ChronicleMan — Roleplayer Guild

Last Seen: 19 days ago
Joined: 2 yrs ago
Posts: 357 (0.60 / day)
VMs: 3
Username history
1. ChronicleMan 2 yrs ago
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29 days 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

29 days 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 The 100 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

I'll post at about 1 to 2 am PST. Also can i change sebastian's age? Because i feel like no one was actually 19 in the first season. 

Also need to put a faceclaim.

In The 100 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Yeah you can! Im gonna post mine later todah@HyliaIncarnate

Alright imma post mine tomorrow.

In The 100 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@HyliaIncarnate

do we start or?

In What's the reason behind your Username? → 12 mos ago Forum: Off-Topic Discussion

I'm chronically online.

In Hey hey! → 12 mos ago Forum: Introduce Yourself

Welcome back!

In I'm Back. → 12 mos ago Forum: Introduce Yourself

Welcome back.

In The 100 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@HyliaIncarnate alr 

In The 100 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

CHARACTER APPLICATION

"From the ashes, we rise."




BASICS
Full Name: Sebastian Elias Cole
Nicknames/Aliases: Seb.
Age: 17
Gender/Pronouns: Male / he/him
Sexuality:Heterosexual
Faction: The 100
Clan (if Grounder): N/A
Face Claim or Description:


Caucasian, light brown hair, ice-blue eyes. About 5’11” with a lean, slightly muscular build. Quiet guy who doesn’t talk much because he was born without a voice box, so he uses a speech synthesizer and gestures to communicate.





PERSONALITY
MBTI or Alignment (optional): ISTP / Chaotic Neutral
Key Traits: Quiet, observant, independent, calm, stubborn
Strengths: Good at fixing things, thinks quickly, stays calm in tough situations
Flaws: Doesn’t open up much, hard to trust, sometimes pushes people away
Fears: Being helpless, being misunderstood
Goals: To prove he can handle himself and survive, without relying on anyone else
Brief Personality Overview:
Sebastian is the kind of guy who watches a lot and talks very little. Since he can’t speak, he’s learned to communicate with gestures and a device that talks for him. He’s pretty independent and doesn’t like depending on others. He can come off as distant, but he just isn’t good at showing what he feels. He’s tough, but there’s a part of him that just wants to belong.



HISTORY
Birthplace: The Ark, Factory Station
Family Ties: Mom died when he was young, dad disappeared or worse, no siblings
Crimes (if part of The 100): Got in trouble for messing with some tech systems without permission — more curiosity than anything bad
Key Events:
Sebastian was born without a voice box, so he’s always had to find other ways to get by. After losing his mom and with no family to turn to, he spent a lot of time tinkering with machines to keep busy and stay out of trouble. He got caught trying to access some restricted systems, which wasn’t to hurt anyone, just to understand how things worked. Now he’s part of The 100 and has to figure out how to survive on the ground.



SKILLS & ABILITIES
Combat Experience: Not much — tries to avoid fights whenever possible.
Survival Skills: Can fix and hack machines, decent at sneaking around, knows some basic first aid.
Other Talents: Good at problem-solving and figuring stuff out, really observant, uses nonverbal communication well.
Weapons (if any): Carries a small knife mostly for utility, not for fighting.



RELATIONSHIPS & CONNECTIONS
Allies: none currently 
Enemies: none currently  
Romantic Interests (past or potential): None

In The 100 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

I’ve also Got a question: since basically everyone in the 100 universe is a city level character in powerscaling, are our characters city level as well? or are we basing this off realism because in the tv show basically everyone is superhuman but I do hope that it is realism because gallivanting around and doing insane feats kinda takes the fun out of well the idea of a rp.

In The 100 → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

I can’t exactly explain it but I guess it’s like a partial piece of a voice box  but it can only say built in words

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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