[hider=Kiritane][color=778899][center]
[color=556b2f]Nation Name[/color]:
[i]Kiritane o Peha[/i] – Kingdom of Peace

[color=556b2f]Government Form[/color]:
Confederated Tribal Monarchy

[color=556b2f]Demographics[/color]:
94% [i]Umana[/i]
[hider=Human][img] https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/010/981/370/large/bryan-sola-main-character-design.jpg[/img][/hider]
6% [i]Hatan o Umana[/i]
[hider=Demon Humans] [img] https://live.cdn.renderosity.com/gallery/items/2927649/images/1902344/fedb4a4d65acf17b79c0e7db9a85a433_original.jpg[/img][/hider]
[color=556b2f]Population[/color]:
800 Million[hr][img] https://t3.ftcdn.net/jpg/05/38/26/90/360_F_538269056_wtLVxEr3FOBxM5QNhSpxNLD5pFjWINq5.jpg[/img]
[sup][color=darkseagreen]All we found in these forests was Peace.[/color][/sup][/center][hr][color=556b2f]Planet Name and Description[/color]: 
[i]Peha[/i]. An amalgamation of words for “Peace” created by the first landers, humans of many nations and many languages. This was a perfect Earth-like substitute for weary, war-stricken travellers. A name which not only embodied what these first colonists felt but also what they wished for. Strived for. And after many years of war, subjugation, strife, was what they [i]deserved[/i]. A planet which can never replace the Mother but could play her surrogate for her lost children. A planet of many volcanic island archipelagos, each lined by white sandy beaches and centred by thick jungle. On [i]Peha’s[/i] equator lay the only substantial landmass aside from the wintery poles, the [i]Ope o Peha[/i], Son of Peace. With its biomes of gently rolling plains mixed with thick, entangled jungles, winding rivers, and a dormant super-volcano at its centre, it was perfect for settlement. The soil was rich, the ore veins untouched, water clearer than most of the young ones had ever laid eyes on. It was beautiful.

That was then. This is now. Craters, irradiated for many thousands of years, where jade plains and farms once stood. Stab wounds puncturing deep to his body. Razed, charred ground where might tree cities once intermixed with jungles. Third degree burns on skin. The literal terrain cracked and torn asunder, like strings of welts on a whipped man’s back. The rivers which flowed so vibrantly now full of lava from the son’s last defiant shout. [i]Ope o Peha[/i] was murdered and remains lifeless, a stark reminder of what the [i]Hatan[/i] had done. Many, now [i]Umana[/i] in their tongue, still weep for the lost son. No island was bereft of damage from their arrival, jungles cut down and some whole islands still on fire, yet none bore as much pain as the son, the tortured son, the [i]murdered[/i] son.

[i]Peha[/i] still quakes and cries at the loss of her son, tearing many islands asunder in earthquakes of imaginable magnitude. Irradiated hurricanes strike at the settlements on the islands, striking at massive sea walls with savagery. Screaming, howling, shouting [i]”why they would let her precious son die?”[/i]

[color=556b2f]History[/color]: 
The people who sought for peace above all else were atypical. These were people who had seen what reckless industry, unbound scientific developments and a loss of connection to the land could do. They were Mother-born, the last of the humans born in her withering hands and they felt her loss deeply. These were like-minded people and despite their differences in blood and homeland, they convened in Mother’s dying breaths to create a united vision for the future. No longer would they scorn nature’s gifts, lay upon the land countless injuries which could not heal – these first would-be-settlers laid out both written guides and stories to tell their children. A language, born of the many languages their people spoke so that they would not forget their heritage yet be able to communicate with each other. A history of all the peoples which came before, legends of those who came before who struck against reckless capitalism and colonisation. And most importantly, a set of principles which could guide future generations to make sure Mother’s death would not be repeated.

Many would laugh at these “hippies” or “up-jumped natives” and claimed their stupidity in denying the gifts of capitalism and conquering. These gifts, they each knew, was poisoned. A poison which had spread so far and ingrained itself so deeply that it led to us fleeing Mother’s grasp. They were one of the last to leave, gently brushing her presence before they left her for what seemed like forever. And in those last days, the holds of the [i]Yearning Tranquillity[/i] held not only those who lost their ancestral homelands but their anguish, tears, pain and most importantly, hope.

This hope found answers in [i]Peha[/i]. How lucky they were! Here they were, a colony ship flung to parts unknown, with chances slim to none of finding a suitable new home, landing to a place of such vibrant nature it even made the most despondent leap in joy! With the advanced technology that they once scorned, they could make a home here while following their principles. They laid great settlements in the jungles and plains of [i]Ope o Peha[/i] in accordance with nature, not against it. They found mines, dams and geothermal plants which did not scar the land but allow nature to take its course around them. More than any other advanced civilisation since the modern age, these first generations found bounds of peace and symbiosis relationships with the nature that surrounds them. So peaceful, so united were they that many spent time creating art, songs, large [i]waka[/i] to travel the oceans and nurturing bountiful gardens rather than working the endless toil their predecessors had suffered under before. Soldiery and weapons were laid aside for building tools and even the advanced [i]waka[/i] that had brought the there was laid to rest in shores as a proclamation that their new home, their surrogate mother was [i]Peha[/i].

They were [i]Umana[/i], communal, peaceful citizens of the land. One with the land and the land one with them. Any sole “leader” of the bright, happy population was more a figurehead administrator, one who was more focused on the continued prosperity than vying for individual greed. Truly, these were the best of us. Oh how many beautiful songs could have been created? How many cultures sprouted from the old, new stories and artwork created in respect to the past and future? How many more mothers would hold suckling, hopeful newborns? Fathers proud of their children drawing doodles, carving crude craft, singing soulful songs? Oh what could be and what should have been.

[i]They[/i] came like lightning. [i]They[/i] struck the communications between our peoples, declaring us weak, spineless and unworthy of our new home, our only worth found as [i]prey[/i] before shutting it all down. [i]They[/i] destroyed our symbiotic power generators, the farms and fields, what few military settlements we had. Nuclear bombs laid waste to our great cities, for how could we put up a fair fight against our superiors? So many millions died on [i]Ope o Peha[/i], joining their new adopted brother as victims of a culling, a massacre. Yet in their great cruelty, the [i]Hatan[/i] let many more live and escape, boarding [i]waka[/i] to flee to the islands.

[i]Umana[/i] found their escape and reprieve short lived. Aliens who were faster and stronger than any person who had ever lived, landing at these islands with the intent to [i]hunt[/i]. These forced many more migrations, even more fleeing and spreading themselves upon the many thousands of islands across [i]Peha[/i]. Millions turned to thousands turned to hundreds in this great migration, communities splitting apart to prevent the mass genocide that came with concentrated numbers. The [i]Hatan[/i], those demons, could have easily bombed these fleets of [i]waka[/i] and be done with it. Yet they enjoyed the game, enjoyed the chase of men, women and children as they slashed at their backs, [i]loved[/i] the thrill of the [i]hunt[/i].

And as it was, in the turn of the first century since settling there, the once united, once peaceful people were found to be scattered, brought into war not of their choosing.

But these were not quitters. These were not crying savages begging on their knees for a quick death. History would not be repeated here, could not be repeated here. The [i]Umana[/i] laid down their chisels, brushes and tools of creation for the tools of [b]war[/b].

Some were lucky to escape with hunting or building equipment which could be converted into deadly weaponry. Some were even able to escape with the original weapons of war of the dead soldiery, picked up in the great flight and used to great effect. But many had to make do with what they had. With their makeshift weapons of war, with wood, steel, rock and even barehanded, they fought back. They laid traps and ambushes within jungles so similar to what they used to have. Used crying, running children actors as bait for over-eager demons. Created mock villages instead filled with hardened warriors.

Still, many [i]Umana[/i] died in droves, lined against ditches made of their own hands and shot. But many more died fighting, shooting, punching, stabbing, [i]biting[/i] and [i]tearing[/i] at the demons. No one was spared from fighting. Elderly women poured hot oil on hunting parties, young ones ran messages between ambush groups, disabled cripples using whatever limbs (and often teeth) to inflict as much pain as they could. The [i]Hatan[/i] miscalculated, they had not found a native people which were so caught up in their own happiness that they could be ruthlessly ravaged. They had found a lost people, fleeing their Mother stricken by war who knew what total warfare meant, if not through experience, then through tales and through their [i]blood[/i].

Many alien hunting parties would leave after getting their fill of slaughter, deeming these upstarted apes too troublesome to bother fighting or simply bored, wanting to embark on another grand journey to try and find other prey ripe for hunting. Some, mostly out of respect and not mercy, would join hopeless [i]Umana[/i] in fighting other [i]Hatan[/i] to see what fun could be found there with the defenders too tired to put up much of a fight to such a ridiculous request. The few hunting parties that were left were either more murderous than their others or were looking for vengeance against the “lesser” savages, most settling in islands of their own to continue the fight.

It was in this age of strife, of poverty and of relentless war that those once peaceful would slaughter each other as well as the [i]Hatan[/i]. This was simply over a matter of resources, mainly fighting for the few freshwater sources not poisoned by the radiation which carried itself in the wind. This was the start of a grand hundred and fifty years of constant fighting, bleeding, conquering among the [i]Umana[/i] themselves. A descent into debauchery so grand that it brought tears to the remaining demons, many partaking in the carnage with unrelenting glee. Glee at their successful corruption, sheer joy at the blood which would cover their bodies and sink into their short fur. Not much can be said about this age of senseless violence aside from the fact that history seemed to always find a way to repeat itself. It was an unbreakable cycle.

The [i]Kiri[/i] of the Emerald Isles thought differently. She held to the principles of the old way, the founding ideology which led to the peace of the before times. She knew, through stories and art and song, of better futures different from one of war and inevitable extinction. But she knew that with the reawakening of violence, there could be no quarter given, no mercy bestowed, no weapons thrown aside, not until the [i]Umana[/i] were united under a stern leader who could keep what their knew planet was named for.

To show her intent to the various polities, petty empires and remaining hunting parties, she renamed her people the [i]Kiritane o Peha[/i]. There was no other legitimate government aside from those who allied under her, no people that could live in [i]Peha[/i] without bending the knee to her will. Ngawerawera ne Xhota was a woman of grand willpower, of sheer brilliance, of [i]mana[/i], great enough to move mountains. And here began a war of subjugation, violence for peace, slaughtering countless petty lords and their peoples till peace could once more reign over these islands.

Utilising fleets of armed, steel [i]waka[/i] and captured [i]Hatan[/i] prowlers, she conducted raids and swiftly conquered a great string of islands in few short years. Hopping from one to the next and ruthlessly giving the choice of a bent knee or death for both chieftain and followers. Adults, elderly, children, subjects of all ages were put to the blade for the sins of their leader so that the rotten legacy could not be continued through blood. But she did not conquer senselessly, without direction, as she carved her way through the oceans.

Arriving at [i]Ope o Peha[/i], standing side by side with both [i]Umana[/i] and conquered [i]Hatan[/i], she felt her first bit of hopelessness. On glassed beaches, with great firestorms still raging further inshore, she cried. Ngawerawera weeped, a sight never seen before in a woman thought to be cut from stone. So moved were her followers that even the demons would stand in silence, even the most cold-hearted felt water in their eyes. She would weep on sandy knees till her wells ran dry, till her knees groaned against forced stillness, till her sharpened nails had scraped flesh from her folded legs. Then she stood, silently, and walked among the shores where her predecessors were slain so brutally, where they had fled so many years ago.

Here, Ngawerawera found her trump card. The [i]Yearning Tranquillity[/i] was unwavering, over two centuries in the waters off the salty coast not enough to earn a single speck of rust on its body. A brave, or maybe foolish, [i]Hatan[/i] follower, one who joined for the bloodshed the [i]Kiri[/i] promised, loudly scoffed. They had been alive in their first landings and knew the strategy to cause the great migrations. It was specifically to render the [i]Umana[/i] useless, to forget their previous knowledges. The fool’s throat had been torn by sharpened nails midway through monologue. The great, first [i]Kiri[/i] knew how to wield their first [i]waka[/i]. Only a fool would not realise the importance of tales and song which could carry information through generations. The specifics? Well she had shamans, keepers of stories, who could wield unknown technologies like seasoned experts due to their vast oral knowledge.

And so the first [i]waka[/i] fired its engines and readied its unused guns. Fulfilling its namesake once more, under bloodier guise.

And so it was, history repeated itself. A conqueror turned king. With one great [i]waka[/i], Ngawerawera would unleash a systematic subjugation of all the rest. She kept her word, slaying those who refused and treating with kindness those who bent the knee, with future promises that their hard-fought sovereignty would not be destroyed by a tyrant king. Most often, [i]Hatan[/i] would fall into the first group and [i]Umana[/i] in the second, resulting in the disparate population figures found today. In the thousands of islands, she would gain millions of followers. She was tireless, even when the grey started overtaking her once vibrant raven hair, when the wrinkles tweaked her once perfect beauty. It was said, by all those present, that upon the last day of bent knees, she would die peacefully in her bed on the [i]Yearning Tranquillity[/i].

Her son, Natawhau e Ngawerawera, a warrior and leader in his own right, took the mantle and donned his mother’s flowing cape of dried flax and dyes. It was under him that the first meeting of allied leaders was held, a great conference to realise the future which his mother fought for. With a peace enforced by further conquering and slaughter of crying dissidents, Ngawerawera’s dream was set in stone. The millions of [i]Umana[/i] and remaining [i]Hatan o Umana[/i], as they were now called, were united under one flag despite the distances between the islands they occupy. He would be known as a great, intelligent administrator and more merciful and patient than his mother ever was. He would attempt to tackle the problem of natural industrialisation, creating widespread, yet less grand tree-cities as was on [i]Ope o Peha[/i]. His reign would mark the creation of a sort-of-constitution, of the [i]Peha Mandatu[/i] which set his descendants as forever worthy of the title [i]Kiri[/i].

His daughter, Ngareia e Natawhau would gently take power after her father’s abdication. The populations boom as freshwater is purified by the first [i]waka’s[/i] advanced technologies. Resources would be gained by the utilisation of former [i]Hatan[/i] prowlers, as few as they were, reaching into space to gather for the people below. Jungles were restored and many war fleets repurposed into shipping and transport. Yet she still has much to contest with in her reign. 

The remaining [i]Hatan[/i], most of whom are descendants of those who had first landed here, face discrimination daily, often on the receiving end of brutality. The warriors still itch for fighting, for while they could claim they fought for peace, generations of war did not lend itself easy to be laid aside. Much technology was still very much forgotten and was wildly varying between the island nations under her purview. Many [i]Umana[/i] chiefs started to question the need for a [i]Kiri[/i] and many more worried for another demon incursion. There festers a growing movement which calls for [i]te puke o awa[/i], the standing aside of outsiders. Chiefs wish to respectfully step out of the [i]Kiritane[/i] and instead observe, give advice and probe the world entity from the outside. A step which undermines the authority of the [i]Kiri[/i] yet stands with the promises of Ngarewarewa.

Yet she stands undaunted as her grandmother once was at the ruins of [i]Ope o Peha[/i]. For how can one forget the tales and songs, carrying the wisdom of those who came before. Her answers would lie somewhere beyond the reach of [i]Peha[/i], in places where the isolationism and divisions of the [i]Umana[/i] could be shed and true peace could be found again.

[color=556b2f]Culture and Society[/color]
Once divided, twice united. A dichotomy of cultures and thinking. 

For the average subject under the [i]Kiritane[/i], life is akin to a mix of early agricultural society and hunter-gatherer tribes with some urbanised dwellings in the tree-cities. In a clashing of ways of life, technology levels and power, the many “allied” tribes are still very much divided against each other in ways. Many still wage small conflicts against the other, trying to get away with what they can before the [i]Kiritane[/i] rears its head with authority. They are jealous and scheming, the century and a half of conflict making them bloodthirsty and seeking revenge despite the relative peace of the new age. So to live in these times is to be tense, wary and always looking for the knife aimed at your back.

This translates to the [i]Umana[/i] and [i]Hatan o Umana[/i] in how they behave with each other. There is much posturing between rivals which can often devolve into violence. They are indifferent or outright hostile to outsiders, most only grudgingly respecting the authority of the [i]Kiri[/i] and her own warriors due to Ngarewarewa and the Mandate. Each people has a culture derived from many other, often indigenous, cultures that came from Mother. This fact, which was once embraced and given to unity, divides the island peoples. Some argue that their heritage to the “old ways” was stronger than others, convinced of their superiority. Others argue that their newness, modernity and fusion of old cultures was a sign of progression, convinced of other’s foolishness. The [i]Hatan o Umana[/i] are largely lost in this battle of cultures, swaying to whatever side they were already allied to.

Religious beliefs have divided, some continuing some form of organised faith while many others approach more spiritualist ancestor or nature worship. Some detest technology, for what had it brought but ruin to the shores of [i]Peha’s[/i] son? Some revel in it, forming shamans by the dozens as both lore keepers and to find new lore. Industry varies largely, typically the more powerful a tribe was prior to involvement in the [i]Kiritane[/i], the greater their industry and their technology.

Among their own, these island peoples are as carefree and peace-loving as they had been before, with newer generation demons adopting this attitude. It harkens to the early days on [i]Peha[/i], those wistful first landers dreaming of peace and different times. Communal work without wage is common, simply done for the bettering of the wider community. Bonds formed from the war and the mindless slaughter are strong, with neighbouring, friendly polities having connections as unbreakable as steel. 

However, there are still some remnant unified forces between the people of [i]Peha[/i], adopted by the demons which had invaded them long ago. A love of nature and a fierce desire to preserve it. An idea of being one with the land and the land being one with them. A common language born from their predecessors. A love for song, dance, art, carvings and travel. A respect, sometimes grudging, of the overall leadership of the [i]Kiri[/i]. A warrior culture which stems from the early days of massacre and bloodshed. And a uniquely oral-based knowledge system which allows for the preservation of all forms of knowledge and a drive to prevent history from repeating itself, despite many peoples having different views on how to prevent that. 

An overarching aspect of [i]Umana[/i] (and hence younger [i]Umana o Hatan[/i]) is the respect for and fear of [i]Ope o Peha[/i]. All fear the wrath of the mother and many regard that place cursed, only filled with the spirits of anguished dead, weeping trees and suffocating animals. There is serious debate over whether to utilise this large landmass to allow for industrialisation but there is too much fear for that place. The mother still grieves for her son.

[hider=Our Peoples][center]
[img] https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRl1Of76Gpr2RtafuwB2TpgF5JDzVIg8aouBA&usqp=CAU[/img][hr][img] https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSzkAUud1QC5F_-TMLKF0K51Ri-3z6Ofvbqlg&usqp=CAU[/img][hr][img] https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS4MnmBtqCYWUjgBiRGGe1kmTjSOiTy5hwyXQ&usqp=CAU[/img][hr][img] https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQnOZJMNaGKLJ1J5RT0C52sdjtV4ueeti6heA&usqp=CAU[/img][hr][img] https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRlEdfUVKu8iQfekbu3fPavaYQu1b1CCswjiA&usqp=CAU[/img]
[/center][/hider][hr][center][img] https://bookbub-res.cloudinary.com/image/upload/v1689780555/blog/the-most-fascinating-spaceships-in-science-fiction.jpg[/img]
[color=darkseagreen][sup]Reconfigured [i]Hatan[/i] prowlers on patrol.[/sup][/color][/center][hr][color=556b2f]Governance and Politics[/color]: 
The [i]Kiritane[/i] consists of nations which swears itself to the [i]Kiri[/i] and more importantly, to the [i]Peha Mandatu[/i]. This proclamation, more than the constitution nor the few written laws applied throughout the [i]Kiritane[/i], is the founding principle upon which this confederation is built. The [i]Peha Mandatu[/i], in short, states that due to the great undertakings of Ngarewarewa, the sheer will she built over long life and the dauntless sacrifices she had made, that this same spirit would have to be carried to all her firstborn descendants. That her blood resembles the ways of the old and the coming of the new more than any other, that with her lineage ferries new ages and improvements to all under the [i]Kiritane[/i] as a whole. But, as to keep with her promises, the largely day-to-day goings of her various peoples would be bestowed upon their chiefs. The bloodline of Ngarewarewa serves as the admiral overseeing the many captains of the fleet.

Within their own domains, the chiefs of the various tribes rule largely without oversight. Unless serious crimes occur which offend the peoples, the [i]Kiritane[/i] does not interfere with intra-tribal affairs. This causes wild variations in the laws between tribes, resulting in frequent inter-tribal insults. These laws are largely based on the bloodline and familial bonds within community, the gods they believe in and the lands which these tribes inhabit. Largely, this creates isolationism between the different islands or island archipelagos with most inter-tribal discussion occurring on the Emerald Isles where the [i]Kiritane[/i] hold the most sway.

The largest forum for government is held in the spring, a time of general merriment for the crops are plentiful and the hunting is bountiful. The [i]tuhana[/i] of leaders across [i]Peha[/i] is held on the largest island of the Emerald Isles, where the [i]Kiri[/i] holds council. Here, rather than individual chiefs airing out their grievances between each other or to the [i]Kiri[/i], it is a two week long banquet accompanied by lawmaking, deals being made and general discussion on what direction the [i]Kiritane[/i] takes. The [i]Kiri[/i] holds absolute power in this domain, as mandated by the [i]Peha Mandatu[/i] and enforced by the power of conquest and their bloodline.

The [i]Peha Mandatu[/i] is a mandate outlining the rights of the [i]Kiri[/i] to hold overall sovereignty and governorship over [i]Peha[/i]. It is an account of all the battles and treaties in which Ngarewarewa and her descendants partook in, to cement the weight of history into their rulership. It does not sit idle, it evolves as [i]Kiri[/i] live and die, as they wage war, make knees bend and create tales. Great projects can often be seen here, such as Natawhau’s construction of his capital in the Emerald Isles, a large interconnecting super tree-city which showcases the power of the [i]Kiri[/i] and exemplifies why they should rule.

The [i]Kiritane[/i] is a loose confederation of island tribe-nations which respect the [i]Kiri[/i] but only exists with constant enforcement that the rule of the [i]Kiri[/i] is just and correct, as shown by the [i]Peha Mandatu[/i].

[color=556b2f]Technology Overview[/color]: 
Much has been forgotten by the [i]Umana[/i] of these lands. With the destruction of [i]Ope o Peha[/i] and the subsequent flight of the people, much written knowledge was lost. Largely, any technological retention occur due to the shamans, lore-keepers who hold much knowledge from the stories, songs and forms of art they partake in and pass down. Codification and analysation of this knowledge is difficult even for the [i]Kiritane[/i] as many shamans hold deep loyalty with the tribe and lands they inhabit. Only some developments from the Emerald Isle are publicly available in written or video form, hence why many tribes are not mired in disease and famine. Aside from this, advanced technology is an exemplar of the relationship between chieftain and [i]Kiri[/i], deep contention on where one’s authority starts and ends.

Overall, technology within the tribes vary largely. Some may have retained more than others, resulting in vast differences in technological level. Within a largely tribal society, advanced technology is most often seen in the tools and weapons they utilise. Plasma cutters, handheld weapons with mono-blades or heavy alloy shields, chain-tools and the like are common. Other, more industry-based technology such as agricultural, building, mining or manufacturing technologies are more closely guarded. Even the [i]Kiri[/i] guard some of these resources to keep ahead of the other tribes to keep domain.

The [i]Hatan[/i] who remain contribute with their painful weapons, torture devices and traps. But largely, as most of those who stayed behind on [i]Peha[/i] were hunters who held little actual technical knowledge, warfare remains their domain. Conveniently, many [i]Hatan[/i] technicians landed with the crashing of a prowler on the Emerald Isles, hence the ability for the [i]Kiritane[/i] to enforce their might planetwide via the original prowlers which remained on [i]Peha[/i].

Islands, the vast tracts of ocean between them and the relatively small land area they have does not lend itself well to large industry and technological developments. Hence much of the [i]Kiritane[/i] approach is focused towards the restoration of technology. If outside forces were to offer their own technological support, there would be much contention over accepting such an offer, with the isolationist tendencies of the chiefs.

[color=556b2f]Military Overview[/color]: 
The military, much like the nation, is fragmented. The largest, and only, standing military on [i]Peha[/i] is that of the Emerald Expeditionary Forces. A mixed navy (both water and space), army and air force combined forces group which harkens itself back to the conquering fleets of [i]waka[/i] led by Ngarewarewa. An organisation which ultimately answers to the [i]Kiri[/i] as their commanding officer, with an individual leader for each branch of Expeditionary Forces. As they are directly sworn to the [i]Kiri[/i] through blood and land, they have ultimate loyalty with the [i]Kiritane[/i] and the [i]Peha Mandatu[/i]. While also acting as the armed limb of the [i]Kiri[/i], they also act as the policing force to ensure what few laws the [i]Kiritane[/i] have are enforced planetwide. This includes the stamping of dissidents as well as forceful peace installed between warring tribes.

The other tribes also hold their own militaries but are made up of part-time soldiery, beholden to the [i]Kiritane[/i] only when they are called upon, otherwise led by their respective chieftains. These local militias/militaries differ greatly between each other in make-up, numbers and armaments. However, the [i]Umana[/i] way of war largely stays the same. Tinged with the cruelty of the early [i]Hatan[/i], many of whose descendants still occupy military roles, the [i]Umana[/i] are excellent at guerilla tactics, small-scale conflict, jungle warfare and psychological weapons. In the free-for-all of planetwide wars, the speed at which one could conquer another’s territory was all-important. And for the defenders, the ability to slow down those attackers’ determined life or complete subjugation and massacre. When on the offensive, overwhelming force is used to rid of peripheral forces, often taking place after a successful naval engagement. The “hunters” are then used, to penetrate deep within deeper enemy territory, often being jungles, to scope out the remaining forces.

The attackers would then face possible death by a thousand cuts. Traumatic spike traps, laser guided mines, sporadic ambushes, suicide bombers, poisoned water sources and many more irregular warfare tactics are used to great effect for the defenders. War between [i]Umana[/i] is determined by how staunch the defenders can be or how brutal the attackers can be. The Emerald Expeditionary Forces’ success originates in their spaceflight superiority, often making these irregular defences moot. And with most [i]Umana[/i] soldiery finding greater satisfaction in handheld melee weapons (though the Expeditionary Forces are largely equipped with ballistics), the fighting is brutal. Ripping, tearing, bludgeoning and maiming are shows of warrior prowess for these jaded warriors.

This land-focused strategy is exemplified in the [i]Yearning Tranquility[/i] and the old prowlers. Many of the latter rusting and dilapidated with poor maintenance, both have been adapted to more ground-focused support. Their guns are more focused on shooting down enemy ground emplacements and supporting troop/water naval movements rather than focusing on anti-ship warfare (for what other ships are there?).

And with the prominence of the oceans, the steel [i]waka[/i] hold the greatest prestige within the Emerald Expeditionary Forces and the militia who are lucky enough to have the knowledge to make them (others make do with wood or other materials). Great trimaran hulls which slice through the water, both sail and battery powered (often by efficient solar panels held by the Emerald Isles), with the weaponry of said ships chosen by the captains who lead them. Some have great ballistic cannons to engage in long artillery duels, lucky ones have scavenged missiles taken from downed prowlers for pinpoint targeting while others instead cram their hulls with as many warriors as possible, reinforce their leading hull and act as rams.

Like the [i]Kiritane[/i] itself, the military and militia of [i]Peha[/i] are a hodgepodge of the old and new, tinged with a personal cruelty that only many years of close, brutal fighting can inflict.

[hider=Military Examples][center]
[img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/7cd3087a-5dbf-4b69-8f7b-6901aa54592f/db17l2s-8b38fd9b-5002-4622-aafa-ccf60f3f95d8.jpg/v1/fit/w_828,h_1108,q_70,strp/maori_warrior_by_dan1f_db17l2s-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MjEwMiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzdjZDMwODdhLTVkYmYtNGI2OS04ZjdiLTY5MDFhYTU0NTkyZlwvZGIxN2wycy04YjM4ZmQ5Yi01MDAyLTQ2MjItYWFmYS1jY2Y2MGYzZjk1ZDguanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTE1NzIifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.XmDmFN6HWqW68qAA8IpBHfvJ7vPkdyo499ZyZiq-Igo[/img]
[sup][i]Atamira[/i] Hoke Hoke standing in his formal dress as a leader of the water [i]waka[/i] navy[/sup][hr][img]https://neural.love/cdn/ai-photostock/1ed809ff-0d99-6306-a27a-4d3556bb4e96/2.jpg?Expires=1709251199&Signature=wD6y6OfENdyJMHg~W28eT8ZCfdELkVYiIGQr~YPNXHgm1QDhd8KW0-2YVuYCHWFuasfNmhiJTGyyDW2I5-~5nDDZ6CS3KsjHsArXpOax5xD6GYHT-Jtr4e9hOFbqUG77nRYlVH8XS05l3HDoNyXX2hiLX84jbIXbRlanAtcHl~UOVzZpvEsowQmcIp92Ig8pgz9bMbPlif7okq1n-UDZpQIiYR9HQq8F4B995GORHcBbnOeZ3ZHl3-ZDR~Z8cBNORJR-o7yQLeXt-Nq4VNeQ2vt7dzN3MRccKWCZBJn7~766ElwchIRwpTzOX96N4MaV9JyS26u2iqPxO33p9PLqZw__&Key-Pair-Id=K2RFTOXRBNSROX[/img]
[sup]Emerald Expeditionary Force warrior fully armoured, though many askew aside some parts to feel the blood of enemies touch their skin[/sup][hr][img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/6c20f4a4-b31a-43c7-9824-c4bbaf137916/df44tsh-aabbd305-3e8f-4c5f-a3e3-527e0cfd15dd.jpg/v1/fill/w_878,h_910,q_70,strp/wooden_rifle_weapon_concept_design_by_nicholaskoo94_df44tsh-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTMyNiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzZjMjBmNGE0LWIzMWEtNDNjNy05ODI0LWM0YmJhZjEzNzkxNlwvZGY0NHRzaC1hYWJiZDMwNS0zZThmLTRjNWYtYTNlMy01MjdlMGNmZDE1ZGQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.LeeAnMCNFyMs7Yqfh0pYsN7UQjQcLmMmcrrVxW1VUGI[/img]
[img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/6c20f4a4-b31a-43c7-9824-c4bbaf137916/df44ttp-066b4216-daa3-48fa-96d8-b8d20017a954.jpg/v1/fill/w_878,h_910,q_70,strp/wooden_rifle_and_lmg_concept_design_by_nicholaskoo94_df44ttp-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTMyNiIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzZjMjBmNGE0LWIzMWEtNDNjNy05ODI0LWM0YmJhZjEzNzkxNlwvZGY0NHR0cC0wNjZiNDIxNi1kYWEzLTQ4ZmEtOTZkOC1iOGQyMDAxN2E5NTQuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEyODAifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.RxttMvIbSO66Cg0ii5mlarB-77ArtgPUFTV5E3CYcxY[/img]
[sup]Standard firearms found throughout the [i]Kiritane[/i], wood-based to save on steel production[/sup][hr][img]https://www.naval-technology.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/15/2017/09/tri5.jpg[/img]
[sup]Grainy image of old first settler trimarans which the navies make use of[/sup][hr][img]https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSEyRBBEddXZRvaOaN1tWUOk-PoLN3DVCXDGw&usqp=CAU[/img]
[sup]A series of landing craft exiting a trimaran in order to execute landing operations[/sup][hr][img]https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQMRpmwx9nS1dIEDF3RT8payRpnZ6suxU4cqQ&usqp=CAU[/img]
[sup][i]Yearning Tranquility[/i][/sup][hr][img] https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/004/961/249/large/miguel-angel-martinez-killzone-2-intruder-concept.jpg?1487509254[/img]
[sup]Modified cargo haulers turned close combat troop droppers[/sup]
[/center][/hider]
[/color][/hider]

[hider=Omake]
[hider=#1][color=778899]Several moons ago, in far off isles[/color][hr]After a week of rest forced unto them by their pack-leaders, they had been itching for some slaughter. Some had even taken to scarring themselves and other hunters to reduce the itch for blood yet nothing was as satisfying as the [i]hunt[/i]. The adrenaline of chasing prey, watching their small circular eyes enlarge as their kin was struck down with knife, gun and powerful [i]Hatanexhix[/i] hands. But the previous [i]monxhei[/i] cowered like animals in their dens, wishing, praying and begging for salvation when they came. Blood was spilt, little ones drained of their lifeforce, elders drained of whatever blood they had left, impudent males and females struck down when they tried to fight. But there was no [i]relief[/i], no adrenaline filled their systems, muscles did not strain, lives were not at stake as with a proper chase.

But here, their hearts pounded in their ears, determined eyes scanning the surroundings as they revelled in a proper [i]hunt[/i]. The primitives of these isles were of a cleverer sort than the last, fleeing their coastal huts at the first sign of their prowlers in the distance. They could have bombed them with their superior guns, killed them all without the slightest bit of effort. But what these [i]monxhei[/i] seem to have realised was that us [i]Hatanexhix[/i] did not enjoy such systematic, detached killings. They lived for the soft underbrush underneath their feet, bounding above entangled vines and tripping roots as they hunted for their prey. The primates found that they could survive longer when they hid in these jungles.

And how [i]fun[/i] and [i]satisfying[/i] to partake in the thrill of the predator and prey. 

Nexhi, a hunter of many years, was broken out of his introspection as his hunting party paused for a small break. They had taken to taking the corpses of the little ones as cloaks, locking small hands around their necks through skin grafting, enjoying the smell of innocent death which followed them. This typically enraged the [i]monxhei[/i] enough to attacking them recklessly but the primitives on this island had yet to take the bait.

Not a single ambush nor trap. No footprints in the underbrush, no fallen branches broken in a hurried flight. There was nothing to track with. A snarling voice broke the silence of the breaking hunters.

One of the younger hunters, frustrated with the lack of blood, carved a small cut along his furred forearm, the movement disturbing the swarm of insects which settled on the child corpse cloak. “Where are these [i]monxhei[/i]? We have been looping around this [i]Axtesh[/i]-damned jungle for a spin and a half!” 

Another, burlier and older [i]Hatanexhix[/i] snorted. “Maybe if you had not broken the silence with your complaining, we might have found some primates to kill.”

The younger one threw his arms in the air, tearing the withered arms off his neck and letting the body drop unceremoniously on to the ground. “If we did not have these heavy cloaks, we would have caught up to them by now.”

“Our skin-carver fell into a pit trap two islands ago, we do not have anyone skilled enough in the art of [i]haxax[/i] to make leather out of skin. We must make do.”

“Why do we not place skulls upon our belts?! This is like carrying an [i]oxox[/i] on your back when we run for this long.”

“You have become a cowardly complainer since you lost that fight against Xheti.”

“That ingrate cut off my finger! My blade would have struck true if it wasn’t for his cowardice.”

“You mean he was simpler smarter than you?”

“You [i]Axteshi[/i], decrepit, pile of bones-“

Nexhi spat in the younger one’s face, interrupting the conversation before it created a murderous altercation which could spread among the group. The bloodlust is addicting and fuelled their endless hunting but they could not afford disagreements this deep in [i]monxhei[/i] lands.

“Enough complaining. They have simply ran longer and have become familiar with these lands. They can run but they cannot hide. We will find them soon.”

Astoundingly, the rabble rouser pinned his attentions on the pack-leader, pointing a finger at Nexhi’s chest. “If only you could track as well as you can breed with an [i]oxox[/i], we would have found them by now!”

Before the hunting leader could lay into the dissenter and rip his throat, the young complainer kicked the head of his discarded cloak. Rotting muscle and flesh careened into the air, striking a large tree at the opposite side of the clearing. 

The sound of breaking bones and shattering wood was smothered by the ground collapsing underneath them. Nexhi, the elder and several others on the periphery of the clearing quickly jumped away from the opening earth. Some were not as lucky.

Silence shattering shrieks broke the relative peace of the jungle as [i]Hatanexhix[/i] impaled themselves on 3-meter-long spikes. Most died instantly, hearts pulverised by the piercing wood, brains splattering the muddy pit. One unfortunate soul, the argumentative young one, had pierced his leg on a spike and dangled like a sack of flesh from the wooden appendage, pained screams making such an annoying [i]racket[/i]. A quick nod from Nexhi across the clearing allowed the elder one to put the boy hunter out of his misery, a sliver of satisfaction flashing on the elder’s face.

As one, the hunters disregarded their now lifeless comrades and scanned the surrounding forests. A trap this well-timed as to kill most of the party had to have a triggering [i]monxhei[/i] behind it. The pattering of light feet and laboured breathing was all Nexhi needed to start his chase. With a holler, he set off into the thick undergrowth with the whooping, grinning hunters quickly following behind them.

As infuriatingly endurance-oriented these [i]monxhei[/i] were, they could not keep up with a [i]Hatanexhix[/i] at their top speed. The hunter leader set upon the first straggler, a white-faced primate looking at death with terror. A swipe with his chain-blade and the primitive’s jaw flung onto the wide leaves, dropping lifelessly in the mud. Another swipe rent his splitting body in two to make sure there would be no peace for that cowardly ape. A few paces later, the next primate turned to face him, shouting in his- no, [i]her[/i]- disgustingly guttural language in a pitiful challenge. She seemed to be protecting an even smaller [i]monxhei[/i], gripping a neon-edged blade of good make. 

The older one charged at him, lunging with both arms outreaching, one bladed and deadly while the other seeking to grapple him. Nexhi simply sidestepped the girl and bisected her in two from head to pelvis, titanium-toothed blades splashing viscera on his light armour. Smiling in amusement, he turned to the other primitive nearby.

Shaking like a leaf, the younger girl had a jade club which he had seen handled proficiently by many a [i]monxhei[/i] warrior, often used to scalp his brethren and leave them writhing in pain.

The girl was no warrior and was quickly rent into four pieces where she shook, revolving chain-blades singing bloody murder in the trees as others also set upon their targets.  The leader laughed boisterously, thoughts flinging back to the young fool in the trap who had missed out in such delight and revelry. 

Out of the foliage, a roaring young boy flung himself at the hunter, wooden pan-shaped club in hand, foaming at the mouth. Nexhi parried the club with the back of his chain-blade, shifting the boy’s momentum into a blood-soaked tree. Before he could set upon the primitive, the boy scrambled away from screaming hooked chains which embedded itself in tough wood.

The [i]Hatanexhix[/i] laughed harder, discarding his chain blade and kicked the dead girl’s jade club up into his hands. He stalked his prey, hyperventilating with how hard he laughed at the boy’s narrowing eyes and his subsequent about turn into the shrubbery.

Quickly leaving his other fellows, Nexhi gave chase with murderous glee. He slowed his pace so he was just out of the wild backward swipes of this humiliation in front of him. What a pathetic specimen, running when the adrenaline left his body, evidently realising his doomed fate.

The hunter leader followed the boy up a small hill and unto a clearing of grass, edged by a cliff. The prey turned swiftly to face his opponent, determination in his eyes despite the clear soiling in his flax skirts. It was so humorous that Nexhi almost cried laughing at the site.

“[i]Boy![/i]” He shouted between laughter, twisting his serpentine tongue to occupy the tongue of these wretched primitives. “[i]You turn tail with the first xlaughter. You are more pitiable than the girl I had just split in xuarters. Xhe wielded your[/i] mere[i] with no skill but at least xhe did not run like a coward![/i]”

The boy opened his mouth like a gaping fish, nearly sending the [i]Hatanexhix[/i] into hysterics. “[i]You speak the language of our ancestors.[/i]”

“[i]Of course,[/i]” Nexhi boasted, a wide shit-eating grin threatening to split his face in half “[i]xlaughtering a pig is more fun when you know what the animal is xaying.[/i]”

Little or not, the dark-skinned primitive set his mouth in a thin line, gripping the wooden pan-club tighter as he stalked forward in a deliciously proud way. 

“[i]You are not worthy of their tongue.[/i]”

“[i]And you,[/i] monxhei[i] are not worthy of the ground your corpse xhall fall on.[/i]”

“It will not be my corpse falling to the earth, [i]Hatan[/i]. I am Xhota, son of Xhashi, and your death will bring glee to my ancestors.”

The hunter howled uproariously at the upstart, twirling the primitive club between dextrous fingers as he set upon his prey.

The two set launched themselves against each other, one howling with surprised glee, the other grim-faced and set with immovable will. This small, almost forgettable duel among many hundreds fought on this planet would have repercussions upon the future. The singing willpower, the cacophonous strength, the determination to move mountains which ran through Ngarewarewa’s blood would start here. On a small atoll, of no interest for many of the great leaders at the time, between a murderer and a child. A hunter and his prey.[hr][/hider]
[hider=#2][color=778899]Setting sail[/color][hr]Love of the ocean permeated [i]Peha[/i] society. Being a sailor or fisherman was a well paid occupation, even among the poorer [i]tribu[/i] witht their wooden [i]waka[/i]. If not in gold and jade, then they were paid by bountiful food year round and the pick of the crop for wives or husbands. There was something freeing about living it out on the waves, a small drop in an ocean of trade. Bautista knew for him, the best part of living in the waves was the escape from the cramped islands.

The [i]kapitan[/i] had a tight hold over his crew. A dichotomy of modernity and age, the trading cargo ship [i]Santa Maria[/i] benefited from technology of centuries past and retrofitments from subsequent owners. The sensor suite could cover a thousand kilometer radius and half that distance in depth. The cargo hold was sheltered by a retractable copper mesh cage to prevent containers from toppling in rough seas. The hull was made of a composite steel unknown to many shamans, created by the advanced peoples of ages past. The hydrogen-powered turbines made for efficient long distance travel. The heated metal coverings meant crew members could sail comfortably with only a shirt on even in the fiercest winter ocean storms. Stabilisers and an automatically tilting deck meant that even the worst sea legs could sprint across the ship with nary a stumble. A venerable, old-yet-futuristic [i]waka[/i] which cleaved its way through rough northern seas, seeking trade to alleviate the few settlements on the northern icy wastes. 

A sharp beep interrupted his musings. A skeleton crew was working over the night shift, only a half-dozen officers at work, so the communications officer had to scoot over towards the sensor suite.

"What is it Officer Reyes? Sounded like an approaching ship in our radar."

An "aye" confirmed his guesswork. Bautista furrowed his brows. He had checked the radars himself only minutes ago and nothing had come up.

"How far are they?"

"Three hundred clicks southwest and approaching fast sir, on an interception course towards us. At their bearing and approximate speed, another thirty minutes and they'd be on top of us [i]kapitan[/i]."

That's odd. Nothing should pop out of the thousand click radar like that, in such close proximity. "Well then hail them. Warn them of their collision course."

"Aye sir." Reyes scooted back to the communications desk and donned a headset, working his magic on the holographic inputs.

"Attention unknown ship, your current bearing interferes with our own. Please change bearing, the [i]Santa Maria[/i] holds priority as per [i]Kiritane[/i] Northern Naval code one-six-five. I repeat, your current bearing interferes with our own. Please change bearing to prevent collision."

Ten minutes passed in relative silence, with the message repeated but to no avail. Curiosity and some morbid worry rising, Bautista himself stepped to the sensor suite and put the radar on display. Nothing again. A quick look to his officer confirmed

The hairs on the back of his neck never felt so prominent. The sensors were never wrong on his ship, it was the oldest state-of-the-art sensors outside the Emerald Navy. 

"Officer Xhaxhi, what is the diving speed of the Red Rising?"

"Xir?" The young blue informations officer tilted her head in confusion, ever unnerving Hatan orbs staring back in confusion.

"The diving speed of the Red Rising, if you would Xhaxhi."

"Tremendously fast xir, as an Emerald xubmarine always ix. But xir-"

"Wake Guzman and the rest of the security contractors. Time for him to prove he's worth that audacious salary of his."

"But xir-"

"Wake the rest of the crew, all hands on deck to secure the cargo. Sound the emergency klaxons, they need to arm themselves for boarding."

"Xir!-"

"Actually, scratch that. We're running a new roster, half the crew would be useless at repelling boarders. They need to secure the cargo then filter into the lower engine holds with the lights off. Current bridge crew do need to don their sidearms and prepare to defend the bridge. Reyes, be a dear will you and fetch my gun-"

"But xir, the Red Rising never goes this far north! And from current understandings of the maritime code, which even pirates adhere to, no one targets northern research cargo ships!" Almost like a hive mind, the bridge collectively winced. Officer Reyes sunk low into his seat, preparing for the scolding almost reflexively. No one shouts at the [i]kapitan[/i].

Their leader merely sighed, lifting his cap and running a calloused hand through silver hair. 

"Xhaxhi, please remind Officer Reyes what the current interdiction efforts resulted in down south."

The young lady shook out of a minor stupor, reciting forth knowledge from the daily updates. "Interdiction effortx have been a great succexx. Piraxy hax reduced by eighty percent as both Emerald wet-naxy and space-navy have flexed their muxclex. A fifty percent increaxe in intervention efforts combined with regular armed excort of all trading fleet elements was a major succexx."

"Yes, and if you suddenly get rid of all the easy targets in the calm seas, where do you think some foolhardy, gloryhound pirates end up to get their blood up? Ignore whatever honour code pirates may have and bad weather conditions."

"North or xouth, xir."

Silence.

"But why the Red Rixing specifically xir?"

"All the black boxes from their sunken prey showed a ghost signature appearing then disappearing three hundred clicks away prior to their close proximity resurfacing. Prepare for boarding ladies and gentlemen. And fetch my weapon Reyes, don't make me repeat myself again."
[/hider]
[/hider]

TL;DR = isolationist confederate kingdom led by a Woman-King, just coming out of a genocidal war from aliens and between each other, initially a colony of hippies and conservationist indigenous peoples who formed a peaceful utopia (prior to alien invasion). Technology is hodgepodge, everyone likes boats and songs and killing each other with melee weapons (because up close and personal is the best way to kill people who want to kill you and yours).