sat up and spat a goblet of blood. He was covered in cuts and had parts of his body swell up from the punching he took. The girl of the warband slowly got to her feet with the help of her other two comrades. Then, his eyes settled on Asterix, who was struggling to get back to his feet. "What happened here?" he shot back at the kink-tailed soldier, while he suggested a paw at the battlefield.

"Well, you see, sir, that rat there shot Farra in the leg-"

The white charr roared to interrupt him. "I don't care about the rat! I want to know why you came here, while I explicitly ordered you not to! You have a job to do, soldier!"

"Yes, sir…" the lesser bowed his head shamefully, and muttered under his breath.

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Now, get out of here. Double time! And I don't want to hear any of you whining!" The white charr turned around and left, while his warband struggled to follow. After they were gone, most spectators lost interest and soon continued with their own business. Lion got to his feet and limped his way to Asterix, gripped his arm, and raised him carefully.

"You okay?"

His pain and dizziness became more severe as he was lifted from the ground, feeling his blood drain away from his head. With his boss' help, he finally got to his feet, groaning painfully while he raised a hand to support his head.

"I'm fine, I think… Nothing broken." He lowered his hand and found it stained with some blood. The same blood with that strange silvery hue to it; although it looked more natural than the last time he saw it.

"I should be slapping you up the other side of your face for not obeying your boss, you know that!?" Lion growled angrily.

"If I obeyed you, you would have been slaughtered even before their boss got here!" Asterix retorted, but then he winced, putting both hands on his head as it stung once again from shouting too hard. He let himself back down to the ground and waited until the pain faded.

This boss snorted and flared his nostrils in annoyance, but realized the little man was right. He knelt down in front of the human, careful not to strain himself. "What am I going to do with you, if all you do is get yourself into trouble for others?" he sighed. The words crashed down on Asterix like a rock. He did always get into trouble. Here especially… Nothing was further from the truth: He did not fit in this charr society.

"Nothing." Asterix told bitterly. "I quit. I can't do this anymore. I'm…sorry." The Gaul slowly raised himself again, fearing for his life if he stayed here any longer. He was even surprised at how shaky he sounded when he said those last two words. Slowly, he began to walk, picking up his own bag and revolver as he passed them, and leaving the Bane without any hesitation. He picked up his helmet that fell off from the attack on the way as well, and dusted the dirt from it. Lion looked on, grumbling quietly as his ex-employee left. But then he got up and walked after the Gaul, putting a paw on his shoulder to stop him. Asterix flinched, and turned around.

"Hey, you might be quitting, but I'm not letting you go without your paycheck," he grumbled.

Asterix stared back at Lion in confusion. "I didn't even last a week."

"Bah! Stop being so dignified. I may have been a little harsh on you, but I'm not a cheapstake." He began to fish into one of his pockets. "You were a good worker and I'm not letting you go unrewarded. And besides… I do owe you my life after what just happened."

"But I…"

But the charr pulled a small bag of coins out of his pocket, and forced it into his hand. "No buts! This place is not for you. Don't let me see you here looking for a job again, or I will slap you in the face. Twice as hard."

Asterix blinked, dumbfounded. Lion snorted at him. "You gone deaf? Do I need to kick you out?"

"No, sir! Going right now, sir," Asterix replied quickly, and then he turned, trying his best to walk with at least some dignity, yet sometimes stumbled slightly across the road as he headed out. Back to the west. To the mountains. Part of him was very glad he didn't need to come back to that gods forsaken city anymore. But he also regretted having to quit the only job he could find for the sake of his own well-being. At least he was able to pay a portion of his debt back to Margrit now.

"I'm back again," Asterix announced, letting himself into Margrit's lodge. Bobbo greeted him with a nudge of his nose, and Dogmatix yipped cheerfully, trying to jump him. But Asterix only cast them both a weak smile before he dropped his bag carelessly and headed straight for the thing he currently longed for most: his bed. He dropped himself on the cot and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"Welcome back," Margrit answered while she wasn't looking, too busy cleaning her workbench after she was finished doing her own work for the day. She knew that he would be getting rest first; it was what he had always done after the demanding chore and the long walk back home. "How did it go this time? Getting the hang of it?"

"Afraid not…" Asterix muttered. "I quit my job."

"What do you mean? What happened-" as the norn turned around, her eyes widened. The Gaul was covered in bruises, dirt and oil from a struggle, and the side of his head was stained with dry blood.

"Bear! What happened to you!?"

Asterix shifted his head slowly to look at her with dull eyes. "Catfight…"

"Get up and wash yourself. Right now," Margrit demanded. "I'll help you clean and dress that wound."

When he was finally clean and in fresh clothes, he sat back down on his cot. Margrit took out her band aid kit, hidden neatly in one of the drawers of her workbench. She also took one of her bottles of alcohol, normally used for her job as a tattoo artist. She then knelt down near the human and opened the case, and look a good, long look at the gash on Asterix's temple. The injury was clearly caused by a large charr paw, the pads of the hand imprinted and red on the side of his face, and the claws having left some deep cuts hidden under his messy hair. Some fresh blood still crept out from them, though much slower than before.

"I can't believe you shot a charr in the leg." Margrit muttered with a slight hint of anger and disappointment in her voice, when she learned the story. "Do you get a kick out of getting yourself in trouble? Because that sure looks like it." She took out a clean cloth and drizzled it with a bottle of alcohol, then carefully dabbed the wound on Asterix's temple with it. The Gaul hissed painfully.

"I know… I only tried to help my employer," Asterix sighed somberly. "I hardly even remember exactly what I did… I suddenly just lost my control, as if I blacked out, or something. It all happened so fast…"

"Well," Margrit sighed, "You're lucky you got away with just a minor concussion. And you even came home by yourself."

"I've been hit on the head more than once," Asterix said with a weak smile. "Makes you grow a harder skull."

"Maybe all those hits on the head also made a little screw come loose," the norn replied, while she sprinkled more alcohol on the piece of cloth in her hand. "And that magic potion of yours… It has clearly affected your estimation skills in the wrong way."

Asterix blinked, surprised that someone would criticize the magic potion in such a way. That magic potion, that saved him so many times, in so many ways. And all Margrit could comment about it was that it was bad for him?

But then again, she never experienced the strength and freedom it gave. Not that she would be really needing such a powerful weapon, if she were to be put in his shoes. She was a norn of nine feet, with a volume of muscle he didn't expect to see in women, yet she was elegant in her feminine form. She would have been fine. She had taken on sixteen ice wurms alone, and lived to tell the tale.

But Asterix? No, without his potion, he would be used as literal cannon fodder, like he was today.

"Well, I suppose it did…" he responded, looking a bit defeated.

The norn raised the alcohol-soaked cloth, dabbing it against his injury again. "We'll have to figure out something else, then," Margrit added. "For now, just take a day for yourself to rest." When she was sure she cleaned the wound well enough, she laid the cloth and bottle aside, and wrapped his head carefully in a strong linen bandage. She then had an ice pack made for him by scooping some snow from outside into a handkerchief and knotted the four ends together.

"Brings down the swelling," she said.

"Thank you." Asterix replied, and he rested the pack carefully against his face. "Oh yeah," he suddenly spoke up as he remembered. "You should check my pockets in the laundry. My paycheck is in there. It's for you."

"He still paid you anyway, huh? That's sweet of him. He must have appreciated your work." said Margrit. And she finally smiled again. "Now, you lay down a bit. I'll get some leftovers out from last night."

"Sounds good," Asterix replied. He watched Dogmatix approach and hop beside him on the bed. Bobbo sniffed the floor, and then laid down lazily. Asterix smiled and patted the dog on the head. Then, he sighed depressingly.

"She's right. I'm nothing without my potion," he muttered, just quietly enough for the norn not to hear it.

Dogmatix looked up at him with his dark brown eyes. His tongue lolled, and he licked his chops.

"What should I do? What can I do?" Asterix looked back down at the pup, as if expecting an answer. The animal cocked his head sideways, emitting a short, quiet whine.

He sighed again, and adjusted the pack against his face.

"Yeah, I don't know either…"