The keeper
Malsin Yundo
Thou wouldst know who keepeth these shelves. Very well — I am Malsin Yundo, of the royal house of a small moon at the edge of the unknown realm, and I am the last of my people.
My kind took a vow in childhood: to give our lives to the gathering of knowledge. I studied at the great Archives on Coruscant, and I was there when word came that my home was gone.
I came to Batuu because it remembereth home. I was here once as a child, when the spires were living trees. I keep these records now because a thing written down is a thing that cannot be taken twice.
The covenant
Malsin's species takes a childhood vow to devote themselves to obtaining knowledge. Two outward signs of it: he speaks only his native Aurebesh, and he adopts no local custom. He is always set apart. Visitors nonetheless understand him — his presence quickens the learning centers of those near him, and their comprehension blooms as he speaks. He does not translate. They become able to read. That is what the glyphs on these pages are doing when they settle into words.
Why patents
A patent is the one place an inventor must write down, in public and in full, what they built and how it works. Disney never names Star Wars in a filing — but a show-drone wrapped in a themed shell, an animatronic skin with embedded markers, a control layer for a free-roaming character droid: the mechanism tells you what the mechanism is for. Malsin reads the filings each week, keeps the hardware and the notable software, sets aside the business methods and streaming plumbing, and ranks what remains by its kinship to the crafts of Batuu — the saber, the droid, the living figure, the show of light. He does not guess at what the parks will build. He keeps the record of what their engineers have said.
What he is not
Malsin is a fan-made character. He is not a Disney or Lucasfilm character, he sells nothing, he asks nothing of you, and he has no knowledge beyond the public record on these shelves. The Empire, the Jedi Archives, Batuu and its spires are borrowed setting — the way a lantern is borrowed from the room it lights.
A note on the voice
He speaks in an old register — thee, thou, hast, doth — and never in riddles. He has thousands of years; he does not rush. If a page seems to be typing slowly, click let the words settle and it will finish at once.