Tristan felt like he was suffocating.
A massive crowd surged under the new wooden "Referrer Registration" sign at the entrance of the City Hall.
"Next! Name! Who are you referring, and what's their trade!" the clerk in charge of registration screamed, his voice already raw and cracking.
"Me! My uncle! The best carpenter in Stone Bridge City! I figure he's gotta be a Level 2 craftsman!" a burly man shouted, holding his identification tablet high, his face flushed beet-red.
"Out of the way! My cousin fires bricks! His whole family of five can work! That's a guaranteed five Level 1 laborers!"
"Make way! This is a big deal! My brother-in-law, a foreman at the textile workshop in Silver Moon Port, manages dozens of people! That's got to be Level 3, right?"
Tristan finally squeezed his way out of the crowd. The collar of his new Civil Servant uniform was askew, and an unidentifiable grease stain sullied one of his sleeves.
