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.
The teenager wasn't having any of this. Creepy bugs, odd mice, random mutants. How truly irritating. C.J. stood, poised for the attack, hand searching his left boot, painfully removing the blade within, about 7 inches of blade rested in his palm, glinting, his own blood running off it. Cafas stood awkwardly, most of his weight on his good leg. There was something truly wrong with pens becoming creatures. What was worse was that some idiot had now gotten him in a serious fix against another mutant. The upside of it all? He now had no reservations about going all out on the bastard. Left hand drew the other identical double bladed dagger from his pocket, which it had recently punctured quite critically. "Hey buddy, **** you"
'Un. Deux. Trois.'
The calculated attack that came next flung Alchemist around the pen bugs, or most of them, a few landed some very painful stings. He ignored what he could and jumped, swinging his leg high, aiming for the head and neck region, a blade sliding underneath as a backup or possible follow through, aiming right for the stomach. This kick he took no chances, he went with the right foot, and the left arm for stabbing. He had a feeling this was not going to end well. Just something about the yells of nine one one and police.
'Oh deary me, we are in trouble.'
The purple continued to blaze in his eyes, the man before him had attacked him. There would be blood, it would not be pretty. Someone would be leaving injured, the other in an ambulance, it was all about who had the nastiest image in their head, as his father had once said, and Alchemist had some pretty nasty thought running.
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 23, 2009 2:18:57 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Clark. Clark still remembered some of the things he’d been taught at the Mansion. Clark still believed in equally mediocrity in the lives of both humans and mutants, for example.
The kid dodged under the front lines of Clark’s ink wasps, taking a few of their stings. Jumped, over Clark’s plastic shell bugs. The brat was carrying knives. Like most mutant brats running around the city these days, the kid was set on blood.
Clark. Clark remembered training room sessions; friends. Uniforms (the 80’s. Those were uniforms.) Clark remembered missions. Life and death.
Clark had never been an X-Men, but if the current Mansion was anything like the old, the team was crap about stopping people from trailing along, especially when the enemy was strong.
Clark. Clark was too busy tracking those knives
to defend against the
HEADKICKbloodylittleb******
Clark stumbled back, ears ringing. And a knife attack?
Clark's hand groped and found his briefcase.
He slammed it upwards, knocking aside the oncoming blade as he aimed higher: wouldn't it be nice to feel that-bone jarring stop from a
solid chin uppercut
This wasn’t ending until one of them went to the DocProf. If the DocProf still worked at the Mansion. If he still had that afro.
“I’m going to call you Tim,” Clark panted. "Give me the phone back, Tim."
Tim. Tim was standing on a field of angry plastic bugs. Tim had his back to the ink wasp swarm.
Tim. Clark was firing Tim, when he got back to the office.
Cafas' hand sprung toward him, narrowly missing him as the blade careened off and upward. He'd felt his foot connect and the momentum seemed to carry him directly into a briefcase. There was a burning pain, then blood splattered leather soaring past his eyes, then more pain. He was struck from behind by the full wall of wasps. He gasped, just about all he could do with the level of air in his lungs. The briefcase had split his chin with its framework.
'God damn mother****. I haven't even scratched this guy.'
He recovered somewhat, but his balance was broken and he felt slightly dizzy. It was times like these he needed his proper gear, not the tiny little knives he had. Knife, he corrected himself. Holding it in the palm of his right hand C.J. dropped the melting point of the metal and let it coat his fist before solidifying it, increasing its density and strengthening it. His left hand, now devoid of the ex-weapon balled into a fist itself. Taking a step forward, to get within range, Alchemist aimed a kick, a side kick with the bottom of his left heel, at the larger man's knees.
'God I hope this hurts.'
Always working in one-two's Cafas pulled his metal-gloved hand back, the perfect fit hopefully stopping any injury, and prepared to punch for the chin, planning a really big punch whether the foot connected or not, that would teach him to try and break his face. "My name is not Tim, and it's MY phone!" He launched his assault hard and fast. Sirens blared in the distance.
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 23, 2009 3:51:08 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Clark. Clark had a nice briefcase. ...Had.
The kid was down for the count, followed both the disgruntled corporate uppercut and the ink wasp attack. Good riddance. Clark picked up a napkin from the table, and wiped at the blood on the case. Yuck. Now, to figure out what to say to the cops about the teenager at his fee—
Fortunately Tim solved that problem.
The swipe of his knees caught him off guard; the punch, more so. He slammed against the ground; the air around them briefly rained drops of ink, as the wasps dissolved. The plastic at their feet fell with a hundred little clicks and clatters as the insects reverted to their original form: torn plastic.
Clark. Clark was out cold. Clark was finally using his sick time.
The police sirens blared closer; a block away, and closing fast. Thus was the punk teenage mutant left standing triumphant over the body of a beaten businessman. Whose phone he’d stolen.
Good job, Tim.
On an unrelated note, the mouse decided now was a good time to start skittering away.
The man fell. There was a nasty crunch from his jaw. It wasn't pleasant at all. Victorious as he was, he definitely did hurt, very much, and he was bleeding from a lot of locations. He turned to look at the mouse, and caught a brief glimpse of it as it scampered away. "Oh no you don't mouse, I'm not done with you." C.J. melted the steel onto his shin as started after the mouse, solidifying it into a makeshift shin guard. The weight dragged as he ran.
'Gotta get away from the sirens, catch the mouse, and figure out what to do next.'
By lucky chance the knife he had lost appeared to not have hurt anyone, it was settled right in Cafas' path. Such luck he had with finding things today. Following the trend it would likely end up cutting him in half. He dropped it into his pants pocket, another hole forming, on the outside of the garment. He chased the mouse, catching occasional glimpses now and then, his injured foot causing him to limp. His eyes faded to steady black with every left step.
'Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch...'
He was now right behind the scampering animal, having the advantage of longer legs. "You're mine little buddy."
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 23, 2009 4:47:45 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
“Mine” like a fox.
The gray mouse paused a moment to give a cheeky tail flick; then it disappeared over the edge of the curb, and through the metal grating of the storm drain.
Little black eyes glistened in the light from above as it looked up, its gray fur just out of touching range behind the metal bars.
This is how a mouse who used to be a boy settled down for a comfortable siege in a pleasant mess of leaves and discarded cigarettes.
He wasn’t coming out for anything short of a cell phone.
C.J. watched the little mouse shoot down the curb, down the drain and into the storm water system where vermin belong. He glared at the mouse's rough location for a second before letting a smile grace his face. The metal grating had a rust covering, so it removed that option. He thought about that, and changed his mind. Using the dagger he scraped a finger sized portion of rust off and put his finger to the exposed metal, melting it and letting it fall down into the bed of trash and leaves. "Weren't you paying attention? That doesn't work on me matey."
'I'm talking to a mouse... Great.'
Taking the mobile from its safe housing within his pocket he held it up, pushing a button and making the screen glow."This what you want mousey? Watcha want it for, I don't think other mice can receive texts." He put the phone down on the curb-side, above the drain. He then sat next to it and waited. He thought it was dumb, waiting for a mouse to show interest in a mobile, but so was the concept of being able to turn to mist and float away.
'I give it a minute, if nothing happens, I get up and walk away.'
Alchemist looked at the mouse and sighed. "After all the trouble you've caused me, I aught to take you back to the mansion, you'd probably fit in, given the un-mouse-like ways you act. Then we can share the phone But you don't understand any of this do you?" He breathed in and watched the grey furred mammal and wondered why he was even bothering. His eyes went blue as he cooled off.
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 23, 2009 5:20:06 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
The sky was falling, the sky was falling, and mousey gray was running. He skittered for dear life, pressing his fur into the concrete of the back wall as the metal grating overhead came raining down.
Some kind of metal manipulator.
Riiiiiight.
>> "This what you want mousey? Watcha want it for, I don't think other mice can receive texts."
Oh, petty mockery. The mouse would have replied but, unfortunately, he was a mouse. Bravo, boy. An intelligent use of your vocal chords.
Not that the mouse was jealous, at all. Of those vocal chords.
>> "But you don't understand any of this do you?"
The mouse understood your mom.
One ear twitching, a small gray head slowly—very slowly—pushed itself out of the storm drain, using a fallen twig as its ladder back to the outside. That clack earlier hadn’t lied to him: the teenager had set the phone down on the street between them. Hmmm. He did seem awfully less... homicidal than before. Perhaps knocking businessmen unconscious was just what every growing mutant boy needed to work off his aggression. Like a teething puppy, and the remote control.
Slowly—very slowly—the mouse finished the climb out, and approached the lure. With one eye on the punk, it went back to what it had been doing at the very beginning of our tale: pushing buttons.
Finally, it discovered the text message option. Its chosen message was
Cafas looked down at the message on the screen with interest and was slightly taken aback. He paused for a second and raised an eyebrow. "And your grammar is poor, mouse. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given that every second person who stops to talk to me or attack me is a mutant. I'm going to venture a guess at shape shifter. Stop being a pain in the arse and shift back." He wasn't even mildly amused any more, now he had an idiot mutant on his hands, not a hyper intelligent mouse. No, they could talk according to Douglas Adams. He rubbed his temples slightly.
'That's all I need, a mutant. Better have a very good excuse for this little scene, I'm now extra wanted, this time for assault.'
He waited impatiently for a reply to appear on the screen. Perhaps this was all a bad dream. No, there was most definitely pain. There was also blood drying his foot into his left boot. How bad was that injury? His face felt like it had clotted up too. He must have looked completely ragged sitting there, bloodstained and bruised. He glared again at the cause of the entire issue, the mouse-being before him. Days like the one he was having came around all too often in New York. Not the violent bit, but the being on the run and seemingly not being able to get anything right bit.
'Maybe I'll die, that would make a nice change. Wonder what it';s like?'
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 23, 2009 5:55:52 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
The next eight minutes and twenty-two seconds were spent in a most worthy manner: proving a point. His little body obscured the screen as he worked. When he was done—and only then—did he give the phone a nudge towards his fellow mutant. Dark eyes blinked cutely up at the large biped.
My most sincere apologies, good Sir, for my previous message. Hereafter, I shall endeavor to type in the best grammar I am capable of, though it may be rather slower than the new-fangled ‘text speak’ more commonly used upon these ‘mobile telephone’ devices. You are quite right, however, to presume that proper grammar, spelling, and punctuation are hallmarks of good breeding; as such, I shall respectfully construct my message in keeping with your tastes.
Unfortunately, I find myself in a mite bit of a quandary. The mutation of my chromosomes which has resulted in the presence of an active X-gene is giving me some small trouble. It began this fine morn, and has continued itself past the point of our fortuitous meeting to the very present. I find myself strangely unable to change my forms; a quirk of mutation I have not been confronted with prior to this point, at least not to such an extreme. I admit to being somewhat at a loss as to what to do. When we first met, I had been attempting to use this cellular messaging and voice communication apparatus to communicate my desire for help. Perchance, do you know of Xavier’s Sister School for Gifted Youngsters? I would be most grateful if you could bring me there.
Sincerest regards,
Caleb
Post Script: If you should pick me up, please take care not to bleed on my fur, idiot.
Alchemist laughed into his arm. He did so like a well deserved insult. Maybe the rodent, Caleb, would prove amusing after all. Doing his utmost to control himself he spoke again. "Then W.T.H. are we doing sitting here? Let's G.T.H.O. of here, and I promise not to bleed too profusely on you. otherwise I G.T.G. anyway. Bite me this time though and I'll lob you into passing traffic." C.J. collected the phone and, very careful not to get blood on the apparently inconceivably valuable fur.
'I like him already, maybe I should put him in a cage without a way to communicate. That could prove funny.'
He stood and began to walk back toward the mansion, the phone safely in his pocket again. It would stay there until he was happy that the mouse-boy Caleb had learned his lesson. Most likely never. He made his limping way back the relatively short distance, after all, he had walked to the current location. No public transport for wandering mutants. He'd learned that lesson his first day.
'I'm like a magnet for crude, angry men. I should be running into doctor House at any stage now.'
"I'm Alchemist by the way." His tone was cheerful and pleasant, standing in complete juxtaposition to the look on his face. A deep scowl had set in. Maybe the knife had gone deeper than he had at first thought. It could also have been the many different injuries he had earned himself that day. He really hoped that the disgruntled mutant from before couldn't use his mouth for a very long time. That'd teach him.
'Talking to a mutant mouse is still talking to a mouse to everyone watching. What hilarious thoughts they must be having.'
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 23, 2009 6:26:01 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
The mouse had never heard so many acronyms so liquidly tongue-vomited. His whiskers fairly curled at them. Was that revenge upon his eardrums for his eloquent text?
All signs pointed to “perchance”.
At least the warning about his fur was taken with the utmost seriousness. Soon—with a bit of Alchemical picking up, and some self-induced climbing—the gray mouse was riding on the teenager’s shoulder, safe above the many trampling feet below.
One small paw tapped awkwardly.
He pointed his nose up to the skies above, attempted an amiable shrug, and looked to the rather large face next to him.
Nice weather we’re having, eh?
And while he was at it: he stood on his hind legs, and mimed swinging a bat for the brief moment before he had to go back to all fours. Kind of hard to balance up here. Lots of jarring steps.
C.J. Looked at the stuck shape shifter and tried to make a connection with what he was saying. Something about the sky, and then swinging of an object. Could it possibly have been clearer? The sarcasm even seeped into his thoughts. He didn't bother looking at the sky, it was still that solid grey from earlier. The bat sort of implied baseball. Sky and baseball? Clear. As. Mud. "You wanna play baseball on a day like today? Must admit I prefer cricket, more arm power, less speed, less reliance on other people to get you a scoring opportunity." He then considered, given the circumstances, he again looked like he was talking to himself. Better than playing charades by himself though.
'He so could have made that more concise.'
He continued on his way, the street was gradually fading from the dense urban to the less dense suburban. There was, luckily, only a couple of blocks before the road to the mansion started. Then he could go see DocProf about his face, foot, arms, legs, torso... everything. Yup, his everything hurt, that was how to put it, and seventy percent of his body was bleeding.
Posted by Cheshire on Sept 23, 2009 6:55:47 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Communication: fail. Light bulb above head: ding!
The following occurred, because it could: the mouse does what it must, because it can.
The mouse looked at Alchemist solemnly, and shook his head. The mouse stood on his hind legs again, and crossed his arms over his chest. The mouse fell over in mimed death. The mouse rose again. The mouse approached Alchemist’s throat. Slowly.
Alchemist observed the action and pondered as the mouse drew nearer his throat. The answer to this one was rather clear. As he crossed the first street, onto the second and final block before they turned off he answered. "Zombie or vampire." He smiled to himself and felt slightly smug as they progressed past houses. It took his mind off his foot, which throbbed still, with every step it took. Getting the boot off would be very interesting.
'How well this mouse could cheat at charades if he rolled an animal. It's amusing.'
He shielded his throat with one hand as he kept walking, mercifully away from people in their respective rushes.