ChronicleMan — Roleplayer Guild

Last Seen: 23 days ago
Joined: 2 yrs ago
Posts: 357 (0.59 / day)
VMs: 3
Username history
1. ChronicleMan 2 yrs ago
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1 mo ago

Current I haven’t roleplayed since almost a year, since I’ve been busy but I’m gonna hopefully get back into it!

8 likes

1 mo ago

“I'm Sergeant Major Rick Grimes. You probably think I'm dead.” -Rick Grimes

3 likes

3 mos ago

"i SAW what you did there."-Chuck Greene

3 mos ago

"PC load letter? The fuck does that mean"-Michael Bolton

2 likes

4 mos ago

I now own a musket since that's what the founding fathers intended.

3 likes

Bio

Name:Matt 
Gender:Dude
Age:30
Birthday: October 17th 1995
Alias: MP, Chronic,
Occupation:Police officer
What i like: Comedy, Horror, Drama, Sci-fi, Cosplay, Gaming,
What i dislike: 1x1s, Retconning, Pedophiles.

The Black Veil July 15, 1947  B-29 Superfortress near Berlin

The B-29 Superfortress took to the skies just after midnight, a weary beast droning over the darkened outskirts of Berlin. The six-man crew was bone-tired but still sharp enough to know this flight was supposed to be routine — reconnaissance and nothing more. Yet, something was off.

The cockpit lights cast long shadows as Captain Reynolds gripped the controls, squinting through the frost that slowly crept across the windows.

Lieutenant Harper sat nearby, fiddling with the radio, frustration clear in his movements.

"All I’m getting is static... and maybe the ghost of a bad broadcast,"he said dryly.

"You got a ghost problem, Captain?"

Reynolds shot him a look.

"Don’t invite trouble, Harper. This plane’s already creaking like it’s on its last legs."

Sergeant Mills snorted, tapping the compass.

"This compass is spazzing out worse than a rookie on his first flight. Spinning like it’s got worms," he grumbled.

"Worms? You been eating those rations again?" Daniels, the youngest crewmember, cracked a nervous smile.

Mills scowled.

"Kid, if those rations were poison, I wouldn’t still be here."

The frost thickened, veins of ice spiderwebbing across the glass, creeping closer as the heaters struggled against the cold.

"Anyone else feeling like we’re headed straight to the North Pole?" Daniels asked, rubbing his arms.

"Shut it, Daniels. Cold’s better than whatever’s coming," Harper snapped, his eyes fixed on the flickering radio.

Suddenly, the radio hissed and spat static — then faint whispers, low murmurs that sent a chill deeper than the frost ever could.

"Did you hear that?" Daniels whispered.

"Yeah," Mills muttered, "sounds like my mother-in-law complaining about the war."

Reynolds gave a dry chuckle.

"Alright, funny guy. Focus up, we’re almost over the target zone."

The plane shuddered suddenly. Instruments flickered and dimmed.

"Now the compass thinks it’s a roulette wheel," Harper said, fiddling desperately with switches.

Engines sputtered.

"Number three’s coughing up a lung," he reported.

The plane lurched violently.

"Hold her steady!" Reynolds barked, wrestling with the controls.

From the dark hallway behind the cockpit, a faint sound of footsteps echoed — slow and deliberate, but with no one there.

"Who’s there?" Mills demanded, swinging a flashlight down the corridor.

Silence.

"Just your imagination," Reynolds said, though his voice was tight.

"Maybe," Daniels whispered, eyes wide.

Then, with a sickening groan, the cargo bay doors began sliding open.

"Cargo doors? In flight? What the hell?" Reynolds yelled.

"They won’t close," Harper shouted back, panic creeping in.

A blast of icy air swept through the plane, freezing everything it touched.

"Perfect. Just what we needed — a flying haunted house," Mills said dryly.

The radio erupted again, this time with distorted laughter and cries intertwined with static.

Reynolds slammed his fist on the console.

"Cut it off!"

Harper tried, but the controls were frozen.

The plane pitched downward, instruments dying one by one.

"Brace for impact!" Reynolds roared.

Trees rushed up in a blur.

The crash was violent.

Metal twisted, glass shattered.

Silence followed, thick and heavy.

The B-29 lay broken in a cold, silent forest miles from Berlin.

Inside, frost still clung to the wreckage.

The crew — vanished.

And somewhere, carried on the wind, faint laughter echoed.

Most Recent Posts

In New Poster Seeks Friendly Writing Community! → 1 yr ago Forum: Introduce Yourself

Welcome Newcomer You have A long Journey Ahead of yourself

In Paranormal: The Awakening → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Will be making some updates Maybe Put up a Discord Server But The ic should be up Tomorrow 3 am Est                            @Skyline@ctrlsaltdel

In Ban the User Above You → 1 yr ago Forum: Spam Forum

Banned for Banning the guy who Banned you

In How high can we count before a mod gets involved? → 1 yr ago Forum: Spam Forum

583

In Word association Game! → 1 yr ago Forum: Spam Forum

Cafe

In How high can we count before a mod gets involved? → 1 yr ago Forum: Spam Forum

579

In Ban the User Above You → 1 yr ago Forum: Spam Forum

Banned because thats not how this works it’s been 2 years YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT BY NOW 

In Paranormal: The Awakening → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Name: Eleanor "Elle" Rife
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Date of birth: December 12th, 1917
Job: Investigative Journalist for The New York Herald Tribune

Appearance: Tall and slender woman with wavy shoulder-length copper red hair, striking emerald green eyes, high cheekbones, and fair complexion with light freckles across her nose. Usually wears tailored 1940s suits in dark colors (navy, charcoal), pencil skirts, white blouses with subtle ruffles, and modest heels. Carries a leather messenger bag and always has a small notebook in her pocket. Wears minimal makeup except for signature red lipstick.

Personality: Determined, analytical, and persistent. Maintains professional composure even in unsettling situations. Naturally curious with a sharp wit. Sometimes comes across as distant due to her focus on work.

Strengths: 

Exceptional investigative skills
Quick thinking under pressure
Strong writing abilities
Network of reliable sources

Abilities:

Expert at gathering information
Skilled at gaining people's trust
Proficient in shorthand writing
Able to piece together complex stories
Photography skills

Backstory: Eleanor moved to New York to pursue journalism against her family's wishes. Started as a secretary at the Tribune but proved her worth during the war years when male journalists were deployed. Made her name covering suspicious deaths in the city, leading her to specialize in cases with mysterious circumstances. Lives alone in a small apartment in Manhattan, dedicated to her career in an era when women were expected to be homemakers.

Sayings:

"There's always more beneath the surface"
"Truth isn't always what it seems"
"Stories don't tell themselves"
"Follow the silence, that's where the story lies"

Dialogue Examples:

"I understand this might be difficult to discuss, but every detail matters."
"The public has a right to know what's happening in their city."
"Sometimes the most important part of a story is what isn't being said."
"I've seen enough crime scenes to know when something doesn't add up."@Skyline
Accepted

In Multiversal Breakout → 1 yr ago Forum: Free Roleplay

Think you should make the letters smaller, Kinda looks weird young sp00ki

Name:Matt Gender:Dude Age:30 Birthday: October 17th 1995 Alias: MP, Chronic, Occupation:Police officer What i like: Comedy, Horror, Drama, Sci-fi, Cosplay, Gaming, What i dislike: 1x1s, Retconning, Pedophiles. [hider=writing sample][h1][color=Maroon]The Black Veil July 15, 1947 B-29 Superfortress near Berlin[/color][/h1] [b]The B-29 Superfortress took to the skies just after midnight, a weary beast droning over the darkened outskirts of Berlin. The six-man crew was bone-tired but still sharp enough to know this flight was supposed to be routine — reconnaissance and nothing more. Yet, something was off.[/b] The cockpit lights cast long shadows as Captain Reynolds gripped the controls, squinting through the frost that slowly crept across the windows. Lieutenant Harper sat nearby, fiddling with the radio, frustration clear in his movements. [b][color=darkRed][quote]"All I’m getting is static... and maybe the ghost of a bad broadcast,"[/quote][/color][/b]he said dryly. [color=darkRed][b]"You got a ghost problem, Captain?"[/b][/color] Reynolds shot him a look. [i]"Don’t invite trouble, Harper. This plane’s already creaking like it’s on its last legs."[/i] Sergeant Mills snorted, tapping the compass. [color=darkred][b]"This compass is spazzing out worse than a rookie on his first flight. Spinning like it’s got worms,"[/b][/color] he grumbled. [color=darkred][i]"Worms? You been eating those rations again?"[/i][/color] Daniels, the youngest crewmember, cracked a nervous smile. Mills scowled. [i]"Kid, if those rations were poison, I wouldn’t still be here."[/i] The frost thickened, veins of ice spiderwebbing across the glass, creeping closer as the heaters struggled against the cold. [color=darkred][quote]"Anyone else feeling like we’re headed straight to the North Pole?"[/quote][/color] Daniels asked, rubbing his arms. [color=darkred][i]"Shut it, Daniels. Cold’s better than whatever’s coming,"[/i][/color] Harper snapped, his eyes fixed on the flickering radio. Suddenly, the radio hissed and spat static — then faint whispers, low murmurs that sent a chill deeper than the frost ever could. [color=darkred][b]"Did you hear that?"[/b][/color] Daniels whispered. [i]"Yeah,"[/i] Mills muttered, [i]"sounds like my mother-in-law complaining about the war."[/i] Reynolds gave a dry chuckle. [i]"Alright, funny guy. Focus up, we’re almost over the target zone."[/i] The plane shuddered suddenly. Instruments flickered and dimmed. [color=darkRed][b]"Now the compass thinks it’s a roulette wheel,"[/b][/color] Harper said, fiddling desperately with switches. Engines sputtered. [color=darkred][i]"Number three’s coughing up a lung,"[/i][/color] he reported. The plane lurched violently. [i]"Hold her steady!"[/i] Reynolds barked, wrestling with the controls. From the dark hallway behind the cockpit, a faint sound of footsteps echoed — slow and deliberate, but with no one there. [color=darkred][b]"Who’s there?"[/b][/color] Mills demanded, swinging a flashlight down the corridor. Silence. [i]"Just your imagination,"[/i] Reynolds said, though his voice was tight. [i]"Maybe,"[/i] Daniels whispered, eyes wide. Then, with a sickening groan, the cargo bay doors began sliding open. [color=darkred][b]"Cargo doors? In flight? What the hell?"[/b][/color] Reynolds yelled. [color=darkred][i]"They won’t close,"[/i][/color] Harper shouted back, panic creeping in. A blast of icy air swept through the plane, freezing everything it touched. [color=darkred][quote]"Perfect. Just what we needed — a flying haunted house,"[/quote][/color] Mills said dryly. The radio erupted again, this time with distorted laughter and cries intertwined with static. Reynolds slammed his fist on the console. [i]"Cut it off!"[/i] Harper tried, but the controls were frozen. The plane pitched downward, instruments dying one by one. [i]"Brace for impact!"[/i] Reynolds roared. Trees rushed up in a blur. The crash was violent. Metal twisted, glass shattered. Silence followed, thick and heavy. The B-29 lay broken in a cold, silent forest miles from Berlin. Inside, frost still clung to the wreckage. The crew — vanished. And somewhere, carried on the wind, faint laughter echoed. [/hider]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Name:Matt Gender:Dude Age:30 Birthday: October 17th 1995 Alias: MP, Chronic, Occupation:Police officer What i like: Comedy, Horror, Drama, Sci-fi, Cosplay, Gaming, What i dislike: 1x1s, Retconning, Pedophiles. <div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="writing sample">writing sample [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-h1">The Black Veil July 15, 1947 B-29 Superfortress near Berlin</div> The B-29 Superfortress took to the skies just after midnight, a weary beast droning over the darkened outskirts of Berlin. The six-man crew was bone-tired but still sharp enough to know this flight was supposed to be routine — reconnaissance and nothing more. Yet, something was off. The cockpit lights cast long shadows as Captain Reynolds gripped the controls, squinting through the frost that slowly crept across the windows. Lieutenant Harper sat nearby, fiddling with the radio, frustration clear in his movements. <blockquote class="bb-quote">"All I’m getting is static... and maybe the ghost of a bad broadcast,"</blockquote>he said dryly. "You got a ghost problem, Captain?" Reynolds shot him a look. "Don’t invite trouble, Harper. This plane’s already creaking like it’s on its last legs." Sergeant Mills snorted, tapping the compass. "This compass is spazzing out worse than a rookie on his first flight. Spinning like it’s got worms," he grumbled. "Worms? You been eating those rations again?" Daniels, the youngest crewmember, cracked a nervous smile. Mills scowled. "Kid, if those rations were poison, I wouldn’t still be here." The frost thickened, veins of ice spiderwebbing across the glass, creeping closer as the heaters struggled against the cold. <blockquote class="bb-quote">"Anyone else feeling like we’re headed straight to the North Pole?"</blockquote> Daniels asked, rubbing his arms. "Shut it, Daniels. Cold’s better than whatever’s coming," Harper snapped, his eyes fixed on the flickering radio. Suddenly, the radio hissed and spat static — then faint whispers, low murmurs that sent a chill deeper than the frost ever could. "Did you hear that?" Daniels whispered. "Yeah," Mills muttered, "sounds like my mother-in-law complaining about the war." Reynolds gave a dry chuckle. "Alright, funny guy. Focus up, we’re almost over the target zone." The plane shuddered suddenly. Instruments flickered and dimmed. "Now the compass thinks it’s a roulette wheel," Harper said, fiddling desperately with switches. Engines sputtered. "Number three’s coughing up a lung," he reported. The plane lurched violently. "Hold her steady!" Reynolds barked, wrestling with the controls. From the dark hallway behind the cockpit, a faint sound of footsteps echoed — slow and deliberate, but with no one there. "Who’s there?" Mills demanded, swinging a flashlight down the corridor. Silence. "Just your imagination," Reynolds said, though his voice was tight. "Maybe," Daniels whispered, eyes wide. Then, with a sickening groan, the cargo bay doors began sliding open. "Cargo doors? In flight? What the hell?" Reynolds yelled. "They won’t close," Harper shouted back, panic creeping in. A blast of icy air swept through the plane, freezing everything it touched. <blockquote class="bb-quote">"Perfect. Just what we needed — a flying haunted house,"</blockquote> Mills said dryly. The radio erupted again, this time with distorted laughter and cries intertwined with static. Reynolds slammed his fist on the console. "Cut it off!" Harper tried, but the controls were frozen. The plane pitched downward, instruments dying one by one. "Brace for impact!" Reynolds roared. Trees rushed up in a blur. The crash was violent. Metal twisted, glass shattered. Silence followed, thick and heavy. The B-29 lay broken in a cold, silent forest miles from Berlin. Inside, frost still clung to the wreckage. The crew — vanished. And somewhere, carried on the wind, faint laughter echoed.</div></div> </div>

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