The air of Gadgetzan hung sluglishly, the sun roaring down upon the battered desert of Tanaris with all its might. But heat never stopped a goblin, now did it? The servants of the Steamwheedle Cartel continued to invent, tinker, trade, and most of all, profit. After all, that was the life-blood of the goblin world, for without wealth, you were nothing. And if some of those profits were made in less...reputable ways, who was to judge? Gold could be spent, morals couldn't. And this little piece of profit..well...it held information, the most ephemeral commodity of all. If it was true, the knowledge contained within was a blasphemy, a monstrosity deserving of utter destruction. But it could just be fiction.....couldn't it? Books could lie just as easily as that merchant who told you the tele