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Activity
Page 7
From my w.i.p. graphic novel "An-Laenort"
" I also saw aviators in the Port of Birds. There were people who smelt of engine oil and cold iron, and were strong like the covering of their aircraft. They reluctantly tolerate outsiders, and I did not have time to draw enough. An-Laenort took them in its arms in the breaks between flights, and it seemed to me that the alcohol stocks in the pubs worry them much more than the storm winds and unsteady decks."
" I also saw aviators in the Port of Birds. There were people who smelt of engine oil and cold iron, and were strong like the covering of their aircraft. They reluctantly tolerate outsiders, and I did not have time to draw enough. An-Laenort took them in its arms in the breaks between flights, and it seemed to me that the alcohol stocks in the pubs worry them much more than the storm winds and unsteady decks."
Garreth McDee pocket note
460A.E.
Welcome to my
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Scraport
A piece from my graphic novel project
" - I find it difficult know whether I should thank my empty pockets for the opportunity to see the other side of An-Laenort, the Soaring City. A comfortable cabin, three meals a day, a cigar lounge, and observation bridges for four magistrate pounds per passenger. So, I could only afford to observe the scarlet passenger ships of the Transport Company "An-Laenort", disappearing in the gray unsteady Shroud. But, as I mentioned in past records, the Berra Shipyards are good because there are alternative forms of transport to suit the traveler’s wallet. After four days of flight, I arrived in An-Laenort aboard a small merchant barque, which stank of tar, soot and salty poultry meat. Our ship, keen to make haste, slipped under the protection of windbreakers. Afforded this coverage, every passenger would be allowed to go on the deck, and not just the crew with their safety hooks. This was the first time I saw the Scraport – the local name for a series of platforms on the outskirts of the city, set aside for the discharge, sorting and recycling of iron waste. The breath of the City was enveloping us - clouds of yellow smoke from a multitude of factory pipes. Some of the passengers hid their faces under the headscarves. Yet, I could not take my eyes off the endless rust-red maze that was floating fifty feet under the keel. Here and there, the power-saws of the workers sparked when flaying the metal carcasses of dead giants. There were hills formed from iron sheets, scraps of pipes and empty fuel tanks. And, it seemed to me, in the midst of all this, I saw children playing, conquering rusty castles, jumping over gorges, and throwing nuts at the monsters flying slowly over them."
Garreth McDee pocket note
460 A.E.
Welcome to my
Insta
www.instagram.com/rostyslav_za…
FB
www.facebook.com/attemme
" - I find it difficult know whether I should thank my empty pockets for the opportunity to see the other side of An-Laenort, the Soaring City. A comfortable cabin, three meals a day, a cigar lounge, and observation bridges for four magistrate pounds per passenger. So, I could only afford to observe the scarlet passenger ships of the Transport Company "An-Laenort", disappearing in the gray unsteady Shroud. But, as I mentioned in past records, the Berra Shipyards are good because there are alternative forms of transport to suit the traveler’s wallet. After four days of flight, I arrived in An-Laenort aboard a small merchant barque, which stank of tar, soot and salty poultry meat. Our ship, keen to make haste, slipped under the protection of windbreakers. Afforded this coverage, every passenger would be allowed to go on the deck, and not just the crew with their safety hooks. This was the first time I saw the Scraport – the local name for a series of platforms on the outskirts of the city, set aside for the discharge, sorting and recycling of iron waste. The breath of the City was enveloping us - clouds of yellow smoke from a multitude of factory pipes. Some of the passengers hid their faces under the headscarves. Yet, I could not take my eyes off the endless rust-red maze that was floating fifty feet under the keel. Here and there, the power-saws of the workers sparked when flaying the metal carcasses of dead giants. There were hills formed from iron sheets, scraps of pipes and empty fuel tanks. And, it seemed to me, in the midst of all this, I saw children playing, conquering rusty castles, jumping over gorges, and throwing nuts at the monsters flying slowly over them."
Garreth McDee pocket note
460 A.E.
Welcome to my
Insta
www.instagram.com/rostyslav_za…
FB
www.facebook.com/attemme
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deviantID
WISHING YOU A LOVELY DAY!
Wishing you the best !
Your art is super awesome and I wish you the best birthday ever!