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 Cheshire on Dec 10, 2010 21:07:29 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
The tom cat had been gracious. The trees had turned their colors, their leaves unmatched in brilliance by any creature or creation save his own ginger and cream fur. The tom cat had been patient. His winter coat had grown in, its static charge putting even a certain Faust to shame, as the snow fell and covered the dirt of New York City for a good ten minutes. Benevolence had suffused his soul; still he had extended his deadline, filling the void of time with reason and excuses on her behalf. Simply busy, he noted. Will come to collect me at her earliest convenience.
And so it went, through another spring pallet of naive squirrel children and mouseling morsels, to a summer of lobster dinners and other such nosey affairs, and back on to winter. And here we were.
His winter coat was back again, in its shocking ginger glory.
New York’s streets were covered in a light white fall, impeccably white and lustrous for five more minutes this morn.
His tail, scouting high above him, was keeping time to his orderly steps.
There was something not right in this city. By grace of Calley-cat, it had continued for more than a year’s time. Today, as the holiday seasons jingled all the way from taxi cabs to department stores, he would set things right.
He would claim his proper home in the apartment of Maya Csendes. He would nimbly leap from fire escape to bedroom window ledge and dispatch his legal notice of residence. He would, at 6:30 on a not-a-school-day, open his mouth and vent forth such a yowl as to set off a car alarm half a street away.
Ping Ping was crying. Why was Ping Ping crying? Jude tried to comfort the woman he had known some years from now, but would likely never meet. And then... she died. Her death rattle jolted him awake. And off his bed. And into a pile of foul smelling socks.
The contrast... confused his sleep addled brain.
And now he tasted feet.
He scrubbed the crusties off his eyes and looked at the clock. Someone was going to die now.
He stood, swaggered and pulled off his shirt with a yawn. There was a clean one somewhere... A sort-of clean one draped over the window. He yanked it free and discovered... cat. There was a red-haired cat on the ledge.
He hissed at it. A yowl like that... had to be a cat.
"Shoo." Jude hit the window and it rattled in its pane.
The shirt went over the head and tugged down over his belly. Toothbrush. One of those existed... in the hall bathroom.
Posted by Cheshire on Dec 10, 2010 22:09:06 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
There was a small man-creature in Ghost’s apartment. A small, ill-clad, glass-abusing—
The ginger tom leaped away from the rattling pane, ending up two feet over on the inch-wide railing of steel that separated ill-balanced humans from certain fire-escapey death. He faced down the dim morning alley, out towards the city. A huddle of delicious pigeons roosted together on a window ledge across the street, the snow piling new spots of white onto their feathers as they slept. Such temptations could perhaps lure a lesser cat, but not one of Sinatra’s purpose. He sat down, tail curling around feet with great dignity, and turned his head back to watch through the window.
The man-creature was engaging in early morning grooming activities. It moved with a displeasing familiarity, as if well accustomed to its surroundings. The cat’s eyes slowly dilated, black moons swelling in dark blue depths. The creature had brown hair (not white) and a certain spikey taste in pajama patterns (stegosaurus). It had a toothbrush in Ghost’s bathroom. It did not appear endeared to felix domesticus.
The cat’s tail tip slowly curled up, and back down. That time was all it needed for the change.
Its fur no longer stood up; it was simply foofed, warm and invitingly, from the cold. The great blue depths of its eyes were oceans of love with wibbling black centers. The snow flakes gathered on its whiskertips like powered sugar. It looked in, sweetly, and opened its mouth in the barest of mews.
The sound timed nicely with each brush stroke. And then... it didn't. It got faster. Which made him brush faster. And when he had frothed up his mouth so much that it became awkward to breathe... he realized that he had been letting a cat dictate his morning routine.
Unacceptable. Though... that little cat couldn't mewl all day, could she?
Ptoohey.
He swapped he steggo flanels for some proper jeans. Then he sat down and fished out some socks calmly. Oh so calmly. There was noooooothing wrong with this looooovely early morning.
"Jude! What are you doing in there?" Ghost knocked on the door.
"Nothing!" He insisted and hopped up with only one sock on and opened his door. "There's a weird cat outside." And he pointed.
Posted by Cheshire on Dec 10, 2010 22:57:32 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
The weird cat sat shivering in the snow, long suffering for its loyalty and love. Forgiveness swam in dark blue seas atop the whitecaps of unearned hurt. The weird cat had been spurned, ignored, window-rattled upon, yet still, it would always—
Oh. There was Ghosty.
The tom stood himself up to his full proud height, and twined against the cold window pane with a purr.
“Good morning, First Retainer.” (He enunciated, perhaps muffled somewhat by the storm glass.) “I have come to assess our new domestic abode. I require these things in the following order: the window opened, the underside of my chin scratched, and perhaps clothing. I thank you in advance.”
A talking cat. Jude looked between the talking cat and Ghost who rushed to the window to pull it inside. The eleven year old huffed and shut the window after her. "It's snowing!" Not to mention morning. Brrr!
But Ghost was not nearly interested enough in his whine. She was tickling the underside of the mangy thing's chin and laughing as she dusted the white off of the cat and onto his floor. Jude took to muttering. "Real cats don't talk. Real cats don't smell as bad either."
"What size are you now? Could you fit in something in here or would you need something of Sebastian's ilk?"
Jude mustered the last of his decorum and sat down to put on his other sock.
Posted by Cheshire on Dec 10, 2010 23:20:54 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Like a warm breeze from a promptly opened window, Ghost embraced him back into his rightful place in her life, and gave him his rightful chin scratching and rightful loan on any and all clothing in her home, be it hers to give or not. The ginger tom lifted his chin for better scritch-angling; his eyes, half-lidded, settled on the boy. There was a very particular affection there. The affection of an old auntie for ruffling one’s hair, or of a tick for the leg it is dining upon.
“Oh, I’m sure anything would fit me. Anything in here, that is. No need to bother your husband. Does he happen to be at home this fine morning?”
His whiskers fanned. “And who is this fine lad?” With his endearing habit of mumbling to himself, about a creature with modestly better hearing than his. The ginger tom wiggled out of Ghosty’s grip and leapt lightly to the bed, whereupon he promptly curled up in a bundle of wet cat fur and wet cat smell on the charming pet’s pillow.
Anything in here? Jude bristled and he wasn't even a cat. "Zis is my clothes."
"He ah... might be downstairs. He falls asleep on his books a lot." Sometimes standing up... the horse thing still freaked her out. "Are you hungry?"
"Yes! Biscuits?"
Ghost glanced over as if remembering Jude was there and rumpled his hair. "Sure. Calley, meet my son, Jude."
He hated having his hair rumpled.
And he didn't even want to know why a cat would need his clothes. "Don't touch my stuff." He growled and, upon his standing and noticing of the growing wet spot on his bed, he swatted at the mongrel.
Ghost was already in the kitchen humming and bustling around, the picture of domestic bliss.
Posted by Cheshire on Dec 20, 2010 23:59:06 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
The ginger tom leapt nimbly to the floor and began to groom itself. Only then did it glance at Jude again. My, had the boy tried to swat at him? Truly? Well, it was a good thing he’d already been planning this move, then, and had not been forced into a hasty retreat. Such an indignity that would be.
“Hello, Ghost’s son Jude,” he said, in between unhurried licks. “I am your mother’s Master. Her Cat Overlord, if you prefer. I shall be living with you. And wearing your pants.”
The cat stated these things, somewhat after his First Retainer had left the room. He stated them as the facts that they were.
“Zis is your clothes dresser?” The cat asked, his grooming complete.
And then there was a naked man standing in Jude’s bedroom.
"You can't live here. Zere iz no room for you." And how could Ghost have a master? She was a slave to no one but him! Talking animal or no, this impertinant cat was going outside!
And he needed to get off his clothes he was soaking! Jude reached out to swat and the cat moved toeard his dresser. He would not dignify the creature's question with a response. He was going to pick him up and put him outside. Tge cat was outside before. He could do it again.
The eleven year old reached out and grabbed a handfull of... not fur.
"Get out, cat!" He shouted his battle cry as he launched himself at the no-longer-a-cat-boy. He was getting everything messy!
Lo! But a mighty tussle followed. There were drawers opened and emptied (mostly by a former cat), dirty clothes shoved in face-wards directions (mostly by a young Italian), and uncoordinated wrestling (to which a young gentle-feline would only accept, at most, half of the blame).
When a groping hand could not reach a pillow for beating, and another arm was coming dangerously close to being pinned behind a back, then did Calley play his trump above all others:
“Ghost! Your son is being mean to me! And I’m hungry!”
It got worse! No! Not the drawer! Oh no! No! Anything but the wad of laundry up the nose! Had there been a toilet nearby Jude would be dunking Calley's face in it. He was not a fighter, if Jude had to be classified as something, it would be more of a love-type. And he was looooving every moment of scrabbling with that arm and pulling it behind the naked back. If he could capture the arm then perhaps he could manage to shove the whole boy out the window.
Jude never won at anything. This was his moment! His triumph! His time to dive off the shouting kid and uh-pickupabook. Yes! A book! There had been no fighting noises. He had clearly been reading a book this whole time.
Ghost peeked her head inside Jude's room and noticed three things immediately. 1) The room seemed to have been turned upside down. It was messy before but now it was like the clothes were allergic to being inside of anything at all. 2) Jude's book was upside down and the boy was so painfully casual that it was suspicious. 3) Calley was naked, face down.
Thank goodness for face down.
"Calley, the clothes are all around you. For goodness sakes put something on!" After a year of practice, Ghost had her mom voice down.
Jude smirked around the side of his wrong ways up book until he heard his name.
"Jude, we have a guest. Give the boy some privacy and help me in the kitchen."
"But Ghooost! I was defending your honor!" From behind his book. Yes.
"I won't have you defenestrating my Master."
He ditched the book in the vicinity of Calley's head and pattered after Ghost. "Why is he your master?" The eleven year-old did not approve of his competition to boss Ghost around. "Also... What's deafinga-strating?"
Posted by Cheshire on Jan 17, 2011 17:41:14 GMT -6
Mutant God
3,233
18
Sept 24, 2018 19:41:05 GMT -6
Calley
Thus did Calley win. It was a victory most complete and certain, beyond doubt and question. As homage to his victory, his First Retainer escorted away the defeated party and bid him loot the conquered grounds at his leisure.
Calley looted, all right. He looted socks (which were small), a shirt (which was stripped), and a pair of pajama bottoms (which were Avatar Champloo-printed). Said pajama bottoms and aforementioned socks displayed several victorious inches of leg betwixt them as the once and future cat sauntered into the kitchen. He had never been in here before. None the less: he took immediate ownership of the place. This was clearly demonstrated by the way he aimed a ruffling hand at Jude’s hair in passing, and sat on whatever chair or countertop was closest to him.
“I’ve also moved into your Mansion room,” he stated matter-of-factly. "You forgot to give me a key, so I had one of the younger students ooze open the lock." That aside: “Breakfast?”
"Defenestrating is when someone gets thrown out a window and Calley is my master because you never own a cat." Ghost went to attend a beeping timer and check the biscuits in the oven as she continued speaking. "The cat owns you."
"He'z not really a cat. He'z a boy."
"A boy who needs clothes." If not more. She didn't say that part out loud, though. "We have clothes to give him. Calley might not accept charity, but he does accept servitude. If that is what it takes for him to know that he is always welcome in our home and in our lives, that is what I will give him."
Jude's eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as he thought very hard about this. "Calley iz a homeless cat zhen?"
But before he got an answer, a hand descended on his head and had its way with his hair. The tiny frenchman squeaked at the horror of how his classy clothes were being cheapened and his own personal hair trouble. His mouth flapped open because he couldn't decide where to start. "My room?!"
The biscuits were out of the oven and some No-Yolk imitation eggs were on to scramble. "We don't use it too often anyway." Jude probably stayed at the Mansion more than she and Sebastian did and locks were more of a formality in a Mansion full of gifted, mischievous children. "Would you mind if Jude stayed with you sometimes?"
"Zis is unacceptable." Ghost handed him three plates, three napkins and three forks to set the table. To Calley, she slid a tall, cool glass of rice milk. "You cannot let zis boy run your life."