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.
It was raining that day, Carrick recalled sitting on the stone ledge overlooking the city’s landscape as the sun started to set on the skyline. He opened his flask from Tiny, and took a small pull watching the sky glow purple and orange as the day receded into night. Amythest would love this would have loved the view but the Irishman needed time to reflect and she’d see him as sad. Carrick told her Irish didn’t really do sad so he was alone with his thoughts and memories. Of his half-brother, mother, and him.
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It was a bad storm, one that kept the small boy awake. The light of his flashlight flickered as he moved it from panel to panel of his latest comic book. It was about heroes, redemption and justice. Something the boy told his mother he hated. It was too, cliché the bad guy always monologues and the heroes had capes which were impractical.
Carrick loved the stories though. From panel to panel they told a story through imagery. It was one of the few things he could focus on. That and the old tube television his mother refused to let him watch past a certain time. There was movement behind him lifting the covers, it was his tail something the child was still getting used to. That and the wings that had recently formed. He was a mutant, genetically ‘gifted’ the doctor told him.
They just brought him unwanted attention. Kids would tease him for having them, and the bigger kids in school liked to pluck the feathers from his bronzed wings. It hurt a lot but they kept doing it. It was bad enough when he just was the smallest kid in class.
The house shook with the next lighting bolt and Carrick jumped as light flashed in through the window, so much so it illuminated under the blankets. Carrick threw his blanket off to the side when he heard the front door practically cave in with a loud ‘knock’ on the door so much so it shook the old cottage style house more than the thunder did.
Turning his flashlight off the young boy did a few quick steps to the door. It was late but not too late, the issue with people coming to the door during a storm was there was nothing for a few miles but fields and sheep farmers. Carrick doubted it was a farmer this late especially in this storm.
Another boom shook the house, the young winged boy wasn’t sure if it was from storm or another knock but he could here his mother. “Hold yer horses! I got a boy who refuses to sleep. Honestly, calling at this hour? In a storm? Some best have been struck or they will be.” Carrick could see her but could imagine her shaking her head.
The loud locking mechanisms shifted and the door opened. “No! What are ya doing here?!! Ya got no business here or with me anymore! I left you and the city fer a reason!” she practically shouted. His mom was in trouble, the tone in her voice was enough to give that away. “How’d ya find me? God, ya smell like the inside of a bar rag.” she said disapprovingly. Who was she talking to? Carrick wasn’t sure but he tiptoed across the across the small room to the nearest window and spotted an old beat up truck parked outside.
The truck wasn’t recognizable. He hadn’t seen it before. There was another flash of light and he spotted a head in the window of the vehicle and suddenly he felt uneasy. His stomach turned and he felt like throwing up. The boys eyes weren’t the best but he felt like someone was watching him. Or rather searching for him. He took a few steps away from the window and tried to catch his breath and calm down. He was having another panic attack.
“I don’t care what time it is! Came to see you, know yer the type to burn the midnight oil. Christ ya gonna let me in or should I stand out in the rain all night?” a gruff voiced asked as he heard the door open more scraping on the wooden floor. Carrick shifted his weight and stepped back towards his bedroom door. He didn’t recognize the voice either but he was curious if anything so he wanted to see who it was.
“Yer not welcome here! I moved out of the city to get away from thugs like you.” his mother Janice said as she fought through the words trying to convince herself. There was a time she would have done anything for the man at the door but that time long since passed, it had been twelve years. “Come ‘on, you never could say no to me, just in the area thought I’d come see ya.” the man said leaning on the door frame.
The young Irishman stood behind his door quietly listening to everything now that he had calmed down. The sudden fear he felt vanished when he stepped away from the window and towards the door. Who was the guy and why was he here so late? Did his mom need help? The winged mutant reached for the nearest weapon he could find. A worn baseball bat his grandfather had given him. While Carrick didn’t care much for the sport anything his grandfather left was a cherished item. Having been raised by him for a few years alongside his mother.
”Don’t worry gramps, I’ll protect her.” he whispered recalling a few of the words that was spoken to him on his grandfather’s death bed. His mother was frail and always had been, recently her health had been declining more since her father passed and it was noticeable to the young boy which was why he was ready to try and fight someone off. He was the man of the house after all.
“Fine. But ya can’t stay long and keep yer voice down, Carrick’s sleeping... or should be.” she said in now a hushed tone as the door opened more. The man had loud footsteps, so much so it seemed to match the thunder as he walked as if he was the storm himself. Carrick shook his head, his ears were picking up more than they should have again.
“I’ll take a pint if ya got one, been too long. How is he? He a fighter like his old man?” the gruff voice asked. “He isn’t thank god, I couldn’t handle him if he was.” Jaince his mother replied. There was a sad tone in her voice when she spoke as if she was recalling something. Carrick creaked the door open bat in hand.
“Oh come’ on you loved that, what drew ya to me in the first place right?” the man asked as the sound of the fridge opened and closed. The sound of a bottle opening and a long drink being taken echoed in Carrick’s ears. His tail flicked in curiosity. Is that... was that his dad then? He wasn’t supposed to ask questions about him. The questions always made his mom sad and his grandfather spat every time the topic of his father came up. So much so Carrick decided he didn’t need to know. He built this complex illusion of his father being a hero that died.
His curiosity however got the better of him. While he couldn’t fly yet he was light on his feet for being so small. So he walked the length of the hallway and headed to the stairs. “Aye, there was a time I would have been fine with that but I’m not the young naïve woman I once was.” his mother replied opening a drink for herself. His mother never drank... Carrick’s eyes narrowed as he took a step closer.
“That might be the case, but yer beauty only grew.” said the man. “Always the smooth talker... why are ya here Eric?” she said. Carrick’s heart started to race... Eric was the name of his father. The one he never met.
