Keyguyperson — Roleplayer Guild

Cooperative Dirigible Fleet 1, Kansai Region

"Hello, Strangers. Your signal is unusual to us, and we, the People of Kyoto, would like for you to make contact with us. We do not recognize your vehicles, nor its symbols. We request that you land near the city of Kyoto, at the following Coordinates, and a group will meet with you."

The message filled the bridge, played over the ship's intercom for all to hear. It was in Japanese, which didn't really surprise anyone. It did, however, make them wonder whether or not there was anyone left there who still spoke English. Some of the words were strange too, still clearly recognizable as Japanese, but a departure from what the crew had been taught. Needless to say, such things fueled conclusion jumping. After all, if there was nobody left who knew English, what else had been forgotten?

"All hands, stand down!" Said the admiral, before switching the microphone back on. "We have recieved your message. Thank you for not turning this contact into a battle. Our fleet shall met you at the indicated coordinates."

He nodded at the helmsman, whom got the message and set the ship on a course to meet whatever delegation the city planned to send. The rest of the fleet followed, while gunners tried their best to stow their weapons in the rest-threatening manner while still keeping them visible. One didn't want to appear hostile during a diplomatic contact, but you always want the other side of it all to know that you didn't come bearing only an olive branch. Otherwise, they might be a bit more eager to show off their weapons technology than you might have previously expected.

Quiet hums came out of the electric engines of the ships as they floated almost silently through the clear blue sky. All the ships began to slowly descend, adjusting their course so they would land as softly as possible. While all the vessels were capable of landing, it had to be done with care when not at a specifically constructed facility. Improvised landings worked best at sea anyways, though the guns on the bottom of the ships had to be repaired after such feats.

As the flagship drifted ever closer to the ground, the helmsman pressed a single, seemingly-insignificant button on his station's display. Latches on each side of the ship's balloon released and let a pair of metal skids fold out downwards towards the grassy field below. With a final rotation of the propeller nacelles, the vessel kicked up a vortex of wind directly below it as the skids touched the ground. The friction their created was enough to stop the ship, and a few canisters on either end of the vessel fired grapples into the ground to keep the wind from pushing it away. Soon after, the engines shut off, leaving the wind as the only remaining source of sound.

A ladder descended from the bottom of the ship, and five men climbed down it one by one. The first two were clothed in what was clearly combat armor, their faces obscured by gas masks. On the outside of their armor there appeared to be various motors, joints, and supports. A primitive combat exoskeleton from which power armor had developed, now used by the marines carried on aerial and naval craft to ensure their safety despite the small numbers of soldiers available.

The next to descend from the ship looked somewhat like a Brazilian, thought not because that was his family's place of origin. More likely, it was simply the result of extensive interbreeding between various different races. His very much Chinese-looking eyes made that clear. In his hands was a weapon very much like that carried by the two others, the action behind the trigger in a bullpup configuration. The other two had more normal looking magazines, whereas his weapon had a drum magazine in an odd departure from the norm. A bipod was attached to the front as well, making it clear to the trained eye that it was a Chinese QBB-95 from well before the war. The other two were using the QBZ variant, most likely.

The fourth out was holding a railgun of sorts, with a worn leather grip that looked like it had seen a thousand years of warfare and a cold black paint job to match. His skin was a pale white, like that of a particularly reclusive Scandinavian man. His eyes were an aquatic blue, and his hair was blonde enough to make him look like someone right out of a Nazi propaganda poster. However, his shoes were clearly not meant for a normal foot. They branched off into two different paths right in the middle of his foot, where there should have been plenty of space left before reaching the toes. Furthermore, the left shoe was constructed slightly differently from the right.

Finally, a man wearing a blue uniform with multiple medals pinned upon it came down-the admiral of the fleet. His face was entirely covered in hair as if he was a werewolf. A handgun hung down from his belt, though it wasn't anything special. In fact, it was nothing more than a practically ancient M1911. One had to wonder just how the same weapon design had been in use for hundreds upon hundreds of years.

The group approached the native delegation, all of whom were quite clearly Japanese-as had been expected. What surprised them, however, was the fact that none of them had any apparent mutations. They seemed to have been lucky enough to be in the shelters when the bombs dropped.

"I'm Kagiso Mah, the admiral of this fleet." Said the admiral. "It's wonderful to know that your people survived the war, pleasure to meet you."

He stuck out his hand, hoping that the custom of a handshake had survived the time they had clearly spent in the bunkers.
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