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.
The door to the bar swung open, and three men stepped out into the glow of the streetlights. It was a Friday night. Midnight. Prime drinking time, but a glance through the door of this dive didn't show any young couples or groups of friends out on the town. Well, not the usual sorts, any way.
Cop bars just didn't attract the usual crowd.
"Ha!" Chortled the man still leaning heavily on his friend. "God, Rupert, we need to hang out more. Just 'cause you ain't one of us anymore, it doesn't mean you ain't one of us. You get me?"
"I better get McKinley home," said the man propping the other up. "You going to be okay, Rup? You need a lift? We could pool for a cab."
"I'll be fine. My apartment's only a few blocks," said the third.
"You sure? What about..."
"I'm thirty-three, Calvin, not seventy-three. It's a nice night. I'll walk it."
"Sure, Rup. Don't be a stranger, okay?"
The third man waved a hand over his shoulder, then set his cane to the pavement, and started walking. It was slow going; by the time his friends had hailed a cab, he was only half a block off. His breath came in shallow wheezes.
Four blocks to go. Four. New York. Blocks. You now what would make them seem shorter?
He looked back over his shoulder. The cab carrying his former co-workers was nothing but red taillights blurring with the rest of the late night traffic.
Rupert looked back up the street. Another half a block, and he'd be able to duck into another bar for round two. It was a Friday night. Midnight. In New York City, the bars didn't close until four.
The body crashed against the wall and fell to the floor either unconscious or dead. Monstrosity lifted another man into the air and let rip with his three other arms, hearing snaps and cracks the entire way through. He let the body drop and slump to the floor. He turned to the other four men, each had armed themselves, one had a bat, another had some sort of blade, the third pulled out a small handgun and the fourth wielded a crowbar. James selected his target.
The young man with the firearm pointed it at Monstrosity. "I'll shoot man...I swear I will. Just let us leave." Monstrosity stepped towards the men. He glared down at the man with the gun who still hadn't taken the shot and was shaking terribly. James' bottom right arm reached for the gun, taking it off the man and squeezing tightly. It was useless now. The men scattered and a smile became painted on his face.
"Damn Protesters."
James walked over to each other the bodies and searched them. He got the wallets and he knew exactly where all this money would go. It could on on a room or food or medicine. No it's going on drink. Monstrosity walked down the side walk just searching for a bar, or better yet a bar he'd get served in. He eventually found one and he ducked through the door. "Get me whatever is your strongest."
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Oct 14, 2012 10:51:58 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
"Get me whatever—" A man a few seats down the bar said, sliding onto a stool with a grateful wheeze. He flicked a glance over to the freak who'd ordered before him, and gave a snort. "Heh. What the mutie said, but make it scotch."
As the barkeep moved to get both their drinks, Rupert leaned his cane up against the counter and slid out his wallet. He tossed a credit card on the counter. Joints like this, you either paid in cash up front, or you opened a tab like a good little all-nighter. Bartenders weren't stupid enough to try wait until the end of the night to come collecting. Especially not bartenders who let the amazing four-armed hulk sit front and center at their counter. Not that the barkeep had much choice; New York State law didn't allow for discrimination against the genetically challenged. At least, not since the Registration Act.
The man slid Rupert his scotch, and set another glass of something in front of Jazz Hands.
Rupert took a long swallow. The Registration Act; those had been good days. Find a mutie getting into trouble, haul him off to the Camps: simple.
He eyed his neighbor at the counter, with all the subtly of a man who's already halfway into his drinking for the night. Now there was a guy who looked like trouble. Didn't seem like the sort who could tell a shower from a storm drain; shared fashion tips with Hobo Tarzan. Yet here he was, able to pay for his drinks like a respectable citizen. In cash, he bet.
Right. What respectable citizen's pockets had he found that pocket change laying in? Rupert gave a little snort into his glass, then turned his gaze to a spot behind the counter. Wouldn't want to offend the delicate muscleman's sensibilities by staring too long. What a crying shame that would be.
James didn't even notice the rest of the bar patrons as he marched in, it was only when he saw the drink be placed in front of him that he noticed the man to his side. He seemed to be staring at him, Monstrosity got a lot of people staring at him these days. They usually looked away eventually if they weren't stupid. Monstrosity opened one of the wallets and placed the money onto the bar. The more perceptive of the patrons would notice a drivers licence in the wallet.
Monstrosity attempted to lift up the glass. He was obviously strong enough but the glass was small and he didn't want to break it. James' large hand clutched around the glass and he heard a noise and the glass shattered in his hand. A sigh escaped hi lips as if this happened way too often to be anything other than typical.
Posted by Rupert Kelley on Oct 21, 2012 11:08:14 GMT -6
Haven
Member of Haven
Bi
822
9
Aug 29, 2018 17:15:00 GMT -6
Calley
Rupert didn't stare; oh no. But a guy can't help but snort into his glass, when he's just heard a good joke. Beast Without the Beauty over there had just pulverized his cup. Would the barkeep put it on the guy's tab? That right there was the question—if any old human broke a cup, sure. But when the guy who broke bar property looked like he'd grafted a pair of shaved gorilla arms under his own? Well, that was a whole different thing. Racism: see? Racism meant that muties could get away with just about anything, if they looked big, tough, and dumb enough.
Like petty theft. Muggings. Murder.
"Maybe you should try a straw, Jazz Hands." Rupert said, in a tone of friendly advice. He tilted his glass back for another swallow, then added, with all the finesse in the world: "Nice DMV pic, by the way. Most people's make them look like crap, but yours? That was quite the improvement."
