[hider=Commissar Ismael Castor][b]Name:[/b] Ismael Castor, once known as the Silence. 

[b]Age:[/b] 57.

[b]Gender:[/b] Male.

[B]Height and Weight:[/b] 6'2", 220lbs. 

[b]Speciality:[/b] Commissar. 

[b]Appearance:[/b] Castor looks exactly like what you'd expect a Commissar to look like. Gruff and severe, with deep-set eyes, trimmed black-and-silver hair and a rough face that looks like it was hewn from stone, sporting five o'clock shadow at all times of day. Decades of war have made him strong with not the slightest bit of fat on him, sculpting Castor into a broad-shouldered, forceful presence. Even so, Castor's appearance has a warmer side to it, as his eyes can twinkle with merriment and his lopsided grin can inspire humor in even the most grim of circumstances. 

He is perpetually dressed in the traditional Commissar's garb, his face cast in shade by the Commissar's cap, though he has personalized his appearance with an enormous, high-collared greatcoat of black fabric, now full of bullet holes, that has the Imperial Aquila resplendent behind a skull embroidered on the back of the cape in gold stitching. Commissar Castor himself will tell anyone he firmly believes it makes him look regal while your average Guardsman will tell you it looks awfully pompous, but -- as is typical of the Commissar -- he's in on the joke. 

[B]Uniform:[/b] The aforementioned Commissar's garb (black and red with gold trimmings, like all such uniforms) and splendid greatcoat. Castor wears a thin, form-fitting version of flak armor beneath his vest to provide a modicum of protection but he is otherwise unarmored, like most Commissars. 

[B]Armament[/b]: Castor doesn't really believe in standing behind his soldiers and waiting for one to run away so he can shoot them in the head and goes into battle with unusually heavy armament as far as Commissars go. 

- 1x Lascarbine with folding stock and iron sights. Can be folded up and strapped to Castor's torso for easy storage. 
- 1x Plasma pistol strapped to his left thigh. This is his CQB backup and his executioner's weapon -- a little more elegant than a bolt pistol. 
- 1x Chainsword sheathed diagonally over his back, the grip protruding from beneath his greatcoat, so that his right hand can easily reach for it. Can be dual-wielded with the plasma pistol or with both hands if the situation gets especially messy. 
- 6x ammunition for his weapons carried in pouches hooked to his belt; 4x lascarbine power-packs and 2x plasma charges for the pistol. 

[b]Personality/Demeanour:[/b] Commissar Castor is... well, a Commissar. His job description requires him to be stern and merciless with the troops if the line threatens to break and uplifting and empowering when pressing the advantage. While Castor is very good at both, his long tenure in the Imperial Guard has softened him up a bit. He's seen the horrors and the random, indifferent nature of war and understands a soldier's fear all too well. Castor tries instead to be the Guardsman's best friend, singing songs, cracking jokes and sharing brazen words of encouragement while he leads by example, diving into the fray elbow-to-elbow with the men, his own fear of death long ago put to rest. Castor knows it's important to strike a balance between stern and kind, however, as the troops can't be allowed to see him as too soft, but Castor will avoid severe punishment unless absolutely necessary. He no longer wishes to be feared; fear eventually turns into hatred and he knows that can be bad for his health. 

Castor has seen plenty of war and death and isn't fazed by its horrors anymore. He went through a dark period of doubt and cynicism, wondering what the hell all of it was for, but came out of it a stronger man with iron resolve. Castor knows what they're fighting for and that, even though they are only one cog in an enormous machine, they cannot fail. Castor does not allow it in himself and he does not allow it in his men and he will go to great length to keep up their spirits so that they may succeed in their objective, whatever that may be at the time. 

[B]Greatest Ambition:[/b] To gain command over a Regiment as a Colonel-Commissar.

[B]Greatest Hatred:[/b] Incorrigible cowardice, unnecessary cruelty, goddamn Orks, perfume. 

[b]Skills:[/b] As a Commissar, Castor's most important skills are projecting an inspiring presence, lifting morale, enforcing authority and, if necessary, rendering fatal judgement. He achieves most of this with words -- especially gallows humor and unbreakable optimism -- and will only resort to his plasma pistol when all else fails. 

When it comes to combat, decades of experience have turned Castor into a dangerous warrior. His skills with the rifle, the pistol and the chainsword are all respectable and he knows how to tactically direct squads or platoons whenever gaps in the chain of command need to be filled in the cacophony of war. Castor has no other specialist skills and leaves the use of flamers, bombs, vox-casters and other technology to the lads and lasses who like to tinker with that kind of stuff. 

Castor is a reasonably good regicide player and boasts a remarkable tolerance for alcohol. 

[b]History:[/b] The man who was to become Commissar Ismael Castor was born on the Civilized world of Gudrun. His father was a newly-recruited Guardsman who had been sent off to war mere weeks before baby Ismael's birth as part of the 133th Gudrunite Rifles regiment. Castor's father rose through the ranks and became an officer before he was killed in action somewhere on the fringes of Imperial space, changing Castor's destiny entirely. He was taken by the Schola Progenium, away from his mother, and thereafter diligently trained to be a steadfast and loyal servant of the Imperium. 

A recruiter from the Commissariat took interest and Castor was once again ripped from his life and into a brutal training program designed to mold him into a Cadet. The young man Ismael seized the opportunity to give his life purpose and took to the training well, despite its harsh nature and deliberate attempts of his drill-sergeants to see if they could break him. Castor staunchly refused to show any weakness and he completed his training with honors. 

Castor was sent to join a Cadet unit of seven other aspiring Commissars attached to the Greygorian 14th under the leadership of Commissar-Captain Hieronymus Bierthar, a horribly rigid and sour man who taught all of his Cadets the same rule -- kill at the first sign of weakness. Castor took to these teachings enthusiastically and performed his first battlefield execution (overseen and sanctioned by Bierthar, of course) within three weeks. Bierthar's teachings were designed for the Cadets under his care to dehumanize the Guardsmen that they were supposed to discipline in order to make it easier to render lethal punishment. 

Even after graduating to full Commissar status, Castor stuck to that mentality for more than two decades. Castor was, by far, the most feared Commissar in all of the Byzanthian regiments after he was attached to the Byzanthian 156th. Castor was with them for 24 years and it was during this time that he earned his dark moniker, the Silence, for it was said that the hushed silence of death descended around him whenever Castor unholstered his bolt pistol.  

Eventually, Castor went one step too far. The Silence brought his bolt pistol to bear against an overwhelmingly popular officer of the Byzanthian 156th during an extremely fierce battle against Chaos insurgency forces on the Hive World of Aphrodus IV after the officer ordered a retreat, attempting to save the lives of his men. The whole regiment finally turned against the Commissar and Castor was forced to stand down or lose his own life. He relented. Initially furious with the Byzanthians and deeply disappointed with himself, Castor applied for a regimental transfer which was swiftly granted after several death threats against the Commissar were nearly carried out. 

On his way to join his new regiment, Castor slowly came to realize the compassion of the officer's decision and the absurdity of his own attempt to sentence thousands of soldiers to die in the name of discipline. Later analysis of the battle determined that no possible action of the Byzanthian 156th could have turned the tide against the Chaos forces. Castor had just been stubborn and blind. From that moment on, Castor swore he would never be so strict and uncompromising ever again. 

The last fifteen years of Castor's life were spent with the Cadian 143rd, a fiercely capable and loyal regiment that required an entirely different Commissarial approach than the previous regiments Castor had served with. It was the perfect opportunity to change his ways and Castor treated the Cadians as friends and comrades instead, drawing on their natural determination and resilience to inspire and encourage instead of playing on their fears. For the first time, Castor saw the Guardsmen as people and the blood-soaked Silence was no more. 

Vernum Primas was a shitshow. Commissar Castor brazenly and optimistically urged the Cadians on, and on, and on, once more unto the breach, and once more, until the fight was won. These incredibly loyal soldiers of the Emperor had willingly stormed into the very fires of hell against the Greenskins, the most savage and dangerous opponent Castor had faced so far, and died by the thousands. In the end, there were only a few dozen left, Castor included -- how he had survived, he was not sure. Now Castor awaits his reassignment, quietly lamenting the demise of his beloved regiment. 

[b]Miscellaneous:[/b] Nothing.[/hider]