[b]Five Years Later[/b]

When the colony fleet of the Endless Azure Skies first arrived outside of System 380-342-882, the Waterspines Knight petitioned the new world be named Celaphix in honour of her patron, Celaphix of the Riptide, Celaphix the Storm Knight. The request was dispatched on swift couriers through to the Administrative Palace on Mikeal where a herald would announce it to the assembled notables of the Galactic Council for Spans and Distances.

They would reject the petition. There was not only a world named Celaphix, but there were worlds named Riptide, Celaphix Riptide, Stormhome and 14 other pending requests that amounted to the same thing. The toadying of the Waterspines Knight was not only unoriginal it was interfering with the holy task of cataloguing and mapping the Endless Azure Skies. They returned the messenger to her origin with their firmly worded reprimand, along with instructions for the world to be named Podasia. The Waterspines Knight wore it as a badge of armour, the scrollwork of her denunciation pinned to the tilting shield of her armour, and she wore it proudly into the presence of Celaphix herself. This act of more original toadying was rewarded with governorship of a sector and the quiet termination of the careers of the bureaucrats who had dared to question Celaphix' right to have swathes of the galaxy named after her.

After decades of political back and forth were resolved, a courier was dispatched to the location of the planet that was to be known as Celaphix to inform them that their loyal and righteous request had been approved by the Shah of the Endless Azure Skies. By that point it was too late and the messenger arrived to empty void; for while the Galactic Council for Spans and Distances might be diverted by the functions of politics, the Royal Architect stopped for nothing.

The Royal Architect had arrived with a gravitational shockwave that had grounded every flight and flattened every grav-rail user in the system. Without a word he unfolded his Graviton Haulers - the "Gravy Trains" as the irreverent described them, not that there were many of those after seeing the Royal Architect in all his glory. The Haulers connected to the star-shackle, spikes the size of Neptune driven into nine acupuncture points across the length of the star, all linked through enormous chains to the great energy siphon that was transmuting the star to burn violet. And, turning the forces of cosmic momentum on their head, the Architect moved the star.

The process took more decades still. The star was burned brighter and brighter to fit with the Architect's designs, protostars hauled in from nearby nebulas to feed the star's size and growth. Planetary orbits were pushed backwards to maintain habitability, and then further as complaints about the glare reached the Architect's ears. In the end the star had increased 23% in size and brightness and been hauled 6AU out of its original position. Only then did the Royal Architect inform the citizens of System 380-342-882, nee Celaphix, nee Podasia, nee Celaphix, that they were to serve as the striking fangtip in the Constellation of The Rose Serpent, which would bejewel the northern hemisphere of distant Azura forevermore. The residents, hearing this message, rejoiced and named their world Rosefang in celebration - though up until then they'd been calling it Bitemark due to a quirk in how the planet's mountain ranges made it appear from orbit.

The Royal Architect withdrew to further the mission of beautifying the Endless Azure Skies. The citizens of Rosefang grew strong and prosperous, and multiple great Knights rose from this quiet home. The world gained a reputation for the beauty of its coral and for the landscapes where active tectonics shaped new islands. A powerful Satrap built a summer vacation palace on Rosefang. The world glittered, another jewel amidst the endless glory of the Endless Azure Skies.

This lasted, as so many things did, until the arrival of the Wolves of Ceron. They bombarded the planet for four days and nights, damaging the summer palace, and then launched a shock assault. They called it Operation Zone #1326, though when they heard about the old nickname of Bitemark from the locals they took the time to carve the landscape with orbital lances to make the feature impossible to miss. A love-bite from the wolves that blackened the sky worse than any volcano. And then, mostly, they were on their way, leaving the Azura survivors amidst the wreckage of their world.

This is Bitemark today; a world scarred from the worrying of the wolves. A world green and lush and vivid from the eruptions of volcanic ash. A world where the oceans bloom green with plumes of algae and are filled with fish and new plants. A world where the summer city-palace of the Satrap's vacation home dominates the center of an island archipelago, white ribbon bridges cracked and molten by plasma strikes - but others still intact, defended by their Guardians even against the roaring engines of voidships. It is a world of broken glass and broken lights and white marble veined with blue and the personal attention and blessing of the Royal Architect. It is a world with kessler syndrome, a glittering ring of destroyed space stations and satellites that fill the night sky with the beauty of space garbage. It is a world on the ravaged fringe of the Endless Azure Skies, a broken fang reminder of the limits of the Endless. 

Few ships come here. There is only one Slipgate and it is small and intermittently used, its most frequent guest the annual arrival of the Sector Governor. Her coming is a festival and month-long celebration, not least because she brings news of how the Endless Azure Skies rebuilds its splendor - new warships, new generals, new Knights, a restoration of glory under a new Saoshyanet. Sometimes there are military flyovers and tickertape parades and it's all very splendid.

But for the most part, life in Bitemark is lived in the inches between the mountains and the sea. With so much geological activity the mountains cut right down into the ocean at sharp angles. Lemon trees and other orchards grow on steep angles, and in those places where the mountains have collapsed into shallower inclines towns are crammed in as tightly as they'll pack. White stone houses with blue tiled rooftops wrap around the edges of the mountainside connected by layers of stairs and winding cliffside roads. Where the mountainsides are heavy with spice and citrus, the water is warm and rich, filled with fish and pearl divers. The beaches are sharp gravel, baking under the sun, and the waves soft and pleasant. Sometimes during hot summer nights there are fireworks. The town you have found as home is called Beri.

It's a tropical, sun-tanned tyranny to live under, but it is a tyranny. All along the mountaintops are castles, filled with the watchful soldiers of Mayor Kaspar. The tithes Kaspar demands are extensive, but such is the price of keeping the sky blue. Sometimes groups will be called up and yoked together to haul more stones up to the hilltop castles, or to harvest trees to erect new anti-aircraft ELF-spikes. Sometimes people will be called on to spend months working in the guts of one of the defensive Warspheres that soar like zepplins above the towns below. Sometimes when the war drums sound the entire town may be rounded up, solid projectile muskets pressed into their hand, and made to stand in drenching tropical rainfalls on the castle walls, staring out into the sea as the dark shapes of Ceronian raiding vessels can be seen in the distance. Some of the wolves never left, or so the soldiers say, and the militia needs to be ready to fight them at any moment.

But on days when the arbitrary demands of the government are not being made, life is blessedly free. A riot of brightly coloured servitor species live and work shoulder to shoulder along their various arts and obsessions. Not enough Azura are present on the planet to make use of their services - the only Azura that lives in Beri is named Triden, and her only demand is that the town produce enough skilled wrestlers for her to practice her art against. There are no Biomancers - they were all conscripted by the Governor, taken away to assist with the great project of yoking the Tides of Poseidon. Only a few lesser hedge biowitches remain incognito to concoct the illicit drugs and various small modifications this untended garden requires.

There's nothing to do but enjoy the sunshine and the water, repair the damage caused by sun and storms, to manufacture things of beauty and to gift or barter them amongst each other. And, of course, to cover for all the chores of those taken away for governmental service.

It's not a bad life. The Skies never change, and that is for better and for worse.