Stanislav Kostarnov
We Are
MOVERS & SHAKERS
Har-Haradwaithe
Like hills, once built by giant ants, almost still, houses rose through fragrant shimmering heat... the air smelled of thin smoke and leaves, was pungent with the slight odor of unpicked fruit, and expectant with storm.
Within even the thickest shadows of the canopy, one could feel the sun, it flowed down every object, like a grand Waterfall, falling in a cascade down the very steps, in music with wind ....
Yakshnarr
District
Ikdulthdaeiin
a suburb, like rings on the water from Umbaradwaithe you fall, into the forest, your villages large or small,
near or far
Yakshnarr, Covered with the rain of leaves, with shadows of old trees, its hills of shiny brown mud... thick heat, a flood, of misty pungent moist air, filled with vibes of herbs, distant, rare, the music swirves, the dance of droplets and of drums upon the night
the cities lights, an echo of sleep disturbed by not far off HaradwaitheUmbar
Eilnduyorr
Eilnduyorr, the nearest and simplest of the Yakshnarr suburbs, being accessible by bus or even by light rail, slightly more spacious in its life, but in many ways no more than a simple extension of the wider city
middle-class HaradwaitheUmbar
Daeharath Cereb-Ceres
Cereb
county
A mining area and port, once the gateway to the north and west,
The 2 small towns and their surrounding districts now form a near border county with an isolated, yet well vibrant community
of 600 thousand households spread in the lush verdant softness of the rich farmed coastal jungle...
though the grandeur of its old buildings poorly matches the rustling of leaves and the cascades of gray lianas that have nowadays become its setting,
the place is in its own way the forests whistling echo, forming in earth that which could not be formed within the ground...
Cereb-Ceres....
from the coast they fell away like leaves, upon the turquoise iridescent skies, the boats carrying men's lives, upon the coat of the autumn sea...
Port of Cereb
Dululdruth & Nizulgnath city
Harad-Umbarwaithe
Nuldruthdyiien
Smelling of marshland and sodden clay, spices, and fumes of poorly maintained gas generators... the city, living and abuzz, its nonstop heavy, undying hum, sinking into the translucent depth of the thick the mortar and melded brick, cannot drown out the soft clear drip of the water. the sounds of all human industry, faceless and vague... only a wash a rhythmless background song to the multi-voiced repertoire of the tiny green frogs.
The lines become thick, edges sharp, in the fire of light like a wind, only the hard and soft, only earth and the ocean of dazzling emptiness that is sky, only the distant syllables of a just heard human voice
Dulundruth city station and industrial district
The hiss of a thousand fireserpent breathes, the rhythm of the beating of a million subterranean rain drums, the voice of ten-thousand hammers underneath the world... Thus grandly mystical and poor, the Umbarwaithe-Dunthdlah industrial district, the greatest single employer within Umbarwaithe, and its grand-station, the central district's commuter-economic hub. bathed daily in the cities dust and heat... under the torrential rays of the cities many half-hidden suns to the earth baked and flooded with the autumn monsoon rains, yet it lives, in its unprepossessing quarters, from centuries etching out its own image and life, from unshaped stones forming again and again its product, each time to a greater accuracy and weight.
