- Category:
- Narrative Residual Land
- Location:
- Unchartable, yet ever-present
- Function:
- Symbol, distortion and teacup for the improbable
Niedergarnien is not a region in the classical sense.
It is a constitution,
a twist,
a land that refuses
to appear on maps — unless one paints
with melting butter on goatskin.
Nestled between the creaking coasts of Reason and the fluttering fields of Madness —
a wild, crumbling wasteland also known as the Toastbread Karst —
it hides.
Sometimes in a tavern,
sometimes under your blanket,
occasionally in the fridge.
To the west crashes the Oiled Sea,
a salty-liquid madness that silences seagulls
and occasionally washes up half-thoughts.
To the north rustles the Magical Tapestry Forest,
where patterns whisper, tracks lose themselves,
and some wanderers return only as brushstrokes.
And deep in the south, the jagged heights of the Klammschlotz Mountains rise —
a stretch where fog weighs more than air, and even probabilities lean sideways.
Whatever lives, broods or believes there is hard to say —
but much of it involves butter.
No kings rule here, only concepts:
The Butter President governs with charm, chaos,
and a backpack that breaks laws simply because it can.
Velmira of Velvet, the black kitten — watches from rips in the shadows,
while Tentagor lustfully crawls across the moral abyss.
And Shubra the Gleaming —
ah, she strides over the hills of confusion with divine poise and a spinal misalignment.
Sacred, woolly, and never suitable for minors.
The cities of Niedergarnien bear names like:
Their streets wind like thought trails after too much root wine.
And above it all flies the flag of shimmering butter silk,
under which only one thing is certain:
“Logic stays outside.
Here, madness reigns.”