Theramore Docks.
"Open these crates. The guards need to inspect them." A squad of Rangers stopped a convoy leaving the city.
"Sir, we are all legitimate merchants. We have proof of trade." A Goblin stepped forward with a smile to negotiate, pulling out a thick stack of documents from his bag as he spoke.
"Don't worry, this is only a routine spot check. We are cracking down on smuggling." The ranger explained patiently, but insisted on carrying out the inspection.
"Go. Check their documents." Sylvanas said to a Rattlesnake Goblin beside her. Deren had used Rivendare's connections to borrow this professional Goblin Accountant from The Sandbox. He was especially skilled at cooking books, forging invoices, altering amounts, and passing inferior goods off as superior ones—or vice versa.
The Rattlesnake Goblin, wearing a pair of glasses made of pure gold, stepped forward and snatched the other party's trade documents. After one glance, he said to Sylvanas, "They are genuine documents, but they have been altered. The amount was not changed by much, just enough to stay below the higher tax bracket and reduce their taxes. The destination code is wrong. It deliberately says Ratchet, but they should be heading to Orgrimmar. I believe I am correct."
Sylvanas let out a cold laugh. "See? This is your contempt for Theramore's order. The goods will be temporarily confiscated. Once you have paid the taxes according to their true value, bring the receipts and collect your goods."
"Ah, no! Please don't!" The Goblin owner wailed after so many problems had been uncovered. Just as he was about to argue, the Rangers drew their weapons without hesitation. Knowing he was in the wrong, he did not dare resist forcefully. He could only leave in disgrace while the Rangers stored his goods in a temporary warehouse