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.
(OOC: To be narrated by Humphry Bogart. Have fun with this guys ^^)
The big apple. New York city. If it was an apple then it hung, fat and heavy on the bough of America. On the outside it shone brightly with the gleam of words like Hope and Freedom. “And Justice For All” painted on by simple-minded men. Beneath the wallpaper-thin skin of lies was the truth. The rotten core, hollowed out by the maggots of humanity, determined to eat away at the dream. And in this big, juicy apple of humanity, there is a man. Walking alone on a night nobody ought be walking at all.
It was a dark night. The kind of night that you look back and regret your actions. The kind of night the cops want to know where you were, say 11 pm. Dark as coffee, and just as bitter. The rain was falling, harbinger of a storm. The hard rain, that pounded on the city like artillery and swept the trash out of the gutters. Except that in New York the gutters were already overflowing with trash. Especially on a night like this. To them, the rain was shelter. Protection. Solace. The Man wouldn’t get them in the rain. He wouldn’t get his nice shiny boots wet just to pick up the trash. But the trash was always wet, and only saw the Man’s boots from underneath. Where he never bothered to shine. So on a night like tonight, the trash from all the gutters was swept out into the streets…
Nathan walked the street with heavy feet. He didn’t know where he was going, but he was going there slowly. The click of his feet on the sidewalk was barely audible over the roaring of the traffic and the drumming of the storm. It was a jungle. Glass and concrete instead of trees and dirt, but it was a jungle. Just as savage. More. The city lied to you. It lured you in with the promise of civilisation. Safety. In the jungle, at least you know you’re food. In the city, you just get eaten. And the predators can come in many shapes and sizes.
He walked past the night workers. The corner-markets that trade in drugs just as fiercely as wall street trades in stocks. With a better economy. The gangs that run their turf like a private empire. The whores that work their Johns, doing a 9-5, and then sleeping as the sun comes up. The vampires of New York. To watch the night-shift of the city was to see the sum total of humanity in its basest form. Fear. Envy. Lust. Old friends.
He kept to the shadows and hugged the buildings like a lover. Brushing against the stone like a tender caress. He saw lights in the windows, flickering through shuttered blinds. The stories of a million people in a million different rooms. Behind locked doors. Where he ought to be. Locked away, keeping the rest of the world from him and him from the rest of the world. Because he wasn’t a safe man to be around. Not any more. He killed a man last week. No great loss to mankind. Not a great brain. Not a writer, or a musician, or an actor. Enough to shake the conscience of a dumb kid who didn’t know any better. He knew himself better.
And then he saw her. A splash of crimson in this monochrome world. Standing in the shadows in a phone box. A real high-class dame, with a face that wouldn’t give you the time of day, but a guy’d do time any day for just a smile. Yeah, she was a looker all right. And the look she had was a sad one. Drumming on the window of the phone booth like she was the only soul in the world. Or the only one worth caring about. She had problems. That made her human. Most everybody in this city had problems. That’s why they were here. Misery loves company and New York will serve up plenty of both.
She ran. Heels pounded pavement and the pavement pounded back up her spine with every step. It wasn't a good night to be alone. Not that she couldn't handle alone. She'd come into this world that way and she'd certainly leave it just the same. Alone. Like the man she'd left just moments ago. Like the key that thwacked against her skin with every step. Alone.
The benefit soiree had been a real success. Mutants were helping mutants and humans alike. Showing a good face and presenting grand opportunities to dress up and find someone else with just as big a heart as yours. Checkbooks had flashed out at the mention of need. No one wanted to be left out.
Soft, light words and soft, blonde curls meant Lori got what she wanted. She got what she wanted and she got out. And she ran.
The thunder clapped and the buildings bounced around the sound. She was running out of time. That was when she'd spotted it. A phone booth. A white tower. The door left ajar, hung at an odd angle but... it would have to do. She maneuvered it shut with some difficulty and not a moment too soon.
The sky opened up. Oh how she wished she could stand in it. Light flashed so severe that for a brief moment night was day. It reminded her why she shouldn't. Why she couldn't. Why she had to stay in her white tower. Thunder rattled the grimy door. She was so clean and pristine, she hated to touch anything at all, but...
Time passed...
And the rain wouldn't let up. She tapped her fingers on the glass and then pulled them back when she realized the stink of the city had stained them black. Water leaked in through the bottom of the booth from the torrents of rain. She didn't want to sit before, but now... now she hardly had the room to stand. Lori edged a silky red heel back from the edge of running water.
Member of the X-Men Mansion Swim Teacher MRC Detective
Seablue
Heterosexual
Married to Gemma
2,223
468
Apr 23, 2024 22:22:33 GMT -6
Jorge
”Watch your back, Cervantes.” “What? You don’t trust me?”
Heavy footfalls splashed through the thick puddles of pooled rain in the streets. The concrete drowned as falling shrapnel of water buffeted every corner of the dark gray city that rose up around him. The monoliths of cold, unfeeling concrete towered high with flat heads and points that seemed to hold up the sky. That was why the clouds cried. The city itself, this bed of stone and glass needles, stabbed and scratched the sky like a fiery hellcat.
“Not that Cervantes. Everyone is going to want a piece of that pie.” “It’s a party. Nobody would be that stupid.”
Sloosh, Sloosh…the man’s feet fought against the heavy, force of those desperate currents of rolling water, all of which clung to him like a begging vagrant before being washed further down the veins of the uncaring city. The water churned and swirled as he rolled, trash and debris caught up in its wake and following it down towards the gapping black smiles etched into the curbs of each and every sidewalk. This is what happens to those begging, detached elements whom have fallen into this city from great heights; they get drunk up, swallowed into the abyss that lay in the belly underneath the skin of the city of New York, like a glass of fine gin between the lips of a broken, hopeless tramp.
And like a gutter bum, the gurgling city was ignored as he stormed on forward.
“If you think that…you don’t know this city.” “Just relax. Key is safe with me.”
His trench coat was soaked and hung limply down on his sides like the drowned wings of the bird. Tuxedo, once fresh, pressed down, and black as the deepest, darkest sewer now gleamed like a wet piece of obsidian caught in a river bed. Yet, despite the clinging, now ruined evening wear, the heavy, weighed down fabric of his coat and the marshes that now inhabited the inside of his shoes, he cared little about them. All those discomforts, all those things which normally make a modern man cringe, were washed away along with the rain down into the underbelly of the city. There was only one thing on his mind…
Earlier…
He felt the sensation that occurs when a true vision appears. That sucker punch to the stomach, the gentle escape of breath, the wobble in one knee, the fog inside of his skull…it was like Death had crept up behind his back, trickled up his spine and tapped him on shoulder for attention. Only one thing could produce that type of effect in a man. The one thing that any self-respecting man were truly powerless against…a woman.
It was not so much her curves that enticed him at first glance…it was the flash of red; the crimson blanket that flew straight into his eyes and wrapped his brain in a satin cloth that tickled with so much of a turn of his head and filled it with a passionate warmth and devilish whispers. It was the dress that he would remember most of all, one that made the entrance into the party first and pulled the woman it was attached to after.
The rest of was a haze. The bounce of soft, golden spun curls, the risen edge of ruby red lips, and the crack of a pearly white smile accompanied with an angel’s eyes that seemed to stare directly into the heart of anyone whom they laid upon. No man could resist this siren…and Cervantes, the man trapped in this odyssey, was just as much a victim.
Before he knew it, through the throng of contributors and party goers, through the thick smell of cigar smoke, and whiff of alcohol in the air, those luscious golden curls and that painted on red dress appeared and moved the sea of black and elegant clothing. He watched as the angel in red stepped forward, eyes intent and focused on the stubble faced and hard eyed detective. There was no shy looking away or mistaken identity. Their eyes locked like steel as the gap between them was bridged with each one of her steps. Then, before they knew it, he watched her lurch forward. “Clumsy feet” had sent her sprawling, his angel now fallen…but into his quick arms.
He felt the warm body, almost as warm as the fiery red in her dress as she was pressed against him, cradled in the safety of his arms. A soft chuckled was shared as he helped her up. Then, winked and blown kiss, she had spun and disappeared.
The siren’s call waned…the magical of the ethereal red dress dissipated…and his pocket felt just a miniscule bit lighter…
His angel…had been a succubus all along…
Now…
Eyes hard, focused in blackness of the crying night, the stoic detective looked into the harsh shadowed world around him, looking for that one thing. The one marker that push his feet forward…then he saw it. Trapped in a cage of glass and illuminated by the harsh, unforgiving light…he saw Red.
A city is a living thing, and New York is no exception. It moves. It heats up, and slows down on hot days. It breathes in hopes and breathes out pollution, great heaving black belches of car exhaust, factory runoff and human tears. Unlike most living things, however, no city truly ever sleeps. Stuffed to the brim with the parasites that sustain it, the city nourishes and feeds us in return. It’s a mother to some, a father to others, but home to us all. God help us.
The city was cleansing itself tonight. The water forming an impromptu riviera as it commandeered the city’s streets and alleys to serve as makeshift waterways and estuaries. The cars were the rocks, safe from the insipid delta of filth that the city was drenching itself in. Pour as much water on the scum as you like, it will always float to the top…
Nathan picked his foot out of the street-long puddle, huddling his coat closer. Still the rain fell. A drop for every sin the city had borne witness to. There was a lot to wash away and it wasn’t done yet. Nor was Nathan. Footsteps heading from the gloom ahead. A figure lit in a flash from the angry sky. Coat wrapped around him, mirroring Nathan’s approach towards the phonebox.
The booth stood alone, a glass sentinel braving the rising water. It offered a haven for the woman in red. And what a woman. Her figure hugging red dress was calling the rain. Nathan saw her edge back and away from the flooding water. Nice shoes. Pricey. Upmarket. Her outfit cost more’n he’d make in a year, and she wore it uncomfortably. Out on a night like tonight, she had a story to tell, and her body was an ample prologue. Nathan was witness to her discomfort. A high-class dame in distress. Well, now at least he knew where he was walkin’ tonight.
He stepped up to the glass and rapped on the side, sending a scatter of raindrops and changing the braille script that they had been marking out in the shadows. “You in some kind of trouble, lady? It’s not a good night to be out alone.” The weather gave him punctuation, driving the point home with a flash of lightning. A flash that illuminated the other player in the scene, now closer than ever, lit up in a dark silhouette, stealing Nathan’s attention away from the scarlet broad in front of him. As he looked, the darkness reclaimed the figure and he shrugged his focus back to the phone box. The walls started dripping water through like a paper cup and he saw some of the raindrops were rolling down the inside of the window.
The thunder had her on edge. It reminded her of shouting. And danger. Thunder always meant danger.
Rapping knuckles caught her by surprise. She'd seen hints of people scuttling past in a fair imitation of the cockroach but for the most part these streets were empty. The blonde certainly hadn't suspected anyone to come see her. To come tap on the glass of her zoo cage.
And she really hated surprises.
Especially when they made her gasp or when she sounded helpless or in need of help. She was a strong, independent woman... who happened to be incapable of operating in wet conditions and who just so happened to be afraid of thunder. Didn't make her any less capable... unless she was in circumstances like these.
> “You in some kind of trouble, lady? It’s not a good night to be out alone.”
A throaty chuckle and her fingers tangled in her hair. What could she do? She might as well spring a cot and order take out. "You don't know the half—" There was something in his eyes. He wasn't looking at her just now he was looking... She whipped her head around and at the end of a lightning flash she saw a figure. Trench coat. Tux. A whole slew of unlady-like words passed behind her eyes and her hand moved to her lips in almost a self-hushing way. There was so much she couldn't say and absolutely no time in which to say it all.
"I can't get wet." She put her hand on the glass just under this stranger's. She could stand it for a time, contact with the glass, but it was like a ticking time bomb before her power would start to leak out. Given the circumstances she would need every drop of charge. "And I think that man followed me. I have to get out of here. A confrontation..." Thunder jangled the glass under her hand making her draw in her breath again.
She was leaking. How could she help it with her nerves all frayed? Little biting currents ran through the glass and started to polarize the metal of the phone booth. The blonde in the red dress had a slight problem with over affectionate lightning. Charging the metal was as good as opening her arms to it.
"It's not safe here." The words fell, a portent of doom.
Member of the X-Men Mansion Swim Teacher MRC Detective
Seablue
Heterosexual
Married to Gemma
2,223
468
Apr 23, 2024 22:22:33 GMT -6
Jorge
Women. If there were one thing that Jorge had always been warned about…it was the fairer, gentle sex known as women. They could be as warm and affectionate as a thick blanket on the coldest, most bitter night of your life…and then, with the last flip of a gambler’s coin, they could transform into a hailstorm of bitter cold with but a glare in their eyes. He should have remembered those rules tonight, but lady luck had decided to place all the chips against him. What else was new?
In the rain, the water soaked through his clothes, leaving expanded patterns of wet that practically encompassed his entire body in designs. But even as he stood there and wore the water like a second skin under his clothes, he did not care. He was on the hunt and already his prey stood out from the towering shadows of black and dirty gray, a sore thumb wrapped in a red cloth of sin.
“There you are,” was all he said as he stood that stare the encased beauty, a thieving Snow White trapped in her cage of glass.
Again he started his trek.
Feet sloshed through the cold, damp water in the streets, rivers of rolling water falling down across his forehead, past his nose and off the stubbled forest that lay across his chin. His arms swung with determination as he relentless wadded through the drowning streets that begged, no pleaded for him to sink down into the depths with it. But he ignored the tears, the howls of the wind, the screams of the thunder above. This city in agony as it was forced into this baptism from above fell on his deaf years. He only had one thing on his mind.
“I want that key,” he said as he started to move a little faster now.
As he got closer to the glass cage, amidst the flashes of light that tore the sky open above their heads, he noticed someone else there. A younger person, probably no older than a kid. Why was he out at this time? Didn’t he know the that this city eats those lost travelers alive, especially the young and ignorant? Then again, considering the trapped blonde…maybe the kid was just another innocent victim, another male who has fallen for the irresistible call and stare of the demon who hid behind the guise of a beautiful woman.
He did not stop in his quest anymore. He needed to get to that siren before she pulled yet another person astray. From here on, he bolted straight at the phone booth, his hands clenched as he aimed straight for the heavenly curvy body wrapped in the red dress.
Women. If there were one thing that Jorge had always been warned about…
