The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Cafas was radiantly happy. Things were falling into place, and very well at that. So well in fact, that he was outside, voluntarily outside, in the sun and all. The sun, it turned out, could be pleasantly warm on one's skin as one lay on the manicured lawn of a mansion, which was a school, which was a high tech super-hero group base. Something else was pleasantly warm as well, something in his hand. As it turned out, it was someone else’s hand. That hand was attached to an arm, and that arm to a guy. Cafas and said guy were on the lawn, voluntarily, picking shapes in the clouds and talking. Also holding hands. This made Cafas rather happy, the holding hands thing.
Oooh, cat, QUICK! SAY IT BEFORE HE DOES! ACCEPT NO DEFEAT!!!!!
"Cat, next to the play station controller." Victory conditions met. Cafas smiled. There was a groan of defeat and exclamations of "I was JUST about to say that." Music to his ears. He did not feel the need to rub it in though. Well, he did, but he refrained. "So you ever gonna tell me what made you change your mind?" he didn't expect an answer, one was not necessary. What he received instead was a shuffle closer and a glance that screamed 'does it really matter?' The truth was it did not, Cafas was happy with it all.
Mmmm, you see, I told you to be less of a reclusive ass, and now you're out in the sun, winning at life.
It was true; his life was rather full of win. Cafas pondered this and put it down to blind luck. Cafas felt another shuffle closer, to the point of touching, and a head on his shoulder. Cafas loved the smell that accompanied this movement, the other boys scent was definitely a good one. The head on his shoulder affectionately cheek brushed Cafas, much the same way as a cat would.
Easily one of the best days ever.
Cafas, after enjoying the smell and sensation for several minutes, sat up, propping himself up on an extended arm, and turned to face the other boy. "I'm so glad I met you." The other boy smiled back, eye contact was maintained, happy, potentially even loving eye contact, he into Cafas' red-ish eyes, Cafas into his green eyes. Green eyes, semi hidden behind golden blonde hair.
The sixteen year old came into the classroom without any actual school supplies: no backpack, no notebook, not even a pencil or pen. But he had a grin on his face to match the Jolly Roger on his shirt.
“Hey Calley—“
Bad start.
“Mister Murphy. You are fifteen minutes late.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. There was a line at McGrease King.” He did, however, have a medium vanilla shake in one hand. And the tendency to slip into the seat directly behind Calley’s.
This was a new tendency. This was a tendency that had only started about a week ago. Before then, summer school had been the usual assortment of idiots that knew exactly why they’d failed last semester (mostly: it was the teacher’s fault) and the few good students who’d just been sick or otherwise absent a bit too much. Calley had been horrified to find himself in the latter group, this year. It was bad enough that he was twenty-one and technically still a sophomore: he didn’t need to be pegged as a good little student, on top of that. There had been friendly and not-so-friendly ribbing. Just the usual.
Then Mr. Bryan Murphy had gotten a craving for Chinese.
“Hey Calley,” the kid said, leaning forward so that Calley’s personal space was just a happy wish, “your boyfriend is cheating on you.”
“Not. My boyfriend.” Calley turned a page, and kept working. Art History had never been so fascinating.
The Dragon Inn. It was a dingy and back-alley little place, but it was family owned and actually quite good. That’s where he’d taken Cafas. That’s where he’d failed to notice Mr. Bryan Murphy, tucked into one of the dingy booths in the back with a few friends. The laughing had just seemed like part of the white noise of the place.
“Dumped for a blonde, man. Ha! A blonde man. How does that feel?”
“Shouldn’t you be failing Chemistry again?”
It had been a good date lunch meal. No one had ended up crying or clawed up. Which was saying a lot, in their relationship roommateship. Some sweet and sour sauce may or may not have been spilled on Cafas, and some cat instincts may have briefly taken over, but by the end of the date bro outing it had been just water under the bridge.
Until Mr. Bryan Murphy had come in with a grin on Monday, and flipped open his cheap-ass cell phone. Turns out that cheap-ass photo quality could really make an innocent licking look a lot more... involved than it had really been.
“Bryan, lay off of him.” This would have been a helpful and supportive interjection, if his fellow student hadn’t gone on: “This whole Xavier’s Institute thing. S’about equality, right? Being gay is just as cool as turning into an ass, man.”
“Donkey. I turn into a donkey.”
“I’m not gay.”
They both may have been a little loud with their protests.
“Mister Murphy. Mister Swartz. Do you two need to get a room?”
...As the class dissolved into laughter, Calley remembered why he didn’t like teachers who tried to be funny.
“Mister Swartz, where are you going? You understand that without regular attendance, you will not receive credit—“
“Whatever.”
It should have been easier to breathe outside. It really should have been. But there was Cafas on the lawn. And there was a little something with blonde hair snuggled up against him. None of Calley’s forms had that golden shade, that catch-the-sun-and-shine shade. He had Bengal orange and tabby ginger; he had snowshoe pale and canary yellow. But at the end of the day, he was the non-descript dark-haired Italian boy in the land of non-descript dark-haired Italian boys.
Freaking blondes. Never mind that the guy was a guy: blonde was overrated, no matter your gender. Calley hadn’t pegged Cafas as the blonde type. He should have known.
But really: whatever.
The grin on his face was perfectly and absolutely sincere as he casually strolled over. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” So, so sincere. “Going to introduce us, Cafas?”
Why was there a shadow? Would it be more mocking? Let it come, for one, the last person to try had the amazing mutation of turning into an ass, which wasn't that much of a shift as a manifestation of his personality. It isn't exactly hard to think of a retort to 'gay' when someone turned into an ass. Cafas braced for whatever they were about to throw at him.
Getting used to it by now anyway.
What followed the arrival of the shadow was not the expected jeering. It was more in the way of a friendly greeting from someone Cafas had, for the most part, been leaving out of his affairs when it came to dating. Pleasantly surprised by the happiness of the tone Cafas rolled onto his back and sat up properly. "Oh hey Calley! Nah not interrupting anything at all. This is Alex, Alex, this is Caleb Swartz, my sometimes roommate." Who Cafas could have sworn had a class that day. He felt no need to voice that for the moment however.
So this is nice...
A lean, a whisper, a pause. Cafas was both irritated and confused by the whispering. For all Alex was cute and on the whole awesome, he had a way of prodding nerves. Cafas whispered back. "He isn't my Ex, we never dated, and I imagine he's here because we happen to be friends." The whisper, perhaps too loud, especially when dealing with someone who could on a whim develop cat ears, carried the note f frustration. Cafas had not figured Alex for the jealous type, not at all. Cafas, to further his argument in what was hopefully a subtle way, addressed Calley once more. "So, what's up?" His eloquence was near Shakespearian.
Alex. Why hello, Alex. Yes, this was Caleb Swartz. Cafas’ sometimes roommate.
What an eloquent, concise, and entirely factual stating of their relationship. What was that, Alex, with the whispering? Such a suspicious boy.
>> "He isn't my Ex.”
Because they’d never dated.
>> “We never dated.”
Exactly. They were in agreement, here.
>> “And I imagine he's here because we happen to be friends."
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now. Weren’t they just roommates, after all? Just sometimes roommates.
>> "So, what's up?"
God, Pinky was cheerful today. Must be the new arm candy.
“Nothing much. Just passing through, on my way to ditching summer school.” The pair were graced with a purr-ful smile and ears slanted just the slightest innocuous bit back. When Calley had grown the cat ears was a matter of debate. Perchance it coincided with the unhappy whispering.
Not that he cared what Blondie had to say.
“I’ll just leave you two lovebirds alone,” he smiled. “Don’t forget to put a sock on the door knob. And the window sill.”
With a toodles wiggle of his fingers and a parting grin, Calley continued his stroll, a sleek black tail swishing idly behind him. When he’d grown the tail was another question.
Exactly five minutes after the cat boy left their sight, a red hawk flew overhead, casting a shadow over the sunbathing couple. From out of the cloudless sky fell a large wet drop.
