ChronicleMan — Roleplayer Guild

Last Seen: 19 days ago
Joined: 2 yrs ago
Posts: 357 (0.60 / day)
VMs: 3
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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 Black Veil → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

<Snipped quote by ChronicleMan>

Well I don’t have it, but I could get it@Adeline

If you want too.

In The Black Veil → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@ChronicleMan

Meh, I don't care for Discord but I do have an account just in case. One of my RPs uses the PMs as a group chat and it's worked just fine.@Xandrya

PMs usally take a hundred twenty years to respond but I'd be down for it.

In The Black Veil → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@Xandrya@frankieg@Doughboy@Tally Dor@Adeline

You guys think this should have a discord or nah? it wouldn't be mandatory to join it.

In The Black Veil → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

I'm so interested! So here's my character. Let me know if I need to change anything. (Also this is my first time on this site, so if I mess up somehow, let me know!)

Friedrich Schmidt



Gender: Man
Age: 32
Nationality: German
Appearance:pinterest.com/pin/759278818467764799
Personal Effects:
His father's WWI trench watch
Simple wallet. Inside: hospital ID card, government ID card, the German Pharmaceutical Society membership card, photo of his parents
Small leather folio. Inside: pharmacy license, some medical reference pages, pencil, small notebook, simple business cards
Matches
Handkerchief
Pocket knife
Keys to his apartment and necessary hospital areas

Background:

What is your job Pharmacist at a hospital; medication dealer on the black market
Backstory
Born in 1915 to Wilhelm (bricklayer) and Margarete (seamstress) Schmidt, Friedrich grew up in Berlin. His father was fighting in WWI as an infantryman when he was born. Being born into a working-class family, Friedrich finished primary school at age 14 (1929), at which point, he began an apprenticeship under a local pharmacist. The pharmacist, Schulz, agreed to take Friedrich on because he knew Friedrich's father; Wilhelm had worked on repairing his building years prior. During his apprenticeship, Friedrich attained more freedom from his parents. When he wasn't working and studying, he frequented local bars with his friends. The teen was introduced to Berlin's gay bar scene, which thrived before the Nazis took over. Friedrich began to question and explore his sexuality, finding himself more at home in gay clubs. He even heard of an institute started by Magnus Hirschfeld to help queer people and spread awareness of topics such as sex and sexuality. However, German society still looked down on gay people at the time, so Friedrich hid this side of himself for fear of losing his apprenticeship and family. In 1933 at age 18, he finished his apprenticeship, continuing to work at Schulz's pharmacy. They had a good professional relationship, and Friedrich wished to learn more from his mentor. Unfortunately, around that time, the Nazis took control. It was then that Hirschfeld's institute and various gay scenes were raided and destroyed, pushing Friedrich further and further into isolation. For fear of being arrested, the young closeted gay man now steered clear of the gay scenes. Unfortunately for him, someone in the neighborhood recognized Friedrich had been hanging around a known homosexual and reported him. The Gestapo interrogated Friedrich, suspecting him of being a homosexual himself. Fearing for his own safety and attempting to divert suspicion, Friedrich outed a friend, Klaus Schneider, to the Gestapo, a decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Klaus disappeared after that. Then, when Friedrich was 24, WWII began, at which point he was forced into the military as a medic based on his pharmacist experience. He spent the war in various parts, tending to wounded soldiers first in France and then on the Eastern front. His father, Wilhelm stayed in Berlin to help repair infrastructure after air raids, while his mother, Margarete, used her seamstress skills to give aid to the hospitals in the area. By the time the war ended, both of Friedrich's parents had died from the air raids, leaving him with no immediate family on his return. Due to the ruined state of Germany after the war, Friedrich wasn't any better off than his parents. He managed to get a cramped apartment with a few other veterans and a job at a hospital. Still, the young man needed extra money, so he's been selling various medications on the black market to make ends meet.
@frankieg

Accepted, post in char section.

In this or that → 12 mos ago Forum: Spam Forum

Sweet tea

Sweet tea or Cherry coke.

In SCP RP Interest Check → 12 mos ago Forum: General Interest Checks

Time for me to research the SCP univere YET AGAIN.

In The Black Veil → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Conner Maybank

Gender: Male
Age: 37
Nationality: American

Appearance:
5’11", light brown curly hair, cut short but always looks a bit wild like it dried wrong. Clean shaven, ice blue eyes, kinda sharp face but doesn’t look like he’s tryin’ to be intimidating. Lean, but wiry strong—like someone who’s been hauling gear since before it mattered. Moves casual, never too fast, never too loud. Clothes change depending on what he’s doing or who he’s gotta deal with. Usually something with deep pockets and not too many buttons.

Personal Effects:

•Lighter (silver Zippo, beat to hell but still works)

•Pocket compass (off-center needle, mostly reliable)

•Crumpled map of Berlin, marked in pencil

•A few sticks of gum (he says it's American, but it tastes like chalk)

•Folded photo—two kids and a woman, maybe a sister, maybe not. Never says.

•Pencil nub and a little notepad with a lot of half-erased stuff

Background:

What is your job:
Whatever pays. Runs courier jobs sometimes, handles logistics for the Americans when they don’t feel like lifting things, and helps translate when there’s nobody else. Sometimes just finds things for people—documents, bottles, people, places. Not a spy, not a cop, just a guy who knows how to move through the city without getting stuck.

Backstory:
Kentucky born. Farm kid turned soldier. Enlisted before Pearl Harbor ‘cause he thought it’d be something different. It was. Served through France, Italy, into Germany. Could’ve gone home after the war, but didn’t. Not ‘cause of some deep trauma, just… didn’t feel like home anymore.

Berlin’s busted and weird, but it makes a kind of sense. At least it doesn’t pretend to be okay. He gets by with odd jobs, knows which doors not to knock on, and where

In What Are You Listening To? → 12 mos ago Forum: Off-Topic Discussion

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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ChronicleMan Member

The Man The Myth The Legend

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