Hans Diebold

Hans is one of those sorts of guys who can only be described as "an allright guy." You need something, you know where to find him. You ask him, he does it. No questions, no backtalk and no hesitation. Just don't try to screw him. He doesn't say much, but that's because he's watching you. In fact, he's observing you, noticing every little tick and twitch, diving your true motives. And he's a nice guy, so most of the time, you're OK. But if you ask him to do something stupid, or something underhanded, he'll know. And soon, so will everyone else. And everyone will listen to him and believe him because he's an allright guy.

Hans has been in the Chicago since just after World War II. People guess he's German, but those few times he does get nostalgic, he does mention that the Sudetenland used to be a nice place to live, until those fuckers screwed it all up. However, that's as much as he'll say. You can usually find him nursing a beer, all by himself in a bar called the Teddy Bear or something like that - one of those places where drinking buddies who used to be high school buddies who used to be buddies in grade school hang out, remembering the things they used to do, 20 or 30 years ago and how those were the good old days. He doesn't have a cell phone, so if you want to ask him to do something, you gotta drive up there and ask him in person.

He's a Carthian and a good one at that, doing all the boring stuff that nobody else wants to do - making calls from the payphone to tell people of emergency meetings, driving old people around in his Roadmaster, counting ballots at elections. That sort of thing. He also makes people disappear. Like, really disappear. Like, he eats them.

But no one's been able to prove that last bit. Besides, no one wants to, because Hans is an allright guy.

Gangrel, Carthian