He wore a purple armband around his left bicep, over the leather trench. Clearly visible. Along with all the others, he trudged along, in step with the mighty column of has-beens, would-bes, almosts, and never-wases. Here an orc in full plate, dark inscriptions on his black armor, there a giant slug, swords and spears still sticking from its body, and over there what looked to be a full fledged demon.

My boss is an asshole thought Jack, as he walked along the desolate path towards the great structure in the distance. I've been working for this guy for two months, and where does he send me? Bumpiss nowhere.

...

Jack had entered the building with the rest of the crowd, and was now seated in the mostly human and halfling section representing the thieves of the world. He could tell by looking around that not one of the guilds had sent their heads; many had to be enforcers and bodyguards like him, and the halfling from Marcidon looked like a pickpocket.

Great Jack thought, listening to the long-winded speech. This guy wants help, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. Screw my boss.