Craer

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Appearance

Craer tends to appear in all the finery of nobility that borders on an austere wealth; he doesn't walk around strutting like a gem-encrusted ostrich, but everything from his silken shirt finely woven from magical clothes originating from the Outlands down to this sabretusk-leather boots screams wealth. By his belt hangs pouches after pouches, at least half-a-dozen of them, and any astute observer would see jutting wands from it and parchments of scrolls peaking out from it. Some other pouches hold queer devices, and other simply holds queer round iron balls. By his belt also hangs a small flintlock pistol, an enchanted knife and a few brooches that seemed to glow to any who appraises them, exhibiting a plethora of magical defenses and shielding.

Other: Craer holds the title of nobility in the House of Nobles, a status derived from his House's influence in the Alliance, extended from that of Lordaeron. A series of inter-marriages before his generation led to the House's validity of nobility in the Kingdom of Stormwind, one inherited by Craer Naharev. Unusually, due to his mercantilistic pursuits, he had managed to back up this claim with coins, and these coins served to persuade the aristocracy of the legitimacy of his title.

Personality

Alignment: Lawful Neutral. Craer is unscrupulous if he has to achieve an objective, but beyond that, he demonstrates surprising empathy and care. He holds little moral qualms about doing what is pragmatic, but beyond the absolute essentials, does not make it a point to cause unnecessary harm either. Abiding by his own code of honour, he believes firmly in a natural order of things. Even thus, however, that has not tempered his mercantile pursuits, merely channeling it down less unsavory paths.

Craer's manners tend to be humble and friendly, rarely presumptuous, an empathetic nature that allowed him to draw in friends and contacts. He carries himself with a noble bearing and dignity, although he is capable of toning it down to seem more inconspicuous when necessary, or even dismissing it altogether to fit in with the crowd or establish rapport with the one he is speaking to, whichever he deems more advantageous to negotiations. His lack of racial prejudice towards most races, except orcs where he set a special exception for, derives more from him treasuring their gold then him giving a silver piece worth of care about what they actually are. His personality, however, can take an abrupt change when he is threatened, even going slightly insane or maniacal in a battle, fighting like a cornered rat and with a hellish disposition that often unnerves his opponent; he simply fights like a madman.

Beyond his mercantile personalities, Craer reveals a depth of depravity and cruelty when he can get away with it. Nonetheless, he is hardly needlessly cruel, and rather pragmatic in his approach; yet whatever trace of compassion he has is becoming tempered with an unyielding attitude.

History

Just as the dawning of a new day and the rising of the morning sun sets the stage for a new day then so too does the beginning of one's life plot one's destiny, for after all, it would be ludicrous to many that a cobbler's son can one day be the commander of an army. Craer Naharev was born in the Capital City of Lordaeron into a merchant family based upon the trading of weapons amongst the various human nations before the time of the Alliance. Educated from young by the best that gold could buy and destined to succeed his father as the head of the small mercantile empire, Craer received the adoration and fawning love of his family without inhibitions. At a tender age of nine he received the unadulterated compliments of his tutors, demonstrating an uncanny grasp in his studies; the apple of the family, a son whom his father would be proud of, a son whose father extracted time from his hectic business schedule to spend with his young boy.

Yet the sun rises and sets, and when Craer reached the age of eleven, he watched helplessly as his family descended into despair; his father's rival manging to systematically topple the mercantile empire from without and wit hteh aid and support of other jealous lords and merchants. There were even rumors that Lord Perenolde of the Alteracs had a hand in the mercantile family's destruction, seemingly for the sake of the monopolization of the weapons market by having one of the many lords who owed him fealty step in to the take over the ruined foundations of the crumbling mercantile empire. Regardless of the faults, when the dust had settled, the Vin'nar family became dispossessed and penniless, the wealth of their past but a dream of a dream, and them even escaping with their lives being a miracle by itself. Hunted by their rivals and enemies, and then hunted by even the assassins of other kingdoms themselves for fear of what the Lord Vin'Nar might reveal under torture about thine own kingdom's defenses or out of interest in that same information about others., the Vin'Nar family barely managed to hide themselves in a small farmstead on the outskirts of what is now the Tarrens Mill.

Craer had in the span of barely half a year watched as all that he had once knew of fade into ashes. Weakened by the constant moves and the shock of their family's fall from grace, Craer's mother fell mortally ill at the twilight of Craer's twelfth year, leaving his father alone in his struggles. During that time, the dejected Craer turned to the only method in which he knew of to defeat despair; he began to work feverishly upon a hobby of his inherited from times when he could easily afford it, which was the tinkering of small magic items and alchemical substances that his father used to bring back and whatever he managed to salvage or steal. For a long, desperate year that seemed to stretch in a crawl, the small family of three struggled to survive in an arena of life now alien to them, as they subsisted without the benefits on their noble titles or immense wealth.

The number thirteen, a number considered cursed by most folks and holding deep connotations to the demons and the Fel, would till this day be thought of by Craer with both the rare emotions of sadness that would never again touch the hardened boy, and ironic amusement. On his thirteenth year of life, the hunt finally ended. On the Longest Night, also known as the winter solstice, of an affiliation unknown to Craer and of an affiliation that he would never find out, they came. He watched with widened eyes as his father, a merchant of little to no military training whatsoever, took out a sword to defend his young son and his dying wife, standing against almost half-a-dozen trained killers. He never stood a chance.

Craer do not know the exact nature of his pursuers or assailants, for which father would ever worry his young so? Yet even thus, Craer had always known that it would happen, as he listened behind closed doors and peered into rooms filled with worried men and overheard voices laced with tension and felt undercurrents of fear that ran thick in the atmosphere. Craer on that night broke, his young soul shattered forever as his cultured world of innocence was torn asunder. He watched helplessly as his own father died to buy time for him to flee into the depth of the night, only to stumble upon one of the many assailants that had taken up position around the perimeter of the house. Oft the paths of fate rest upon a single, pivotal moment, and at that point in time, the assailant saw but a young boy lost in the woods. Without calling for assistance, the missing member of the assassination team was only found the two days later, a look of abject surprise etched into his visage, dead.

When the dust settled, the broken bleeding child stood by the distant peripherals, staring down at the the ruined house, his knees wrapped against his chest, as he wept for what had been wrought. In the chaos of the night, his mother had perished, along with all that he had known from the day he was born. Truly, death then would have been a mercy, but yet what could young Craer had done? Lie down and die? As the crimson dawn bathed the young child in all it's radiance, he stood and stared blankly at it, before trudging off in singed clothes and rags.

The scales of fate then, perhaps of design congealed from imagined kindness, cast upon this broken boy a tutor whom shall serve to forge and break, both a blessing and a curse thought only as the former for many years. For Craer Naharev eventually met an old, half-insane wanderer drawn by the sounds of fighting, one who would only introduce himself as Sozaith, a retired mage from the city of Dalaran. Sozaith was a compassionate man, and he seen within the pauper-boy a spark of magic that he saw fit to nurture, taking Craer under his wings and teaching the young orphan, a colossal task as the memories of hurt remained fresh in the young boy of thirteen, often causing Craer to descend into fits that would cripple him for hours.

Nonetheless, Craer healed gradually under the quaint methods of Sozaith that often bordered on the insane, a penchant for adventuring and a perpetual cheerful nature that was impossible to diminish. For example, in response to Craer's arguments about the polymorph spell's energy consumption not differing depending on the target's size even though it should, hence arguing against the theoretical teachings by his tutor, Sozaith brought his young novitiate straight into an ogre's den. The duo barely escaped with their lives, although Sozaith had the satisfaction of watching the expression of one particularly massive bruiser turning into a small pig. On his part, Craer learned a distinct lesson in not questioning his tutor again.

Meanwhile, while with Sozaith, Craer managed to further his own impeccable interest in engineering and tinkering with quaint, curious objects. Infusing the occasional prestidigitation into his little works, Craer learned that the infusion of magic to facilitate the more mechanical aspect of these objects tend to either bypass the nuances of engineering to ease it's functionality or set detailed, precise instructions that would have been an impossibility if stuck solely to the tools provided by engineering. Sozaith could not understand his young charge's interest in meddling with this blasphemous marriage of engineering gizmos and the arcane, but allowed his student full reign in his little hobby. And, though he would never had admitted it, those little toys definitely had their uses.

What Sozaith did not tell Craer, however, was that Sozaith had been banished from Dalaran and subsequently hunted by the Kirin Tor for the stealing of precious tomes from Dalaran's library and even the murder of a few mages during his escape. Sozaith had evaded the hands of law due to his tendency to not stay in a place for too long before moving on, but even thus, seven years later, in the year 611 of the King's Calender, Sozaith along with Craer were discovered by the mages of the Kirin Tor. Yet there were only three mages who discovered Sozaith and they were unprepared, for they were not even part of the hunt that had already diminished in interest down the seven years, and it was only by sheer chance that they remembered Sozaith and found him. Hence, those three mages, their bodyguards, and whomever was accompanying them, were taken by surprise when Sozaith attacked them furiously, and without being given the chance to raise their magical shielding, the three were almost hapless before the half-crazed Sozaith.

That night, Craer killed his own master. He himself did not know what happened, or what consumed from within, but when he saw the second of the three mages ripped apart by a fiery conflagration, Craer was brought back to a time when he saw his own father helplessly and mercilessly slaughtered by the assassins. He did not know what took over him, and it certainly was not any notion of morality or justice which he cared little for and had none. With a scream and a yell of anger, Craer shoved a runed dagger straight into Sozaith's back, straight through his spine.

Only one mage and a noble accompanying the mages survived the battle, taken as surprise by Sozaith as they were. Sozaith's death had marked the end of another chapter in Craer's life, and Craer now faced the choice of joining Dalaran to further his studies following his tutor's death or venturing off by himself. Merely for the sake of familiar comfort and safety, Craer would very well had chosen the former had he not met, seemingly by the whims of fate, that particular noble accompany the mage. For that noble was a dwarf, hailing from the dwarven homeland of Khaz Modan to the human Alliance following the wake of the second war, a dwarf named Grungnaz Hearthforger. Grungnaz had intended to start a blacksmith, or more accurately, a weapons production company of sorts, inspired by both the gnomes whom he had met in Gnomeragan and also the profitability of such a trade in Lordaeron, where dwarven weapons and armors were highly valued. As the two conversed, they found common interests that would eventually blossom into an insidious partnership. Grungnaz gathered a few like-minded dwarves while Craer became the face of the duo's new cooperation, creating weapons, trinkets, or even little engineering gizmos all designed for war and selling them to the various human nations whom, if they shared nothing else, all shared a similar penchant for investing massive sums of gold for their military. Craer, for his part, would help enchant these weapons, adding magical abilities or improving them by other means, perhaps even assisting in the fine-tuning of forge fires or the subtle controlling of force in shaping steel blades.

The pair shared foremost of all however, an absolute amorality concerning the sales of their weapons, caring little as to which side of a conflict they sold their weapons to and would indeed happily sell to both. To Grungnaz, he cares little about the petty squabbling of the human nations and to Craer, he would never forgive Lordaeron for the wrongs inflicted upon his family in the past and the other human nations for siding with Lordaeron, hence viewing the human nations as nothing more then a distasteful goldmine, who if they want to destroy each other, was absolutely not his problem. Nonetheless, the duo practiced a discretion born of necessity, until they managed to, after about two years of incessant work and sleepless nights, reach a portfolio of clients that allowed them to manipulate their clients against each other, attaining a level of diplomatic immunity forged of the simple fact that to kill them as one party would make many other factions who wants the duo's weapons extremely upset. The duo, meanwhile, had a bond of friendship closer to even blood brothers if they had any, a loyalty trialed and tested but never broken.

Wealth comes easy to those fools who swim into the risky and fatal quagmire of the weapons trade, but fools as they might be, at least they were rich ones. The possession of such wealth allowed Craer access to arcane texts and magical tomes previously unavailable, going as far as to bribe mages who depend on the pitiful allowances given by Dalaran or scribes of the esoteric to supply him these arcane texts. Craer even hired other mages to tutor him, although these lessons tend to be brief, for Craer would never forget Sozaith and what his teachings had gotten him into. Nonetheless, these pursuits allowed Craer to further his studies, and it was undoubtedly a great, magnificent day for the duo's company when Craer finally told Grungnaz that he had after so many years bypassed the logistical nightmares that had plagued them with the spell most coveted by the duo; the ability to teleport and initiate rituals to open portals that can allow travel across vast distances in a very short time. In addition to furthering his studies of the arcane, Craer also indulged himself in an alchemical laboratory and an engineering workshop mimicked in the fashion of the gnomes of Gnomeragan when it still stood. Needless to say, it was arguably the safest (or most dangerous, depending on perspective) place, for none but Craer or an insane suicidal nutcase would dare enter it.

Their lives were far from peaceful, however, and were constantly fraught with dangers from rival groups or discontented factions. Nevertheless, they were at least free form the legal conundrum that had ruined Craer's father, for their organization was quite far from legal and hence suffer from absolutely no legality whatsoever, merely symbiotically tolerated. Meanwhile, a sizable sum of gold devoted to personal protection, bodyguards, safe houses and escape routes allowed the duo six long years of substantial wealth and prosperity. In the year 617 of the King's Calender, the duo began to hear stirrings from their net of contacts, even receiving no words from some contacts in East Lordaeron, all the way from Hearthglen to Andorhal, their constant sources of news went silent. Their first thought was that a rival group or faction was sabotaging their operations, but it seemed too widespread and the way in which vast regions of contacts simply no longer respond conflicted with this hypothesis. Worried, they fell back on their secondary plans, cashing in all their reserves and secreting them away, shifting their base of operations south to the recently rebuilt Stormwind, and even reluctantly, or at least reluctantly for Grungnaz, renewing and establishing contacts in Ironforge. The duo then travelled to East Lordaeron themselves, intrigued by the happenings and confident of their aides' ability to keep things going smoothly down south. It would prove to be a fateful decision.

They arrived at Hearthglen only to watch it burn under the march of the Scourge, barely standing by the efforts of Prince Arthas and his army. Startled, the duo's first order of business was to comprehend the situation, and with each soldier, farmer or simple townsfolk questioned they find themselves further stunned by the recent turn of events. It threatened to jeopardize their business and holdings in East Lordaeron! They began to disassemble their operations in the region immediately, moving them south to control the losses that might incur due to the war, apathetically hiring much-needed by Lordaeron but glad-to-be-gone mercenaries to protect their caravan. They could not save Stratholme a week later however, the base of operations there that is; they don't give a silver piece of care for that dung-infested city anyway, before the Culling of Stratholme occurred but they did save a few shipments en-route there. Hence, when Lady Proudmoore began the Kul Tiras Expedition to Kalimdor, the duo decided that since it would be impractical to transport the shipment of weapons they saved south through Scourge-infested territory, it would be more practical to simply sell it to the Expedition.

Kalimdor, meanwhile, held much potential for wealth and with hearts filled with avarice the duo joined the Expedition. After months of voyage across the Great Sea, the Kul Tiras Expedition finally arrived in Kalimdor, with the two thoroughly regretting their decent even with their decent accommodations as logistics support. Drawn into a war for survival, it was during their tenure within the Expedition that they both smoldered a mutual hatred of orcs. Yet the greatest blow to Craer was that during the Battle for Stonetalon Peaks, Grungnaz himself lost his life, giving birth to a grudge that Craer would never forgive nor forget. When Jaina Proudmoore declared the alliance with Thrall's Horde, Craer was one of those who opposed most vehemently.

Nevertheless, Craer had no choice but to bury his anger and grief in light of the Burning Legion's imminent incursion, and had to fight desperately for survival. Of note, however, was the contact with the Night Elves that opened up more possibilities for trade, and although he did not have the chance to actually determine or finalize contracts of any sorts, he was one of the few who actually made some elven friends. Before communications and liaisons with the elves could get any further however, the Battle for Mount Hyjal began.

Craer had seen much in his lifetime, enjoying the briefest moments of peace before one conflict or another once more tear asunder his life, but all that he had seen paled in comparison to what he witnessed that battle. He stared into the depth-less eyes of the void itself as a felhunter glared into his eyes. He watched as tides of unending, undulating hordes crushed like waves against a clumsy, buckling wall of human sweat and blood. And though he would never admit it, he felt his heart stir as thousands and thousands of orcs, rank upon ranks of them, chanted battle cries with all their hearts as they marched stoically into certain death. He watched as the wave of a single, gauntleted hand summoned power that he could never have imagined, summoned by a demonic giant of epic monstrosity that ended the lives of hundreds, called down meteors that took the shape of massive flaming giants and watched as the very earth groans, grass withers and leaves fall with it's every step. He found something within him then, something that overwhelmed greed, drown out avarice and extinguished covetousness, something buoyed by the communal hopes and prayers of every single living mortal on that battlefield, a chorus of voices of defiance that Craer lost himself in as but part of a whole. He fought. He fought with every tooth and nail and expanded every single charges of his many wands, used every tools in his arsenal, read every scrolls and unleashed all that he had for all that they stood for. That day, Craer, who had men murdered out of greed and had done sins that would forever scar his soul, risked his life to protect his comrades on the field of battle, fighting not as Craer but as one human amongst thousands fighting to protect his world.

The Battle of Mount Hyjal changed all who participated in it, for better or for worse, and Craer was no exception. He went to Stormwind to helm the operations of a diminished mercantile empire a changed man, beginning another chapter of his life. He remained no less the mean-spirited, greedy bastard that he once was, but he had found something in that battle that transcended material wealth. Nonetheless, his first acts upon resuming command was to secure bases of operations before establishing contacts, selling weapons and all that was demanded and he could supply to any parties capable of paying, from the House of Nobles for their personal guards to the Defias Brotherhood and even to the Syndicate all the way north. Establishing himself as a noble from Lordaeron, now settling in Stormwind, Craer spent the last seven years since the Scourging of Lordaeron and the Battle of Mount Hyjal rebuilding and expanding his business, sticking to his ethos that the only god capable of judging him is the one he can weight, touch and hopefully spend. As he tend to say, "Don't talk to me about insubstantial concepts such as morality, of Good and of Evil, for those are mere specters haunting lives. Do you know what is concrete? This wand I have pointed in your face."

Nevertheless, deep within his cold heart, a spark that had smoldered for seven long years threatened the very foundations of all that he believed in. Now, he fears that this mask he had hid himself with, this visage that he had buried all his sins under, might be broken. Change, for better or for worse, remains to be seen.

Skills and Abilities

A purveyor of weapons, Craer had long developed a keen interest in the fusion of magic and technology. He has knowledge of both magic and science, utilizing them to infuse into his creations both mechanical and magical attributes.

He had created a plethora of contraptions that revolve around his mercantile operations, either in terms of espionage against rivals or weaponry that he purveys. One of these is a little mechanical mouse that he uses as an early warning system to danger, with the added advantage that it blows itself up when captured. Another is a detachable hilt that can be attached to most daggers or swords, and it holds within its hollow cavity a healing potion injector along with a gemstone that might be triggered for a basic shield; the sides of the hilt is artificially weighted to provide balance that might be compromised due to the hollow cavity. Another is a wand that he uses to summon his steed, one that bores the shape of a perfectly normal horse but contains other mechanical modifications of its own.

...he also have a mechanical, talking cat.

Beyond these simple contraptions, he too had created a wide array of Techno-magi Weaponry. His favorite appears to be his hat, which hides a dimensional pocket of holding that contains a dozen grenades of varying makes, a mini exploding mechanical robot, and what amounts to a prodigious amount of cigar. He insists that the last remains absolutely relevant to his weaponry. The revolver tucked by his belt fires out a bullet imbued to freeze the target in place.

For all his works, however, Craer retains a healthy level of fear and apprehension to actual mechanical implants upon his body, or mechanical limbs, these of which he sees as the domain of the truly crazed Technomage. . .or gnomes.

Beyond these, Craer holds significant clout in the political arena of the House of Nobles, derived from that of his economic holdings. He has few lands to speak of, however, though he maintains claim over his title as the last scion of House Naharev. His prodigious wealth he uses to maintain his own individual pursuit, and slowly, the rebuilding of his House.

Craer

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