Meeshel H'Rin

Retired Customs Officer


H’Rin is a middle-aged human male, who wears dignified business attire that is somewhat past its prime and a touch out of style. Over his shoulder hangs a brightly-colored robe in the formal style of the old bureaucracy of the trailing part of the Outer Rim.

Physically, he is not particularly tall but somewhat wiry. He has the sagging skin and dulled eyes of his years and hair on the verge of giving up. He is, however well-kept in a last attempt to appear dignified and influential.

Dexterity 3d6
Perception 4d6
-Con (6d6)
-Forgery (5d6)
Knowledge 4d6
-Cultures (5d6)
-Law Enforcement (5d6)
-Planetary Systems (5d6)
-Street Wise (5d6)
Strength 2d6
Mechanical 3d6
Technical 2d6


I often wake breathless and soaked with sweat. For me there is no rest, no pause. It is an unavoidable feature of my fate.

They say the universe is winding down. Entropy, they call it. One day the final star will perish, blackened and cool, or that the fabric of space will close in on itself resulting in heat death long before the final collapse.

Yes, this too is an unavoidable feature of reality. This applies not just to the cosmologists, but to the sociologist as well. Society, culture may be another expression of that fundamental unkindness. It it everywhere, always present and unmistakable.

I once knew a person untainted by the cruelty of the universe. I should say that at the time that was my impression, though now I am sober enough to recognize that the inherent mechanism of misfortune simply hadn’t gotten to her yet. But it did, eventually.

This person was a marvel, truly she was. Her talent was great; a seeming imperiousness to the harshness of reality. She was capable, for a time, of sheltering others from these basic truths. She did them a profound disservice by doing so.

I cannot blame the Empire for their actions. Barbarous though they are, and questionable their methods may be, in the final reckoning they are simply part of the flow of the universe, them on one side of the equation, her on the other. Ours is a very dispassionate place, there are no favorites here.

With this inevitable sequence of events it is no surprise then that the Empire and it’s long, dark shadow then fell on those near her. Once more this revelation should have been of no surprise, but those sheltered souls this was incomprehensible. If only they had opened their eyes to the world more of them might have lived. Lived long enough to accept themselves and the universe for what they are: temporary, impermanent.

All one is left with, then, is the need to flow with the downward tide of entropy and decay; to ride the waves of anguish that stretch the cosmos. One can run, run, but always you will tire, fall and succumb. This is my purpose, to run ahead, as long and as fast as possible. It is only in this context that the tragedy of living consciousness can have real, tangible meaning. This requires adherence to the same principles: temporariness, impermanence, transition, always forward, never backward, forgotten.

Therefore, I am nobody, anonymous, anybody. Always, lest I forget.

Meeshel H'Rin

Star Wars: The Morning After Quincunx