A joke circulating through the back alleys and seedy taverns of Novigrad claimed the dwarf Carlo Warese, one of the four leading lights of the local criminal strata, was, in his own way, a fierce proponent of racial coexistence. He applied this principle in a rather selective fashion, however.
Cleaver firmly felt that he personally had every right, as an assimilated inhabitant of the city of Novigrad, to run his own business. Anyone who had a problem with the way he ran it or the nature of its dealings, be he dwarf, human or halfling, revealed himself as a vile racist. The only fitting thing to do with such scum? Feed them to a herd of ferociously hungry hogs - right after slicing off the interlopers fingers with his namesake cleaver. Such tales, of course, could very well have been mere rumor and slander - but very few had the courage to test their veracity.
Cleaver was famed for his hot-temper. What boiled his blood hottest of all, however, was when somebody thought they could pull one over on him.