[hider=Gale Keiden]
[b]Name: Gale Keiden[/b]

[b]Species: Human[/b]

[b]Age: 26 [/b]

[b]Appearance:[/b]
	Gale towers at 6’4” with a barrel chest, long blond hair, and a thick beard. He tops in at around 250lbs, creating an imposing image. He wears brown Jedi robes over a white shirt and trousers with knee high black boots. Gale exudes control and authority, like any good Jedi knight, maintaining the stoic exterior of his order.
 
[b]Equipment:[/b]
	1) Straight, silver, hilt with a green kyber crystal
	2) Jedi Utility Belt containing survival rations in the form of capsules, a Hush-98 comlink, a fibercord grappling hook and/or a grappling spike launcher, a holoprojector, such as an Imagecaster, a holomap, an A99 aquata breather, a Jedi beacon transceiver, a glowrod, and lightsaber repair tools. 
	3) Various personal belongings in his quarters

[b]Skills:[/b]
	1) Form V: Shien – Advanced
	2) Persistent, refusal to fail
	3) Naturally strong, which feeds into his lightsaber style

[b]Abilities:[/b]
	Force Body
	Center of Being
	Precognition
	Mind Probe

[b]Weaknesses:[/b]
	Impulsive, susceptible to the dark side
	Fear of Failure. Both failing those around him and failing the Order.
	Alcoholic

[b]History:[/b]
	The Order has always sold itself as the only true hope for peace and stability in the galaxy. It was the defender of the weak, the enemy of oppressors, and the embodiment of freedom. Gale never viewed this as propaganda, or exaggeration, in his mind he carried forth the banner of the final idealistic institution. The Jedi gave him the opportunity to protect, serve, and to possibly die in service of something greater. 

	Gale has few memories of his childhood, flashes of a hovel and neglect, a smell of fear. His true family were the younglings and Padawan’s he trained and fought with. His father was Master Pentosh, and his grandparents were the council. Gale saw no hypocrisy in his dedication, the only emotion it inspired was fear of dropping his banner; being the weak link which allows the chain to snap. The tension always existed in the back of his mind, the weight of his responsibility exceeding his abilities. But it began to overwhelm him when the council assigned him a bright young padawan, Selene Carthag.
 
	Gale’s first instinct was to drive her as he drove himself. Nothing less than the best, excellence being the bare minimum, fostering devotion at every step. Slowly he realized that Selene had no spirit for combat, she loved deeply, her empathy for the downtrodden overwhelming her at times. In one of fates little blessings she showed a natural gift for Force Healing, and shared an inclination for Force Body with Gale as well. She was nothing like what Gale had hoped for, and yet she was everything he needed. 
        
        In Gale’s third year with Selene he watched her hands hovering above a street urchin, struck by a passing speeder, as she tapped into her natural reserves to draw the child back towards health. Sweat poured down her back as she groaned in pain. For the first time in his life Gale found something worth fighting for other than the mission, this young girl had given his life nuance where before there were only sharp lines.

        And then she was gone. Because while Gale was watching Selene, she was also watching her Master. His devotion inspired her, and she hungered for his approval. So when their positions began to be overrun on Geonosis Selene made a desperate charge for the auto-cannon battery.
 
        Time began to crawl as Gale watched Selene break cover. Laser fire crisscrossed overhead as she ran, deaf to his screams. He leapt forward, all the strength and Force he could muster propelled him to her. Almost there he reached out and she spun back into his arms, but his elation was snuffed out in his chest as he saw her side stitched with laser fire.  She died instantly, sparing him the final pain of watching her eyes go dark. 

        Gale didn’t remember much of the next few hours. Later he was commended for activating the cannons and singlehandedly holding the position until reinforcements arrived. The medals meant nothing, and all the buried fear and tension overwhelmed him as he fled to the bottom of a bottle. This model Knight, Pride of the Order, was a broken drunk assigned to a backwater post where he could either rehabilitate or fade into anonymity. 
         
        Then came Order 66, and his world was irrevocably changed. For what is a soldier without a cause?

[/hider]