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.
Posted by arrowatch on Feb 3, 2011 15:08:12 GMT -6
Guest
Anthony watched the sanctuary. Various mutants milled about him in the cold, but none of them bothered him. There was kind of an unspoken rule. You don't screw with other mutants outside The Sanctuary. Hopefully. Anthony came dressed in his high line fashion, layered properly for warmth. Thank god for my fur, or I'd have to wear a beanie or something stupid. He still felt a little cold, but not much.
Clever little thoughts crawled around in his synaptic attic, but nothing came downstairs. The mission was in jeopardy. Mostly because he couldn't remember why he came to the Sanctuary. But his subconscious, and hastily written plans on a cocktail napkin, were very convinced that it started here. His last visit to the Sanctuary had educated him. Now, it was time for... something.
Anthony pulled his wallet out of a back pocket, and began rifling through the contents. Anthony was carrying bribe money, cab fare, and money for food. He had some contact lists, some business cards, and an almost filled Buy 10, get one Free card from a coffee shop. The bar napkin was nowhere to be found.
Sighing, Anthony looked around for a place to sit. But there wasn't really anything. Wandering over to one side, Anthony pulled a cell and began messing around, hoping something would catch his attention and jog his memory. Or, really, anything to happen. New York, late December, is not a warm place to wait around.
It was her birthday. Well, technically it was two days after her birthday. But that wasn't the point. She was officially legal! So why wasn't she excited or even the slightest bit happy? Why was she in her room, lying face down on her bed feeling miserably sorry for herself? She was supposed to be surrounded by friends and throwing a wild party. She wasn’t supposed to be crying, all by her lonesome... “And I hate being here.” She declared, wiping her face on her pillow,
Teenage angst at its finest.
After ten more minutes of self-pity she climbed off her bed and stormed into her bathroom. Ugh, enough feeling sorry for yourself! Get off your bum and go do something fun! Who cares if all of your friends are back home and you're here all alone? Who cares if they all think you've abandoned them? Obviously talking to herself wasn’t helping. Lydia wiped off the black tear streaks on her face, and grabbed her make-up bag. She was going out, no matter how depressed she felt. In fact, she was going to do something crazy.
“I’m getting a tattoo,” she told the mirror. Her reflection replied with a reckless grin. She re-ringed her eyes with dark black and straightened out her outfit. Five minutes later she was out on the street in front of the golden Sanctuary doors. Crap, Lydia, you don’t have any money. Brilliant. “Damn.” Now I have to go grab some.
Posted by arrowatch on Feb 5, 2011 17:57:13 GMT -6
Guest
Anthony looked around. There really wasn't a point in trying anything clever today. But giving up didn't sound like any fun, either. Someone would entertain him. Perhaps they might even pick a fight!
Looking around, he looked for someone interesting. But, they were probably all mutants. And mutants are a dangerous lot, full of lighting and fire and other queer and odd abilities. Deffinitely not safe. Besides, if the Sanctuary was where Meld spent time, then the last thing he needed was her idea of justice.
The thoughts of the plan evaporated as Anthony spotted a woman on a mission. She was wearing something just on the otherside of ugly. It was very early 80's. Like somthing out of a Depeche Mode concert.
It was clearly a cry for help. Or mercy. Lord forgive her, she knows not what she does. Clearly.
It took considerable effort not to shrug it off and leave her like so many other culture hang overs from a terrible time in American history. No, Anthony had been placed exactly where he was supposed to be. He could make a difference.
"Excuse me! Miss! Would you kindly step over here? I'd like to have a word with you about your... unique outfit."
Lydia scoped the area around her for a suitable target. You do realize you’re in front of the Sanctuary, which is basically a homeless shelter for mutants? Good luck finding someone who even owns a wallet. Many of the people milling around the building were indeed residents or mutants thinking about residency. Some of them looked like they had rolled right off the street, which was probably, unfortunately true.
She moved the collar of her coat closer to her face to block the wind hitting her neck and let out a sigh. She had no idea what she was doing.
>> "Excuse me! Miss! Would you kindly step over here? I'd like to have a word with you about your... unique outfit."
Lyd turned to face the source of the voice. He was a…actually, she had no idea what he was. Well, other than the obvious fact that he was a mutant, what with his furry, well, everything. But was he supposed to be an animal or what? “Erm, what? My outfit?” The fuzzy man’s tone indicated that he wasn’t going to say anything positive about the eighteen-year-old’s clothes. Okay, so she had kind of just thrown something together in her haste to get out. No offense, but I’d rather be wearing what I’m wearing than what this guy’s wearing. Fur is not hot. Although it did look like he was warm. The skin-shifter shivered, suddenly wishing she had something like that to keep her warm.
Posted by arrowatch on Feb 8, 2011 20:17:59 GMT -6
Guest
"Erm, what? My outfit?"
Anthony watched her watch him. It was strangely circular feeling, but that was fine. Best to live by example. He touched the edge of his collar, feeling the soft and smooth strength of the well tailored silk. Taking a moment to straighten his cuff, he looked her up and down again.
"Yes. Your outfit. It's... I don't really know what to tell you. It's not the worst thing I've ever seen, but it is terrible. How old are you? Don't answer that, it's a rhetorical question. You are definitely old enough to dress better."
Anthony took a second to look at her face. "And you aren't bad looking, why are you hiding yourself behind some industrial grunge black hole to glam rock look? And that coat. It's nice, but why is it with those clothes?"
Anthony tutted to himself and looked again. "You don't need my help. No, you could survive on your own quite well, I imagine. But what kind of life could you lead? There isn't a decent bar in a hundred miles that'd let you in dressed like that. I'd know, I've been to them all."
Anthony sighed. "What could possible be so important that you went out dressed like this?"
>> "Yes. Your outfit. It's... I don't really know what to tell you. It's not the worst thing I've ever seen, but it is terrible.
“Hey, there’s no need to be—“
>> “How old are you? Don't answer that, it's a rhetorical question. You are definitely old enough to dress better."
…who is this guy? After a moment, Lydia decided that she wouldn’t take offense at what the furry-man was saying. He was kind of funny. She would be amused.
>> "And you aren't…could you lead?"
She was a little overwhelmed after the man was finally done speaking. “Um, thank you—I think?—first of all. And ah, I’ll be honest here, I was in a rush to get outside, and threw this together at the last minute. I mean, I’ll admit it’s not my best,” she said, glancing down at the parts of her cream skirt sticking out from under her unbuttoned, contrasting black coat, “But thank you oh wise, fashionable one, it is an honor to be in your presence, and an even greater honor to hear you say I’m not a lost cause.” Okay so she was being a little sarcastic.
>> “There isn't a decent bar in a hundred miles that'd let you in dressed like that. I'd know, I've been to them all.”
“I’m sure you have. And I get into bars fine, thank you very much, but I don’t go to bars dressed in regular street clothes.”
>> "What could possible be so important that you went out dressed like this?"
Lydia looked down at the ground for a moment, remembering why she was out in the first place. “I’m out because I’m sad, and need to do something to cheer myself up. I was thinking about getting a tattoo.” She left out the part about her lonely birthday, and the fact that all of her friends probably never wanted to see her again. She tried to keep a smile on.
Posted by arrowatch on Feb 11, 2011 20:29:13 GMT -6
Guest
Anthony realized something this woman had said didn't make sense. “I’m sure you have. And I get into bars fine, thank you very much, but I don’t go to bars dressed in regular street clothes.”
What did that mean, street clothes? You dressed yourself in order to walk the streets? Do you decide to change clothes before arriving to your destination? Was she hiding Tattoo Parlor clothes and Riding a Taxi clothes about herself?
Honestly, Anthony was pretty much certain that Street Clothes was a turn of phrase, like happy as a clam or green with envy. Street clothes are the same as Casual Attire, which is what Anthony wore. But even a plain white t and jeans were better than her idea of Street Clothes.
Maybe you were meant to drive on them?
“I’m out because I’m sad, and need to do something to cheer myself up. I was thinking about getting a tattoo.” Oh.
"I... I'm a little sorry, I guess. People think that someone as charming and handsome as myself don't know sadness." If a mutant could read minds, they would see more then they could handle. Despondent thoughts wandered his brain like wraiths in a Norseman's barrow. But something small and tenacious ate them, and Anthony laughed and smiled. "They would, of course, be right. Selfish people don't have time to be sad. Right, let's go get you that tattoo. And during that time, I will teach you. Not fashion, that airy, loose maiden who will sleep with anyone who notices her. No, I will be your Professor of Aesthetic Beauty. For example, look at me. Now imagine Lady Gaga or Kesha. Who is truly better looking?"
Anthony winked at the woman. "And guess who has a higher net worth."
>> "I... I'm a little sorry, I guess. People think that someone as charming and handsome as myself don't know sadness."
Lydia remained speechless. She was never speechless, ever. The furry mutant had actually rendered her mute. Was this guy being…serious? Or was he just really, really bad at sarcasm? The next things he said only served to compound her confusion.
>> “They would, of course, be right. Selfish people don't have time to be sad. Right, let's go get you that tattoo. And during that time, I will teach you. Not fashion, that airy, loose maiden who will sleep with anyone who notices her. No, I will be your Professor of Aesthetic Beauty.”
Dia blinked. She tilted her head as she stared at the stranger, completely unsure if she should be laughing or frowning or doing anything in reaction to what he was rambling about. “What…the hell are you talking—?”
>> ”For example, look at me. Now imagine Lady Gaga or Kesha. Who is truly better looking?"
Ooh, she didn’t even want to imagine this guy next to either of those women. Oh well, now she was imagining the furry mutant with a pink lightning bolt painted over his eye with silver glitter all over his fur, and ah…not the best mental imagery, but it did make her giggle. Hah, and imagine him in fishnets and ten-inch heels and a super short skirt…
>> “And guess who has a higher net worth."
He accompanied his words with a wink. A wink. This time Lydia reacted very distinctly, bending over with even more laughter. “Who are you, anyway? What’s your name?" She asked when she was done chuckling. She wiped away a stray tear and carefully de-smudged her thickly lined eyes. "I mean, I can't let a complete stranger take me to get my very first tattoo.”
Posted by arrowatch on Feb 22, 2011 20:30:29 GMT -6
Guest
Anthony felt chipper. He enjoyed making people laugh, and while he would rarely consider himself a humanitarian, watching a girl laugh was one of the prime reasons for living.
"Who are you, anyway? What’s your name?" Anthony smirked and raised an eyebrow at this. Everyone in this city was very much obsessed with asking other people who they were, and a dozen other random questions best answered within arms length of food or drink. "I mean, I can't let a complete stranger take me to get my very first tattoo.”
Anthony smiled his most handsome, winsome smile. The one that only went up on one side but showed plenty of little, sharp teeth, and had taken a few hours of practice in a mirror at a particularly dank little diner restroom somewhere outside of Soho but that had failed utterly to earn him a return smile from a somewhat dull and listless waitress when actually used. Possibly because of the implications of having spent a few hours in a particularly dank little diner restroom.
"Ah, my apologies." Anthony stuck out his hand. "I am Anthony. Some people call me terrible and hurtful nicknames, but I'm sure you won't. As to the tattoo in question, have you given it any thought about what you would like? And where you want to get it done?"
The stranger shot her something that sort of resembled a smile. Lydia was too focused on his sharp, sharp teeth to really give thought to what it really was. They were kind of cool and kind of scary at the same time, what with them being all gleaming and pointy. She smiled at the man as he introduced himself, and accepted his hand, his incredibly furry hand. The soft fur distracted her from the fact that she was actually shaking someone’s appendage. Handshakes were weird and awkward, in the skin-shifter’s opinion, so she usually strayed from that sort of contact.
“Anthony, that’s a nice name,” she replied pleasantly as she let go of his hand, “I’m Lydia. It’s nice to meet you.”
>> "Some people call me terrible and hurtful nicknames, but I'm sure you won't.”
She felt a twang of sympathy and empathy when she heard the other mutant’s words. She definitely was not going to call him anything mean, at least nothing in relation to his mutation. People who did that deserved a special sort of hell.
>> “As to the tattoo in question, have you given it any thought about what you would like? And where you want to get it done?”
“Um…” Lydia had not in fact given any thought to what she would like to get, much less where she’d like to get it. She supposed she should’ve done all that planning before stomping out of the Sanctuary. “To be honest I have no clue, for either of those…Err, do you happen to know any good places?” Well, she felt like an idiot now. Great. You have no idea what you’re doing.
Posted by arrowatch on Mar 8, 2011 22:02:40 GMT -6
Guest
Anthony enjoyed a moment of peace. Without a pair of dark sunglasses, the effect was probably muted somewhat. The cold was not at all mitigated by the annoying winter sun. A cab dropped an older couple off across the street. Apparently there was a graveyard somewhere around here. Or something. Not that it was of any import.
The wind was a little chilly. People milled about. The lightest hint of wet earth tickled Anthony's nose. A purpose built itself a fox hole in Anthony's soul. Adventure was to be had, and a little thing in the corner of Anthony's mind relished the thought.
"I am. Therefore, I think. And to think is to do. An imperfect plan now is better than a perfect plan too late. We'll take that cab to Times Square. Once there, we shall find a tattoo parlor." Anthony felt something grand swelling in the air about them, a fervor of purpose. It was good to have a plan again.