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Description
The final result of the steps that I share with you all. This is Xutswi Sen (also known as Xudzwïsenn), the narrator of The High Priest of Stardust, a book that I am actually, no kidding, writing. Because I know ~~nagas~~ Orlas.

FAQ's:
1. That's not Chinese. It doesn't make any sense read as Chinese, since it's actually an alphabet using Chinese-like characters. It simply says his name in his mother tongue: Xudzwïsenn. x-u-dz-w-ï-s-e-nn . the doubly dotted i is a high tone, and the double n is a long nasal.
2. Yes, the back of his head is elongated. This is a trait inherited from his therocephalian therapsid ancestors.
3. His skin is supposed to be that colour: his blood oxidizes purple. Likewise, his hair (technically not hair) is supposed to be that colour since it developed from brightly coloured display scales.

Now for your lovely excerpt from the book:
Clinking and tinkling my way through rice cakes and honeydew, I drew as few odd looks as I could in the buffet, and took a paper cup of hot chocolate to go. From the dining room on the sixth floor, I swooped off the landing and drew up to the peak of the hotel. I wove between the arms and traffic, merging into a lane at the top and circling a few times to get my morning bearings. The magnetic north pole had shifted a bit dramatically the night before, and with other groggy orlas, I flew in circles until I felt comfortable and my brain knew which way was north, and what my general coordinates were. Once coördinated, each orla swooped back down into the airways of the city, etched by heat, convection, and magnetism anew each day. A mother I had seen the past two mornings was still circling high above my magnetic road. I caught up to a security guard who rested against a spire, and latched onto some branches.
"Excuse me, sir?" My voice was soft and tentative, because I hated to disturb anyone. Sadly, my curiosity was overcoming my inhibition. He turned his head, and I sunk back around the spire, my head peeking out.

"Yes sir, may I help you?" The guard scratched a few stray rice grains out of his beard. Considering its length, and the faded red of his headband, he was very old. Still, he looked stately in his blue uniform, and he seemed happy to answer my question. A younger man, maybe not so.

"That woman," I pointed upward. She was still circling, hands on her swelling stomach, dragging her green streamers behind her. "I have seen her for the past two days, circling over and over." I paused, not wanting to speak badly of her. "Do you know why?"

Description
The final result of the steps that I share with you all. This is Xutswi Sen (also known as Xudzwïsenn), the narrator of The High Priest of Stardust, a book that I am actually, no kidding, writing. Because I know ~~nagas~~ Orlas.

FAQ's:
1. That's not Chinese. It doesn't make any sense read as Chinese, since it's actually an alphabet using Chinese-like characters. It simply says his name in his mother tongue: Xudzwïsenn. x-u-dz-w-ï-s-e-nn . the doubly dotted i is a high tone, and the double n is a long nasal.
2. Yes, the back of his head is elongated. This is a trait inherited from his therocephalian therapsid ancestors.
3. His skin is supposed to be that colour: his blood oxidizes purple. Likewise, his hair (technically not hair) is supposed to be that colour since it developed from brightly coloured display scales.

Now for your lovely excerpt from the book:
Clinking and tinkling my way through rice cakes and honeydew, I drew as few odd looks as I could in the buffet, and took a paper cup of hot chocolate to go. From the dining room on the sixth floor, I swooped off the landing and drew up to the peak of the hotel. I wove between the arms and traffic, merging into a lane at the top and circling a few times to get my morning bearings. The magnetic north pole had shifted a bit dramatically the night before, and with other groggy orlas, I flew in circles until I felt comfortable and my brain knew which way was north, and what my general coordinates were. Once coördinated, each orla swooped back down into the airways of the city, etched by heat, convection, and magnetism anew each day. A mother I had seen the past two mornings was still circling high above my magnetic road. I caught up to a security guard who rested against a spire, and latched onto some branches.
"Excuse me, sir?" My voice was soft and tentative, because I hated to disturb anyone. Sadly, my curiosity was overcoming my inhibition. He turned his head, and I sunk back around the spire, my head peeking out.

"Yes sir, may I help you?" The guard scratched a few stray rice grains out of his beard. Considering its length, and the faded red of his headband, he was very old. Still, he looked stately in his blue uniform, and he seemed happy to answer my question. A younger man, maybe not so.

"That woman," I pointed upward. She was still circling, hands on her swelling stomach, dragging her green streamers behind her. "I have seen her for the past two days, circling over and over." I paused, not wanting to speak badly of her. "Do you know why?"