The Red Head: There and Back Again, a Bachelor Party's Tale of New Orleans - Part 1

Lo thy 20 souls gathered for their departure to hell.
Masks asunder, handles purchased, and plans of debauchery and merriment planned years in advance.
Yay, the men of old friendship forged in the fires of  Mount High School some 10 or 11 years ago (more for some) would soon gather to send their first off to the slaughter.

--

Bilcole was a tall individual - gangly some may say. With a burst of fire atop his head, and wisps of flame around his chin, he was all in all a merry sort of fellow.  He had settled into his life in Brookiton rather nicely and had grown to enjoy all of the fine customs that came along with it like craft beer and artisanal pizza. The bohemian life offered such splendid comforts as 2nd breakfast and 1st dinner. And he often tended to his abode with great care, making sure the mugs were separate from the water glasses, and the water glasses from the beer steins.

Yet one day, about 100 years ago (or 10 months by the human calendar), he was invited to an event he had oft heard elders tell stories of, and seen depicted by motion picture in such epic fables as "The Hangover" and "The Hangover 2": a bachelor party.  It seemed an old friend had chosen a mate and the mandatory celebration of of drinking followed by misogyny, followed by blacking out followed by vomiting (repeat) was to commence.

This was no ordinary bachelor party either. No, in order to attend this party, Bilcole must needs go on an adventure. An adventure far over the ridges, hills, mountains, and plains of Middle Earth (known commonly as America) to the great city of New Orleans for the festivus Martigras.

Bilcole had never been to New Orleans, but had heard it was an odd place and that many strange creatures dwelled there: elves, gnomes, masked marauders, trolls and the worst and most terrifying - the drunk college girl, who kept such evil company as the feared and hated frat boy. The city streets, it was said, were filled with hoards as far as the eye could see, its gates strewn in black gold with the sounds of jazz filling the air like the sound of a dying nazgul.

"No I quite like it here. I don't know what business you have to just knock on my e-door with this message demanding I go on some adventure." Bilcole thought. "I might never return. And if I do, it'll be dead, broke, and beaten."

But the fellowship of the bachelor party was strong and persuasive and would not take no for an answer. And so it was that 100 years ago Bilcole took his first hesitant step of his quest and booked a flight on the infamous Delta Airlines.

--

Many moons passed and Bilcole continued his little red headed life as usual. Going there and about, tending to his home and office, when the day arrived, as it inevitably would.  The sky was gray and the air cold, and a fresh snow blanketed the ground when a small, stout wizard by the name of Gan-Kwon the Asian, a figure from Bilcole's past who had oft symbolized a bizarre combination of silliness and foreboding, came arap-rap-rapping on his door.

"It is time Bilcole, for your adventure to begin."