Dwe’leh Otoda stood at the crest of a grassy hill and gazed down at the valley below through three pairs of glasses. Each was a different prescription but, combined, they allowed him to see normally. At the edge of the low field, halfway across, were a pair of chairs. As he was, they were positioned to be able to see the entire area. It was almost time.
To accurately describe Dwe’leh Otoda would be an exhaustive task and, more importantly, inaccurate to the experience of actually seeing the Abundian. No one who saw him could possibly take in all the details of the man in any comprehensible way. It was just too much.
His skin, which had been dark originally, was almost entirely covered in vibrant tattoos. They traced bright pictures from his temples to his toes. In many places, he’d been scarred and the raises in the flesh complimented the tattooing, giving it depth and texture. Across his body, he had an impressive forty six piercings from which gemstones and trinkets dangled. His finger and toe nails were each done in a different style by different beauticians.
He wore a dozen robes, layered and cut with slits to reveal the clothing beneath. Each of these were made of multiple types, and colors, of fabric. The garments were covered in pins, buttons, brooches, extra sashes, filigree, tassels, feathers, lace, and tiny little oil paintings (framed and hanging from metallic chains).
He boasted an impressive three hundred and sixteen pieces of jewelry on his person. Rings, glistening with stones, adorned every finger and toe. Scores of bracelets jangled on his wrists and ankles. He wore a special reinforced collar to support the weight of all his necklaces. Sashes, belts, circlets, feathers, and pouches rounded out his already confusing attire.
He was a sparkling cacophony that sounded like bells as he walked across the valley toward the pair of chairs.
From the opposite ridge another figure emerged. While his garb was different, it was similar in it’s excess. He wore several long coats with tails, a good number of stacked hats, and his boots appeared to be stuck into other boots, all the way up to his thighs. He had a long beard with stones and trinkets woven into it and nearly every inch of him was covered in medallions and metals. Several balloons, trailing streamers, floated above him, attached to his shoulders by thin silver chains.
The extravagant pair arrived at the chairs at the same time.
“Dwe’leh, Dwe’leh, Dwe’leh! It is so good to see you my age-old friend! Would that I had a dozen more eyes to take in the spectacle of your magnificence!” Said the bearded fellow.
“The multitude of a man, Charles Patchfeather! My soul is blessed a thousand times over at this meeting! If only I had ten singing throats to greet you as loudly as my heart wishes!”
Carefully, they leaned in and almost embraced (each avoiding tangled complications with the other). They shook hands heartily, though both wore enough rings that neither of them actually touched skin. The men sat.
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