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.
Zek paused for a breath after completing the A’s. No it was time to transition to the next part of the audition and that was such a critical stage. There really had to be a flow to it, something to dazzle and delight for those few moments before the next part of the show began. He’d spent about the last third of the A’s deciding if he should go through the whole phonebook, but decided it was better to leave them wanting more.
“And now, for something different,” he announced, projecting his voice to fill the arena, even if there was only the one spectator. Who kept pulling a computer out of nowhere. Pssht. Copycat.
Zek made an X with his arms and then uncrossed them in two slow arcs. As he pulled his arms apart, he pulled out the pins that were holding his coat’s sleeves tightly sealed against his wrists. As his arms came down, butterflies began pouring out from his wrists, forming a cloud of brightly colored bugs.
Who knew you could purchase semi-frozen butterflies and store them for live releases? Zek did.
As the butterfly cloud began to expand, Zek vanished Mister Ed from underneath him and landed on the floor with a slight grunt and a wobble. It wasn’t his best landing, but he never really could predict which effects of vanishing larger-than-people things would have on him. Ah well.
A moment later another flash of light revealed a brightly-painted ten by ten storage shed behind him. He grandly swept open the door and a cloud of brightly smoke billowed out of the shed. He disappeared inside the shed but within a few seconds, he reemerged, pushing a metal cart with a variety of boxes, bowls, and various tools on it. Gone were the trenchcoat and call-number shirt. He was still in black slacks, but had added a white jacket, an apron, and a classic chef’s hat.
His voice rang out. “Today, I bring you the nectar of the gods: ice cream!”
And Zek got to work stirring the milk, sugar, vanilla, etcetera together. As he worked, he began to narrate. In Pig Latin. Bilingualism was always a good way to stand out during an audition. “Irstfay, Iyay amyay oinggay otay ixmay ethay ilkmay, ugarsay, anillavayay, etceterayay ogethertay….”
About five minutes later, he removed the bag of ice cream from the back of salted ice and emptied it into a frosted chalice, just the size for one delightful portion. He held it up in a spurt of inspiration. “Lassie dearest, deliver this to the judge, please.” Then he got ready for the next bit.
Sveta sat back, listening to the endless list of names. This was bound to take a while... or so she thought, before the guy named Zek cut the whole thing short right at the end of the A names. Sveta smirked. Somehow she'd suspected he wouldn't go through all of it.
>>“And now, for something different,”
Butterflies. Sveta tilted her head, glancing at the console that was doing readings on Zek's powers. This... was not a part of his mutant ability. He actually had butterflies stuffed in his sleeves. Sveta vaguely wondered whether that fell under some type of an animal cruelty law, but she would have to ponder that part later. She made a note.
The horse disappeared. That was definitely a mutant power. And so was the shed that appeared a moment later. The CLASS AI was taking a lot of readings for analysis later on. Sveta folded her arms and sat back. The door slid open, and Lucy entered cautiously, bringing her the Bloody Mary. Seeing the shed and the smoke, she arched her eyebrows at her boss; Sveta smirked, rolling her eyes, and took the glass.
>>“Today, I bring you the nectar of the gods: ice cream!”
"Where did all the butterflies come from?" Lucy whispered, but Sveta just waved a hand "Long story."
In front of them, artisanal ice cream was being made why the guy spoke in some gibberish language. Sveta had long given up trying to find rhyme or reason in anything this guy was doing.
>>“Lassie dearest, deliver this to the judge, please.”
Lucy looked at Sveta, clearly not sure she should do what Zek told her to do. Also, Sveta was pretty sure she wanted to kick the guy in the nuts. Either way, she nodded.
"Thank you, darling. Lucy, please take this straight to analysis" she said, handing her back the glass of ice cream. She was not going to eat anything this guy cooked up, but it did not mean she couldn't fail him on a technicality like they were on some high-end feel-good baking show. She made some more notes and sipped her Bloody Mary. "Proceed."
*italics are spoken in Russian* Thanks to Siren for the sig and avi!
The ice cream was taken away and Zek saluted Funkiller with an oversized lollipop, the pancake-sized flat kind that came in rainbow colors. He gave it a good, long luxurious lick and then slapped a paper mustache on it. A quick application of glue and googly eyes and he had a really weird puppet in his hand. He laid it face first on his cart.
It was time to get serious.
He pulled off his chef’s hat, revealing a massive brown afro wig that had been jammed underneath. Another paper mustache (and beard) was swiftly taped to his face and he deftly spun and stripped off his jacket, revealing a light blue button up underneath it.
He opened a cabinet in the cart and pulled out a collapsible easel, which he had set up within seconds. A large piece of canvas followed and for the coup d’etat, he slid an easel, pre supplied with paint puddles out. He pulled a hidden paintbrush out from someone on his outfit and gave a prizewinning smile. He was ready.
“Now as I begin,” he said in a very calm, low voice. The soothing kind you used when you didn’t want animals to know they were going to the v-e-t. “It’s important to treat your canvas as a lover. Wine it, dine it, but never set it on fire.” Then he pulled out some earbuds and stuck them in so he could jam out to some heavy metal while he began painting a quaint portrait.
At one point he messed up, so he reported to the judge in that same calm voice, “Remember, there are no accidents, only happy opportunities to make new friends. Except for your receptionist. She’s a ********.”
He proceeded to finish his painting. “In dedication to the judge.”
There was a costume change next. Sveta sat back, sipping her much deserved drink, wondering how far this guy was going to in wasting her precious time. He seemed to be setting up for some kind of an artistic endeavor. From what she had seen so far, Sveta suspected this was not going to take much time either. Sveta enjoyed the drink as the guy listened to music and worked on his... art.
>>“Remember, there are no accidents, only happy opportunities to make new friends. Except for your receptionist. She’s a ********.”
Sveta rolled her eyes. Lucy deserved a bonus after this day, even though she was not here to listen to this anymore. Eventually the painting was finished, presented, and as expected, turned out butt ugly.
>>“In dedication to the judge.”
"Sure." Sveta took some more notes, party just for show, and partly checking on CLASS readings to make sure the guy was not using some powers she didn't notice. "well, so far, so good. You may proceed to the physical fitness part of the auditions."
*italics are spoken in Russian* Thanks to Siren for the sig and avi!
The interactive auditions were always some of the most strenuous. It took a lot of skill and practice to handle the comments and adapt to the mannerisms of the judges on the fly. One could only script and rehearse so much - the rest was left up to sheer genius.
Zek bowed in a most flamboyant fashion. “Of course, of course,” he said in professional acknowledgement, hiding his disgust behind a veneer or reasonableness. The physical fitness portion was actually the fourteenth part of the audition and wasn’t due for another twenty minutes or so, but (and Zek had to consciously prevent himself from rolling his eyes) what the judge wanted, the judge got.
He pulled two sticks of incense out of his wig and lit them with a lighter he’d palmed. The incense was placed on a small stand he pulled out from the cart and placed further to the front of the staging area. Then, as he tidied up the area and moved the easel and painting off to the side, he began to belch the alphabet. And when the cleanup was done, he vanished into the shed with the cart.
And then there was the sound of a gong.
Zek emerged once more from the smoky shed, this time in a bright blue singlet. His arms were glistening from the oil worked into his skin. His muscles shifted as he pushed a large box on wheels in front of him. And when he was back frontstage, he turned the box to its side.
And he opened it, pulled a nightcap out, put it on, withdrew a pillow and blanket, and promptly curled up on the floor by the incense.
Thirty seconds later, soft snoring could be heard.
Sveta wondered how long she was going to have to put up with this performance; but now she was patient out of sheer stubbornness. She'd hoped the physical thing might prompt the guy to show off more of his powers (or exhaust himself into passing out or something), but instead, there was incense, and then... Zack lay down to sleep.
Sveta blinked, and waited a few moments, wondering if there was going to be a jump scare.
When nothing happened, she let out a small sight, sat back, and made some more notes. She should have brought some work to pass the time with. The room was making some readings, but all in all, it was not just a waiting game. Sveta busied herself with picturing the cocktails she would drink once this was all over...
*italics are spoken in Russian* Thanks to Siren for the sig and avi!
Fifteen minutes filled with wondrous dreams and sleepy hallucinations that would wow and astound anyone!
Fifteen minutes that felt like fifteen hours of every genre of everything mixed into one experience that left a person refreshed and invigorated and charged with an exuberance for life and a determination to change the world for the better!
And then there came a ringing, a clanging, a banging, a cacophony!
Zek opened his eyes, slid a hammer out from underneath the pillow and chucked it behind him into the storage shed. More clanging and banging and clattering could be heard and then there was merciful silence.
He yawned. He stretched. He kicked off his blanket and did ten minutes of yoga. He pulled a hand mirror out of his box and made duck faces at it. He put it and his nightcap back in the box, along with the pillow, blanket, and incense.
Seconds later, a grass skirt was tied around his singleted self and his ankles and wrists were adorned with woven bands covered in shells that shook like maracas with every motion. A phonograph emerged and sat on the stand formerly occupied by the incense and once activated, began playing some Hawaiian-sounding instrumentals.
And then the coup d'etat.
Zek put on a feathered headdress and stepped inside a hula hoop.
The alarm sound made Sveta jump. Oh goodie, the sleeping parts was over. She did not even dare to guess what would happen next. She watched the man do his morning routine and dress up in a very culturally insensitive costume to do some dance number. The room did the readings, Sveta took the notes, and waited for the dance to be over. It felt like some kind of a big flourish that would hopefully close down the auditions. At least in whatever psychedelic dream world Zeck was auditioning in. Once the dance concluded, Sveta tilted her head.
"That was quite the finish. Thank you for auditioning with us today."
*italics are spoken in Russian* Thanks to Siren for the sig and avi!
99 times did the hoop swing around Zek’s waist. 99 times did he stand in place. 99 times did he roll his hips around. 99 times did he shake his wrists and make finger guns at the judge. And at the 99th time, he stopped. He caught the hula hoop. He dropped it.
Then bowed.
And the judge thanked him for his time. Zek blinked. Huh? He’d only gone through about a third of the audition. He hadn’t even gotten to the live-action reenactment of the classic zombies vs. Martians scene from Hamlet! That’s the one where he fought an actual zombie!
But alas. At the end of the day, he was the one auditioning, not the one holding auditions (which was obvious because he would’ve been waaaaay better than this chick). “The pleasure was mine,” he said as he started putting his props away. Grass skirt, hula hoop, bracelets, phonograph, etc all back in the box. Then put the box back in the storage shed. The butterflies were still flying around and there was quite a bit of smoke, but Zek didn’t want any of that back so he left it the way it was.
He closed the shed from the inside and seconds later, after some application of his powers, the shed vanished and Zek was back in his original outfit, on top of the horse. “I’ll just see myself out now. Don’t worry, I know the way!” he called over his shoulder as he rode pass the woman and back out into the hall.
Where he immediately began screaming, “UP YOURS, LASSANDRA!” and various other poetic retorts to the stupid receptionist as he made his way to the exit.