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 Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
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.
Mathew was wide-eyed, watched everyone rush about and scream advice. He looked back down at Shya, knowing he still had her hand, and he despaired as he saw Deathstar rush off after Pitbull. He wanted to scream, 'Wait!' but he knew he couldn't.
Breathless, despite lack of any physical exertion, he looked back at this new man, shaking his head slightly. He seemed to know what he was doing; Mathew cringed as he watched him clutch the offending item protruding from Shya's neck.
"I don't know," he said, answering his previous question, "I was... " he looked around, at the man, at the two guards. He couldn't tell them he had a little hideaway, "I was on my way back from the mess hall and I saw her trip. She went down.. and she just didn't get up," he said limply, holding the other man's gaze, "she started struggling so I came over and.. well, I-" He didn't really need to say anymore, as a flick of his head in Shya's direction explained it all.
He felt her tighten her grip on his hand and he squeezed it back, clutching it with his other hand too so that he was holding her dainty palm in both. He didn't know what he was doing. This wasn't the role life had lain out for him, to comfort the dying. But he was sure going to give it his best shot.
"I-is she going to be alright?" He asked quietly. His mind was telling him to get up and escape the storm before it hit, but his heart was telling him to stay put and help her.
He looked down at her pale, which had grown so pale so quickly... and he knew he couldn't leave.
Posted by ssj5nappa on Apr 2, 2008 18:47:01 GMT -6
Guest
Michael felt a little better watching the guy sprint off in the direction of the infirmary, he just paryed he'd get back in time. He could feel Shya's pulse under his hands and it was getting weaker. "Just hang in there ok," he said, smiling as best he could, "help's coming."
He listened as the kid explained what had happened. "You did good," he said, trying to reassure the guy. This was no accident, not by a long shot. He's suspected as much when he arrived, and the boy had just confirmed it. However, now wasn't the time to think about that.
He watched as she tried to mouth something to him. Try as he might he couldn't make it out, all he got was 'Sh'. "Don't try to speak," he said soothingly, "Just hold on. Helps coming ok, just hold on."
"I don't know, I was... I was on my way back from the mess hall and I saw her trip. She went down.. and she just didn't get up, she started struggling so I came over and.. well, I-"
It’s crazy how you can feel so light headed, and your mind can race back and forth. Going inside it’s self and then reaching back out to the surface when you realize you need to be awake, and with a burst of adrenalin, that pushes a heart that should be thundering harder, you come out. She heard the last half of Mathew’s explanation. Unseeing eyes fluttered and she tried to nod, still attempting to mouth that name.
Please let them know it, They had to know it.
Shya heard the next set of questions. Her hand was squeezed back as if still tethering her to the earth. Clearing the cobwebs away from her fuzzy mind and letting in all the stuff that your body naturally tries to keep out in times like this. Pain and realization. A sudden sharp intake of air interrupted her from mouthing the rest of her attacker’s name for the umpteenth time. The air filled her chest with a dozen new sharp pains, where her longs took in more moisture, at a fit of coughs shook her all over.
"Don't try to speak, Just hold on. Helps coming ok, just hold on."
Though she hadn’t heard them directly when they were said, the words managed to echo inside her mind. In her head where every thing else she held dear was flashing into her thoughts. The laughter of old school mates at slumber parties. The feel of moisture on her face when she would wake, from a dead sleep, in the morning, or sometimes after noon, to a sticky dog’s tongue on her chin. And the smell of mom’s special coffee only brewed at 8:30 in the evening. Shya always rushed to drink it and, by 8:35, always managed to burn her mouth on the mug. Like clock work.
Helps coming ok. Just hold on.
Those words echoed. There was always help coming and she was holding on. Her very fingers were pulled tight about her brother’s hand in her head, and on the out side they gave Mathew’s hand that reassuring support she showed her older brother the day he took her on a boat. She remembered the sensations of her body going from the steady deck, then stepping out onto the canoe where she’d almost fallen. Her brother’s strong hand kept her steady, kept her anchored over the dangers. Waves lapped on the side and the sensation of drifting with them rocked her back and forth.
Helps coming ok. Just hold on.
“Yes, of course.” She spoke the words in her head and out loud, though both sounded like nothing but a breath. Clean air. Not enough to shake her from inside her head. Her thoughts. Her memories. Why did they need help again?
Her brother let her hand go and she relaxed her finger, outside and in. Letting them dip into the lake. Feeling the ripples.
Posted by dragonking on Apr 7, 2008 15:28:10 GMT -6
Guest
It was at this point that Grit, panting and breathing hard, reached Shya. “No!” he whispered as he froze for a second and time stood still, as if in honour for one he care for. Then, slowly, as if in a daze he went forward and knelt down, cradling her head in his hands and whispering the words he had never spoken but wish he had a million times before this.
“Little sister…”
The looked at her and his heart and mind reeled with conflicting emotions ‘He had been too late, he should have pushed himself harder…. No…’ then his thoughts turned to rage, rage at the people who did this. It was at that moment that Shya breathed her last… Was that a smile he saw on her lips, a recoginition that he had come? He was not sure, and now he would never be. A figure bent down beside him but Grit took no notice. Only when the figure in question prodded at the body of Shya did Grit suddenly realize with a flash of anger that it was Grunt. The horrid Stench of His breath washed over him, and he when he spoke, his foul smelling words were whispered so that only Grit and perhaps the mutant guard (shield) were the only two who could overhear them. “Say goodbye to one of your imaginary family.” He paused as if to let the words sink in. “both of us enjoyed it.” Then he turned and left.
Unconsciously the muscles in Grits left hand clenched tight for a second, showing surprisingly strong and wiry muscles before he unclenched. Grit was a senior guard, so he had the authority to issue orders to one or two of the junior guards standing around him, it did not take a genius to see the fire in Grit’s eyes and the anger in his voice, they were wise and hastened to obey his orders. He spoke softly so only the guards could hear him. “Give her a proper burial.” “Where will you be sir?” a young upstart asked. “In the barracks writing the report or in the gym.” Grit practically growled back. He then turned and left. He arrived at the Gym, and choose an empty training room that had dummies propped around the room.
