Wind whipped around the young angel.

Tears poured from his eyes and drifted upward, into the sky above him. In seconds, he passed through the clouds, and saw the green and copper fields spread out below him. Hills and plains stretched from the black mountains in the east to the white ones in the west, with only a few, sparse forests in the foothills. Gray spots dotted the landscape, which he soon recognized as cities and castles.

Azazel stretched out his wings, and his feathers caught the wind. His body slowed with a sudden jolt, and the muscles under his shoulder-blades strained from the pressure. He tightened the sinews in his back and extended his arms and legs. The fall slowed a little more, and he was able to feel out the air for currents he could ride.

When he finally found one, he turned his wings to take advantage of it, and swooped off in a new direction. He circled the air high above the ground.

Now… where to land?

Azazel debated his options and decided a city was the best. There he could find an inn to stay the night, rather than having to sleep on the ground in the wild.

With a flap of his wings he was on a new path, and soon he fell to the square of a walled city. Humans rushed out of their homes to greet him with smiling faces.

“Malakhim!” one called out.

“A messenger!” cried another. “Go get the priestess!”

The gathering humans held out handfuls of fruit, loaves of bread, and bags of coins to Azazel. The young angel shook his head, and tried to explain over all of their chatter, “I’m not here to take an offering! I just want a place to stay the night!”

But the mortals who’d swarmed him seemed not to hear what he had to say, as they forced their gifts into his hands and pockets. Apples and croissants fell from his fingers, and the coins slipped between them. Each human so kind as to assault him with their gifts begged for some blessing or another, all of which were garbled together in the pandemonium.

“I’m not here for that. Please listen!” Azazel shouted again.

Even amidst all the noise, a bell rang out. Its high-tone pierced the chaos and in an instant all citizens fell silent. The crowd parted, and an old woman in black and white clerical robes stepped forward. She held in her hand a staff with a spiral at the top, and at the center of that spiral sat a silver bell. Upon her head she wore a tall hat, and on her face a pair of round spectacles.

When she was but a few paces away from the angel, she bowed her head, and all the city’s denizens did the same. “Welcome to Dryvein, holy one. I am called Mother Tess. What name may we call you?”

Azazel glanced back and forth at the adoring crowd. How bold did he dare to be? “I am called Azazel,” he said, “…but… you can call me Ozz…” He took a step forward, only to feel something soft scamper out from under his foot. The cat he’d stepped on screeched as it fled, and Azazel stumbled forward. Once he’d regained his balance, he puffed out his chest and thrust his fists onto his hips, as if his entanglement with the feline had never happened. “King Ozz,” he said in feigned confidence.

“King Ozz?” the priestess repeated, her eyes wide and a hidden smirk tugging on the corners of her lips. The citizens around her murmured to one another. “Pray tell, of what land are you king?”

“Tir Shazelle,” said Azazel. The crowd’s murmuring only grew, and smiles faded from many faces. Something rustled his wings. He turned his head over his shoulder to see a tabby cat swatting at his feathers and pulling them into her mouth. Azazel brushed the cat away with a swipe of his wing (which got a few snickers from the crowd), then drew his sword and held it high over his head (which silenced the laughter). The sun’s light gleamed off the blade, and some of the citizens turned away to shield their eyes from the glare. “Heaven has chosen me to be your king.”

A snort.

Azazel turned to the source of the sound. The woman had a hand over her mouth, and amused eyes.

Is she trying to suppress laughter?

Giggles from nearby.

Azazel’s shoulders sank, and he lowered his arms back to his side. His wings folded up on his back, and the tip of his sword met the ground.

Mother Tess waved her hands to quiet the crowd. Judging by the looks on some of their faces, this only made suppressing their laughter harder. Though some citizens were far from laughter, exchanging with each other looks of confusion, fear, or anger.

“This is most unusual,” said Mother Tess. “From what I’ve read, when Heaven has declared kings in the past, they have sent an angel to tell us that a human was king. Now the gods send an angel to declare himself king?”

More murmuring from the crowd, which Mother Tess promptly silenced with a tap of her staff on the ground and a harsh tone from the bell.

Azazel cleared his throat. “That is my assignment… to rule as your king. I’m hardly the first angel to rule over mortals.”

“Well… we will pray that through you the gods’ will be done.” Mother Tess eyed the citizens around her, who mostly nodded in agreement. “For now, will you stay the night in our temple? We have a room prepared for sacred guests.”

. . .

Within the hour, Azazel was settled into the guest room in the temple.

He retired to his quarters early, rather than wait among the mortals he’d so amused, terrified, and offended.

Once he had changed into his sleeping attire, he produced the scroll Law gave him and spread it out on his bed. Azazel chuckled at the sight of beautiful angelic script inscribed with such atrocious hand-writing. Most of these enchanted scrolls listened to dictation, but sometimes the enchantment seemed to take a life of its own, and scrawl a sarcastic imitation of the speaker’s poor accent.

Ozz, here are just a few hints to help ya get started. I know this assignment won’t be easy, but it’s a might better than the alternatives.

First, and this one’s probably obvious, don’t just rush into a populated area declaring yourself a king. Mortals have a high opinion of angels, sure, but they know that some can lose their minds, and there have even been a few instances of angels trying to take advantage of humans. If you do this, the best you can hope fer is that they will take pity on an angel they assume is going mad.

Azazel groaned and smacked himself on the forehead.

Second, you’ll need a few things to establish yerself as king. Ya need a queen, preferably one who is herself a strong leader. You need seat of power, whether that be a palace in a great city or a castle in the countryside. Finally, ya need an army to enforce your rule. Crowns, thrones, scepters, and all that nonsense can be acquired later. Ya need to be a king before ya can bother trying to look like one.

What I understand is going on in Tir Shazelle is this: there’s a powerful noble family called The Brooks. They are respected in that land for their just rule, but recently their castle has been captured by a demon who calls himself “Lord Raum.” Take back their castle from that demon, and the mortals may come to revere you.