[hider=Craw, wheeler dealer Grot]
[b]Name[/b]: 
Craw.

[b]Species[/b]: 
Grot.

[b]'Rank'/Type[/b]: 
Entrepreneurial Grot Businessman (read: steals things and sells them on)

Age: 
Pretty old, at least five standard years.

[b]Klan[/b]:
[color=dodgerblue]Deffskull[/color].
 
[b]Appearance[/b]:
Around half the size of the average ork, Craw is a pretty standard looking grot. That's intentional though, standing out means people might remember you and who wants that. His whole appearance has been tailored to make sure he looks either completely unremarkable or eye-catchingly strange. When trying to sell someone 'repurposed goods' he likes to wear clothes they'll be sure to remember and then burn them the second he's out of sight. When going about the actual 'repurposing', he makes sure to look like every other grot so that anyone who sees him will just take their ire out on grotkind in general rather than him in particular.

So upon seeing Craw you might see someone in anything from a bright yellow business suit to a purple raincoat, from a set of camouflage fatigues to the standard grubby rags, all depending on his current activities. There's always one constant though; an ingratiating smile that says "[color=springgreen]Me, nick yer bike's engine? Ai wouldn't do dat ter you! Ai bet it was 'im over dere![/color]" 

[b]Personality[/b]:
Like all grots, Craw is a cunning, sneaky, slimy little git who you shouldn't trust as far as you can throw. If anything, it's better just to throw him preemptively before he starts selling you a suspiciously familiar familiar slugga that's still wet with blue paint. Craw is a wheeler dealer, selling shrooms here, scouting scrap for the mekboys there, scavenging left and reselling right. He prefers not to get too familiar with any one ork, knowing well that orks are prone to striking out at the first face they don't won't hit back when in a rage. Instead, he makes sure he's a familiar stranger to every ork in the area, always popping up with a new outfit, a friendly smile and an "[color=springgreen]Me old mate [INSERT NAME HERE], 'ow you doin'? Lissen, Ai've got sum good gubbinz, fresh frum da fight, shall ai count ya in fer some? Barely cost ya a toof, swear on me legs.[/color]" or a similar spiel.

Very few greenskins, be they ork or snotling, look out for anyone but number one and Craw is no different. He'll sell you out to save his skin without a second thought. To be honest, he'll probably sell you out just to save himself some momentary discomfort, if he's in a position to do so. It might be a lonely life as the only entrepreneurial grot salesman in the area but Craw doesn't mind. Better dead lonely than just plan dead, ay? Also like most of his kind, Craw views orks as an unfortunate fact of life. Yes, they're big, dumb, dangerous, dumb, oafish, dumb, drunken, dumb brutes but hey, what can you do? You might as well complain about the rain or the wind, they're just as likely to go away. Craw would rather fleece them six ways to Sunday than waste time moaning about how unfair the Greenskin caste system is. 

Even so, he's heard some rumblings in the grot community. Crimson stars sprayed on walls, stolen weapons, Rumours of a Red coated grot preaching about justice, freedom and... revolution? Craw isn't particularly interested in improving the lot of all Grotkind, he'd rather concentrate on improving the lot of Crawkind. But a revolution needs weapons and if there's one person who can supply weapons at competitive prices, it's Craw.
 
"[color=springgreen]You sayz revolushun, I sayz oppurtunity.[/color]"

[b]History[/b]:
Craw was grown in the same batch of fungi as dozens of other grots, all of whom he subsequently saw die to the perils of life. Or, rather, the perils of being a tiny grot in a world full of huge ork boots, bottoms, fists and occasionally bodies. Some of his siblings were crushed during barfights, some while just walking around. Whatever the case, his siblings died and by his second year, Craw was the lone survivor of a once numerous brood. At that time, he was serving as a Grot Bomb Pilot, ready to guide the weapon down to a furious detonation and a glorious send off. But as he considered this fate, he realised that while he'd certainly go out with a bang, that would be it. There'd be nothing afterwards, no feasting with Gork 'n' Mork, no eternal battling. The orkish religion, such as it is, is very clear that only orks get to go and meet the gods before rejoining the endless cycle of war. Grots just pass on.

So at the last second he hopped out of the rocket, kicked the nearest grot in the shins and pushed him onto it. Before anyone could object, he yanked on the lever and prematurely launched his erstwhile Bomb with its new pilot. Then he set off at a run, dodging a few of the new pilot's chums and the grasping hands of the Ruthenherd to make it to the comparative freedom of the rest of the ship. But he wasn't going to go back to meekly taking orders that would lead him to a sticky end. No, Craw was wasn't going to take orders from anyone now, he'd be his own boss. What he really needed, though, was a plan...

It took him a few days but eventually it struck Craw that as much as you might hate them or want to kill them, everyone needs a salesman because who else will get you what you need? So he set himself up as a bonafide grot gubbinz salesman with a stall and everything. He lasted two days before an ork accidentally crushed his stall and a group of grots stole his merchandise (technically re-stole) and he was ruined. It was a valuable lesson though and Craw took it to heart; anything that's left sitting still can be and will be nicked. Move fast, talk fast, think fast and you might not have to live fast. So now he had a new plan; nick what isn't nailed down, sell it on, deny all knowledge that it was stolen from that big grumpy goff and get out of dodge. It's worked well so far, he's still alive and hasn't had to load a cannon, oil a gun or hold open a patients skull for some time. To facilitate his lifestyle, he often changes outfits, clan colours and even names to make sure no one can pin him down.

[b]Skills[/b]:
If it can be nicked, Craw can nick it. If it can be sold, Craw has already sold the deluxe package to the nearest ork. He's very experienced at disguising himself and disguising the origin of other people's equipment. His lifestyle has also given him ample opportunity to practise his sprinting and dodging techniques, making him one of the fastest, slipperiest grots you'll ever see run. Apart from that, he has a few half remembered skills with a slugga that he'd prefer to never have to use.

[b]Equipment[/b]: 
The clothes on his back and a big bag of other people's stuff. Craw's philosophy of moving fast doesn't really allow him to build up much in the way of personal possessions. He has a stash of teef, for rainy days, but it's well concealed where even the most cunning mind will never look. What? I can't tell you, how do I know you won't go and steal them? I've got my eye on you...
[/hider]